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#I want to be swaddled in at least three layers of clothing and blankets at all times
lunarsands · 1 year
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Empires SMP S1 Fanfic: Night of the Winter Stars
Title: Night of the Winter Stars
Characters: Mythical Sausage, Scott Smajor, Xornoth (in elf form not demon), and a small flock of adopted children
Relationships: MythicalSausage/Scott Smajor
Tags: Empires SMP S1 AU, scosage, adoption, wholesome, fluff
WARNINGS: acknowledgement of amputation (not sure how else to tag that but just in case)
Summary: It’s time for the winter festival in Rivendell. Scott and Sausage bring their little growing family to experience the snow and have some fun.
(Also available on Ao3!)
[ A/N: The story of how Scott and Sausage ended up together (and how Sausage came to lose an arm) is currently a WIP by Cynthrey. The story of how they ended up adopting over a half dozen children is the sequel that I’m currently working on, but I wanted to write a cute little fic for the holidays, so here’s a preview of what life is like for these two as they navigate fatherhood with an adorable mix of children. | Also includes collaborative artwork by Cynthrey here!]
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Packing for the week-long stay in Rivendell for the winter festival had gotten slightly more complicated with the addition of two now five-year-olds and an infant of indeterminate age but at this point was considered to be about six months old. It would be the human children’s first time visiting, and Sausage was probably worrying too much about making sure everyone stayed warm enough. Xornoth had joked about building a lodge just for his brother’s gaggle of kids when three more had first been added, but now with little Mariposa it was pretty much a necessity to have the space plus anything extra they might need, so there would be spare clothes available waiting for them. The elven children would be fine with their newly acquired color-coordinated hats, scarves, and gloves, and at least the older children could handle most of their own packing.
Now at fourteen, Azahar was helping where he could, providing an example of dressing responsibly for the weather with the striped scarf that matched his amber eyes and short orange dreadlocks, contrasting well with his darker skin. He made sure nine-year-old – well, nine-and-a-half, as she would insist – Liana kept both of her gloves in one coat pocket and her hat in the other. She had requested violet for her set to match her eyes, complaining that dark blue would blend in with her long, sapphire hair. Twelve-year-old Elowen, meanwhile, had asked not for dark green that might go with his shoulder-length hair, but for light blue to go with his eyes and also to match with Scott; this had been quietly agreed by the two fathers as a good idea, since it could work as a comfort for the boy if he became nervous in possible crowds.
Meanwhile, Seren and Rayen, the long-blond-haired and brown-eyed human twins, had been given a similar shade of pink so they could interchange accessories as they were wont to do; Sausage had a backup set of everything in case one glove went missing during that mischief. At nine, their older sibling Ilan was also going to be on the more responsible side. They had green to match their eyes, and the hat fit just right to cover all of their brown hair to avoid assumptions about their identity.
Everyone adored the fact that Mariposa had tiny little boots that stuck out of the bottom of the crossbody baby carrier Scott would be using to transport her around, while the rest of her would be swaddled in a light pink fleece onesie plus as many colorful blankets as necessary. She had a tiny hat in bright turquoise to cover her white-blond hair, the shade perfectly matched to her eyes.
Scott didn’t mind being designated baby holder for most of the trip since Sausage wouldn’t be able to easily use the carrier with his own need for an extra layer of clothes, especially the thick, fleece-lined vest needed so his prosthetic arm wouldn’t be covered by a coat, which would render it almost unusable. A cloak draped over the remaining part of his upper arm worked well enough to stave off the chill on that side during his previous visits to Rivendell in winter, and of course fWhip had designed the prosthetic to resist being affected by the cold in general.
With nearly everyone waiting at the carriage outside, Sausage and Ilan were grabbing a few last-minute things, which included Seren, who was escaping every attempt to get her nice new hat on. She kept giggling and evading Sausage as he chased her down the hall; naturally, a five-year-old perpetually had more energy and ability to squirm free of anything, particularly a one-armed grown man, prosthetic limb or not.
Fortunately, Ilan was always prepared to wrangle one or both of their younger sisters, so they easily stepped in after the third escape and plopped the hat onto her head while she giggled again.
“Thank you, Ilan,” Sausage said with a bit of huffing and puffing after all the running. “Now we can go.”
“Carry me, Papa!” Seren crowed and held her arms up toward him.
“Okay, give me a moment. Ilan, can you take this bag? There’s a couple of extra things in there for Mariposa.”
“Got it,” they agreed, picking up the straps in both hands, although it was light enough that they didn’t have to struggle with it any.
“All right, let’s go. You know, Rayen went ahead already without a fuss.” Sausage scooped up Seren with his left arm, bracing her on his hip with careful support from his right hand, checking to be sure neither the bottom of her coat or her scarf got caught in any of the struts of his prosthetic before they all headed outside.
Scott had the rest of the children situated inside the carriage by the time they arrived, except for Azahar, who was on the driver’s bench holding the reins while waiting for Sausage. Ilan climbed in first, then Sausage more or less handed Seren to them so they could take over getting her settled. She saw that Liana was hugging her favorite plush bunny, and immediately clamored for her own plushie. Already prepared, Scott handed her a teddy bear. She then swapped with Rayen for a toy sheep.
Sausage got into the driver’s spot and took the reins. “And we’re off!” he announced.
~*~
The trip went smoothly with Mariposa only crying once on the way, but a few rounds of elven lullabies got her to quiet down again. Elowen and Liana joined in; Ilan was gaining more of a grasp of the new language and sang a few words that they knew through repetition, after the past few months of becoming used to Scott singing to the baby. The twins imitated some of the sounds but mostly hummed instead. It was a good way to keep everyone occupied, Scott decided, as he gently patted Mariposa’s back, having turned her around in the carrier toward him since being able to lean her face on his chest seemed the most comforting for her.
Pulling onto the street leading to the apparent location of their assigned lodge, Sausage spotted Xornoth waiting for them. The purple-haired elf waved and Azahar waved back, calling, “Uncle Xornoth! We’re here!” As Sausage halted the carriage, the younger elf hopped down and ran over for a hug.
“Hey, kiddo! You’ve gotten tall.” Xornoth grinned and walked back over with Azahar while Sausage opened the carriage door and started helping the other children climb down. Xornoth nodded to each of them and greeted them with compliments or comments such as, “Oh, that’s a lovely bunny you have, Liana” and “Watch out, Seren, that sheep might eat your arm like it did to your papa.”
When it was Scott’s turn to exit, Xornoth said, “Okay, let me see, where is my newest little niece – you two are utterly ridiculous by the way, have I told you that? – Ah, there she is!” Scott already had Mariposa out of the carrier and was holding her toward his brother. Xornoth took her into his arms and quickly shifted to holding her in a supported cradle position. “Oh, look at you! You’re so tiny! And in one piece! That’s a miracle, with your two hapless dads. Just wait until you’re old enough to notice one of them misplaced an entire arm!”
“Xornoth,” Scott warned through gritted teeth. When he had gotten his brother to agree to the promise of we don’t talk about what happened to Papa’s arm, he should have known there would be endless jokes involved to avoid the truth.
“Uncle Xornoth!” Liana yelled, “Don’t make her scared of sheep!”
Xornoth chuckled. “Don’t worry. I’ll tell her something else. Maybe this time it could be that… hmm… he traded it for a magic spell that would make a tiny flower turn into a tiny princess, because he and Dad wanted a baby for the family.”
Scott couldn’t help casting a soft-hearted look at Sausage. Well, that one was kind of sweet, at least. The children had gotten used to their elven uncle’s habit of telling a different story every time he started joking about Sausage’s prosthetic arm. The mix of redstone technology and magic that made it work had only fascinated them and hadn’t bothered any of them when they had each first been introduced to the fact. He gave perfectly good hugs with it, after all.
“Well,” Xornoth then said, “Let’s get you settled in. Come on, kids, I’ll show you to your rooms! I assume you two can handle your luggage.” He threw a teasing smirk at Scott and Sausage then swept off into the building while a porter held the door for him, still cradling Mariposa and the other children eagerly following him.
Scott blinked and slowly looked down at the empty baby carrier, as if trying to process that his brother had easily made off with an infant with zero fuss.
Sausage, meanwhile, chuckled as he climbed up to reach the bags secured on top of the carriage. “We’ll see how he handles babysitting them all once the novelty of arriving here wears off for them. Last time he saw the twins they were on their best behavior. Just wait until they find out how much they’re allowed to run around in the snow.”
“That could be the deal, then: if he wants to hold Mariposa, he has to help with the other girls.” Scott began to take bags as Sausage handed them down to him, then the porter and a couple of other servants joined to assist getting everything inside. Aside from Seren and Rayen, the other children knew to come back to get their own things, but in the meantime most of the bags were left near the door so Scott and Sausage had a chance to look around, although Sausage made sure to take one of the baby supply bags with him.
There was the main room with a large fireplace with enough seats for a dozen people, and a small kitchen to the left. A hallway to the right led to one set of rooms, while a staircase went up to another floor. They could hear multiple footsteps above them so they assumed everyone was touring the rooms upstairs. The two were just about to go up when Xornoth appeared, chattering away as he led the children back downstairs.
“See, I remembered ahead of time so you don’t all have to have a room each to yourself. Those rooms are just extras, so you can pick from the ones down here. There is one especially set aside for your dads and Mariposa, though, so maybe not that one.” He flashed a look at Sausage and Scott. “Come on, I’ll show you.”
He expertly held the baby with one hand while opening the door to the first room off the hallway. While the other rooms they had already seen contained two double beds, this room had only one so that there was space for a changing table and a very old, but sturdy-looking wooden crib that was decorated with finely carved images of the moon, stars, and planets on the headboard with slightly more crudely painted images of animals along the outside bottom – lower spots where a small child could reach.
“This crib,” Xornoth announced, as he leaned over the side to gently place Mariposa onto the awaiting blankets, then stood with a flourish of one hand, “Is where your dad slept when he was a baby! Believe it or not, he was once even smaller than Mariposa. I don’t call him my little brother for nothing.”
There were some giggles, then Liana asked, “Did he have magic as a baby?”
“Sometimes, when he sneezed, he caused a tiny snow flurry in the crib, but that was it. Magic only really comes to you when you get older.” Here Xornoth cast a warm smile at Elowen, knowing the boy had begun practicing more spells lately for a special reason.
Ilan had been looking at the animal pictures, but then asked, “Uncle Xornoth, do you know any magic?”
“A little bit, and more like general stuff. Sometimes there is one special magic someone can do, like your dad, and the rest of the time there are many different kinds, which I like to learn about even if I can’t actually cast the spells yet.”
Ilan now looked at him, then at Sausage, with a bit of a hopeful smile. The human child had shown interest in learning magic as well, but had been worried when they couldn’t catch on to the ice magic as easily as Elowen had. If an adult elf was still learning, that meant they had a chance, too.
Rayen started tugging at the bottom of Sausage’s vest. “Papa, I’m hungy.”
“Me too me too,” Seren chimed in, then stuck her thumb in her mouth before tugging on the other side. Well, there was one glove unaccounted for already.
Xornoth smiled down at them. “I’ll go see if dinner is ready at the Great Hall, if you can wait just a bit longer, little ones. If not, there are a few snacks in the kitchen, and you can settle in more until then.”
Mariposa chose that moment to start wailing, causing both Scott and Sausage to turn toward the crib. With the latter hindered by the twins, Scott made it there first and picked her up to carry her over to the changing table for a check.
“Wow, you’re both already really good at this,” Xornoth complimented. “Guess you can handle a baby after all. Well, I’ll be on my way! See you in a bit!”
Sausage handed off the supply bag to Scott, then ushered the other children out to assign them specific rooms – mainly so the twins would be right next door in case they had any late-night issues. Liana agreed to share the room with them, and as expected while being in an unfamiliar place Elowen asked to be in Azahar’s room, leaving Ilan to a room all their own, which they were happy with since it gave them a break from their sisters. The younger girls might behave since they were away from home and would have Liana there to tell them things about the elven homeland in winter.
After dinner Xornoth returned to the lodge with them to chat some more with Sausage, holding Mariposa again while the younger children played under Azahar’s supervision. Scott sat separately with Elowen, going over a few spellcasting gestures without fully creating the intended effect. It would be an early bedtime for everyone, though, since the festival began in the morning.
~*~
Despite being woken up twice during the night by Mariposa crying, Scott was awake on time. He quietly walked around the room getting ready, letting Sausage sleep a few extra minutes before finally waking him and helping him put his prosthetic on for the day.
While Sausage tended to Mariposa, Scott went to wake Elowen to help him fix up his hair with braids along each side of his head and tied together at the back, just like Scott’s. After that they gathered up the rest of the children, bundling up as necessary against the extra chill just as the sun was rising. Elowen walked beside Scott with Azahar right behind, while Liana and Ilan held the hand of one twin each, and Sausage at the rear, temporarily carrying a still-sleepy Mariposa facing outward in the carrier.
Although there was already a fair amount of snow around and frost on the gardens they passed, the official start of the festival called for a little something more. As they entered the area where many residents of Rivendell had already begun to gather, they saw Xornoth waiting with a crown of blue crystals on his head and an attendant at his side holding a folded cloth.
When the group stopped, Xornoth bowed to Scott and took off the crown to place it on his brother’s head. From atop the cloth he took a necklace that had a single blue crystal attached to a gold bauble and bestowed it upon Elowen. He then took the cloth itself, holding it up by one edge so that it unfolded into a shimmering dark blue cape, which he put around Scott’s shoulders, signaling that he would be the Summoner of the Sigils for the duration of Winterfest.
There was some light applause from those closest who had watched. More of the crowd parted as Scott walked to the center of the main festival grounds. Elowen remained behind, looking uncertain, but Azahar used the moment to squeeze his hand and give his best friend-turned-brother a reassuring smile.
Seren and Rayen jostled their way between their older brothers to get closer. Azahar gave them a patient look and now put a hand on each’s head to keep them from wandering further away, but they stayed in place now that they had a better view to watch as Scott shaped the spell that would form the snowflake sigils in the sky. He paused just before completing it and looked over at Elowen with a gentle smile.
The boy glanced around nervously, but Azahar whispered an encouraging, “You can do it,” although he refrained from offering a physical push. Elowen kept his eyes downward as he walked over, but he did look up at Scott once he reached him. Scott gave the slightest of nods, and Elowen took a breath then began to trace out the spell they had practiced the night before. He threw his arms upward at the same time as Scott did. The sigils appeared, accompanied by a small flurry of snow that dusted the surrounding area in a fresh layer of white glitter. The attendees applauded louder now, and there were a few exclamations of wonder as frost elementals materialized beyond the gathering and began to wander around at random, adding more layers of snow in their wake.
Elowen grinned; Scott kept his own arms up a few seconds longer even though he wanted to hug him, but then Azahar ran over to catch the younger boy up in a fierce embrace, getting that hug in first. “You did it! I knew you’d be alright!”
Scott smiled and now hugged them both.
Drawn by the excitement, Seren and Rayen came over as well, running in circles around the three of them. Liana skipped over next, proclaiming, “Elowen did it! He’s a winter wizard!”
Xornoth, remaining beside Sausage and Ilan, chuckled warmly. The summoning was usually a more formal affair, but the crowd didn’t seem to mind, already turning toward individual chatter and breaking off into smaller parties to start exploring the food stalls and market offerings spread throughout the town and adjacent valley. He decided he preferred the rambunctiousness of children over stiff ceremony.
He was about to comment as much to Sausage, but the soft look on the man’s face as he watched Scott and the rest of the kids made him chuckle again instead. He put a gentle hand on Ilan’s head and smiled down when they looked up, then put his other hand on Sausage’s shoulder. “A whole bunch of future wizards and knights and caretakers and whatever else they want to be. You two are doing all right.”
“Thank you,” Sausage replied, glancing down at Mariposa as she babbled and waved her tiny hands in Scott’s direction. “Looks like she wants Dad again. If you’ll excuse us, Your Highness, we’ve got some playing to do.” He grinned and took Ilan’s hand to include the still somewhat stoic child in the wintery games, as the others had started to construct figures out of snow in imitation of the frost elementals with Scott helping to shape and keep the forms with a little extra magic.
~*~
There was a break for food along the way, with plenty of offers of free treats for the younger children, but Sausage insisted on paying for everything. The inn offered a space for tending infants during the day, which Scott used as a chance to converse with a few nursing elven mothers there and get advice while feeding Mariposa her scheduled bottles.
A little later on the family went further separate ways when Sausage took the children to go sledding while Scott brought Mariposa back to the lodge for a nap somewhere warmer rather than continuing to carry her around. Xornoth accompanied him and once Mariposa was settled into the crib, they made some hot cider and sat in the main room close to the hallway to be able to hear if she suddenly woke up crying.
“Parenthood seems to be suiting you both well,” Xornoth commented. “Elowen did wonderfully, and I can see that all of them are fond of you. I assume you’re stopping at seven, though. You might start getting in over your head, and I’m going to run out of embarrassing stories soon.”
“Well, going from three to six was a little overwhelming at first, but things worked out for the best for everyone, I think. We have the space at the castle, after all. And Mariposa just sort of happened before we realized it.”
“I’ve been meaning to ask, and well, just to be honest: what possessed you tw— Uh, sorry, wrong choice of word there, ehm. What made you decide to adopt an infant? It’s your business, of course, I’m not saying you shouldn’t have, just kind of curious how that came about.”
“It was an impulse decision, I’ll admit. We could have let her go to a home better able to meet her needs, but with one look she won our hearts and we decided to at least try.” Scott smiled down at his mug of cider. “This is our new adventure and we’re exploring it together. If we can make a difference in their lives, I’d say it was a success.”
Xornoth couldn’t resist reaching over and ruffling Scott’s hair. “My little brother, taking on the biggest adventure of all. So, tell me more of what everyone is up to. Liana is still a little firecracker, I see. I don’t imagine her having the patience to learn magic, but Ilan seems interested…”
~*~
Out on the sledding hills, a game had been set up of three teams to see who could navigate to the bottom of the hill and climb back up the fastest.
Halfway through the second run, Liana and Elowen were trying to race Sausage back to the top, then Liana stopped and yelled, “Papa, you’re cheating! You can carry them and the sled! They should walk like us!”
Sausage looked back at her, a twin balanced on each hip and the ropes of the small sled tied to his belt. “What? I thought that counted to slow me down? Have you picked one of them up lately? They’re getting heavy!”
The twins giggled. Liana huffed. Sausage laughed and set the girls down one at a time, although for a second he regretted not going right-side first because he thought he felt the rig holding his prosthetic in place shift ever so slightly. fWhip had reinforced it the last time he did maintenance specifically in order for Sausage to handle picking up the kids more often, so it shouldn’t be having an issue. He then untied the sled from his belt, acquiescing to her complaint.
Liana waded through the snow and wrapped her arms around Seren, attempting to pick her up. Seren giggled, while Elowen stood holding the ropes of the other sled, wondering if he should point out to his elven sister that Azahar and Ilan were now winning. Then Rayen wanted to get involved and jumped on Liana, knocking all three of them over into the snow. Seren started crying, getting a little too squished under the other two and with cold ice crystals scraping against her face.
Sausage hurried to intervene before someone started kicking. “Easy, girls. You’re okay. It’s just a little snow.” He got Liana back on her feet then picked up Seren again and brushed the icy flakes off her reddened cheeks with his gloved left hand; the metal of his right would be colder to the touch.
Just then Azahar and Ilan came sledding past, calling out how they were going to win because everyone else was being slowpokes. Liana grabbed the sled from Elowen then charged the rest of the way up with him floundering to follow.
“Slowpokes! We’re slowpokes, Papa! Let’s go!” Rayen called out and tried to push him toward the top of the hill. Naturally she couldn’t move him even half a centimeter.
“In a second, Rayen. Let me make sure your sister is okay.” Seren was making sniffling noises but quieted down after another moment. “I think it might be time to go inside and warm up. We can play more tomorrow, alright?” Seren nodded and hugged him around the neck. Rayen emitted a disappointed whine, as kids do, but started trudging up the hill.
Sausage was about to follow, then felt the horizontal strap securing the prosthetic’s rig around his upper arm start to slip. “Uh, Rayen – Rayen, wait a second—” With little choice he dropped himself straight down into the snow, preventing Seren from falling by herself as his prosthetic came clean off. He winced a little at the abrupt cut off of the redstone signal, but he was more concerned that she would begin crying again from the sudden drop.
Instead, she only blinked before laughing. “Papa! Your arm!”
Fortunately, Azahar and Ilan were on their way back again and noticed there was something wrong, what with how Sausage was sitting on the ground now with both twins clamoring for him to get up. He had fished his prosthetic out of the snow but was resigned to having to put it back down in it so he could get up, but then Ilan took it from him with a sheepish smile while Azahar offered to help Sausage up.
“Thank you. Um, Azahar, can you give that a quick look? I don’t think anything broke. All it did was fall off.”
Having three years of experience watching fWhip tinker with the arm during maintenance visits, the elven teen had a basic idea of how the struts and plates looked in the correct condition. There wasn’t any sparking from any wires and Sausage did a quick test by making the fingers curl; even though it was controlled by remote signal anyway, it was slightly disconcerting to see it move when it wasn’t attached.
At least watching all this unfold kept the twins’ attention rapt, more fascinated than weirded out by the arm seeming to move by itself. A minute later Elowen and Liana caught up to the group as well, stopping to see what had happened.
Sausage clasped his left hand over the exposed stub of his arm, the fabric cuff designed to resist chaffing, not the cold. “Okay, everybody, time to go find Dad and get inside. Let’s go, let’s go.” He waved his left hand to encourage them all to get in front of him, but Liana held back and stared up at his right side.
“Papa,” she said in a scolding tone, “You’re gonna get cold.”
“It’s okay, Liana, let’s just get going.”
“No, Papa. You’re gonna get cold! C’mere.” She waved him down to her level.
He gave an accepting smile and knelt on one knee. She pulled off her scarf and wrapped it around, under, and over his right shoulder, managing to cover that entire part of his arm. He helped tuck in the ends so it wouldn’t come loose. “Thank you. Now I’ll stay good and warm until we get back.”
Liana went skipping off – as much as the snow allowed for skipping – and he followed, catching up to the others in time to hear Seren demand to carry the prosthetic because it was her fault it came off so she should get to help. As she made several attempts to jump and take it from Ilan, Azahar’s answer was to take it instead and hold it up higher out of her reach.
They left their sleds in a corral at the top of the hill for others to use later, then headed in the direction of the lodge. On the way they met up with Xornoth and Scott, chatting together as they strolled around town. Scott was cradling Mariposa in his arms instead of using the baby carrier, perhaps to allow for a thicker layer of swaddling blankets, but once he caught sight of the purple scarf around Sausage’s upper arm, he handed off the entire bundle of quietly murmuring baby to Xornoth so he could go and inspect the prosthetic for himself.
Azahar held it out for him to see. “I didn’t notice any damage. I think the strap got loosened, and… maybe the rig isn’t as cold-proof as Uncle fWhip thought?” the boy suggested.
“That’s possible. Winter in Mythland and the Grimlands is milder, plus you’ve all been out here for a while.” Scott removed his own scarf and put it on Liana despite her claiming that she was fine, then they all headed back to the lodge.
~*~
A clothes line was already strung up across the width of the room in front of the fireplace for all the hats and gloves to be hung up. Armor stands had been made into improvised coat racks, and soon the children had changed into dryer clothes. Scott helped Sausage out of his vest and into a change of clothes of his own while Xornoth kept an eye on everyone, then they sat down together to inspect his prosthetic a little more.
The rig was designed to fit snugly with the strap as more of a backup to keep it in place. As Scott slid it up over the end of Sausage’s arm, it seemed to be fitting correctly, but he kept a thought toward what their eldest son had said. “I think Azahar is right. It might be because it’s just that much colder here and it’s affecting the metal. You might have to take it easy on the extra lifting and carrying we have this time.”
“But that’s not fair to you,” Sausage protested. “You’re already handling most of the things for Mariposa. I’ll just, umm… Well, I’ll find a regular coat to wear and that will be some insulation, at least.”
As their conversation went on, Xornoth listened in while pretending to have his own conversation with Mariposa as she happily gurgled and mumbled, laying on a blanket on the seat beside him so she was free to wave her hands and kick her little legs. He made sure to rest his hands on her so she didn’t make any sudden moves that might make her fall before he snuck a glance at his brother. It was difficult to plan for everything when traveling with kids, but with one extra thing that could become an inconvenience when this was meant to be a simple holiday trip…
Xornoth picked up the baby and started toward the bedrooms, calling back, “Scott, the extra diapers are in that one bag, right? I think Mariposa needs a change. I’ll take care of that then we’ll figure out dinner.”
He only pretended once he got to the room, however, knowing she would fuss if she did need a change. Instead, he pulled on the carrier and placed her in it, then picked up the supply bag and casually walked out. “Grab your coats and hats, kids, we’re going over to the Great Hall now to see what’s cooking. I know they were baking cookies earlier. You two stay here, Papa needs time to warm up some more, I think. I’ll send someone over with a delivery so you can eat right here.”
Of course, with the mention of cookies, the children were happy to follow him without questioning, although Azahar had an amused expression, sensing this was a scheme to distract them from the fact that their fathers were being told to stay put.
Sausage also smiled and subtly made a little shrug that caused his prosthetic to slide off again, and Scott was distracted from potentially stopping his brother when it fell into his lap. “Oops. Maybe just leave it off for now?” He gave his elven husband a soft smile. A few hours without the kids would be fine, and they knew they could trust Xornoth with them.
.
As promised, a dinner for two was brought to the lodge, and they sat in the kitchen enjoying a calm, quiet meal. Afterward they sat by the large window in the main room, watching the sky begin to darken and the occasional bit of snow drifting off the roof in the breeze. Sausage leaned back against Scott’s chest while the elf draped his arms around him, gently resting a hand on the remainder of his right arm, prosthetic already put away for the night.
“Feels weird not jumping up to see why Mariposa might be crying,” Sausage murmured.
“Or getting the girls to stop running around and come to dinner,” Scott put in.
“It’s almost too quiet.”
“Yeah.”
Sausage sighed. “I don’t mind having a moment to ourselves, but… the room feels too empty.”
“Yeah.”
“I can’t tell if you’re really agreeing or not.”
“Well, I’m kind of thinking how it is a bit nice to have my husband in my arms right now.”
Sausage tilted his head to share a smile, then they kissed and went back to peacefully watching the sun set.
~*~
Everyone slept in a little later the next morning. With no other official ceremonies taking place until the end of the week, Scott was free to relax a little more, and now with the slight hiccup of Sausage’s prosthetic not being as snow day-proof as they had thought, there was some rearranging of the system they had previously planned out. It was also the children who woke their fathers first, asking if they could go sledding again after breakfast.
Sausage was in the midst of seeing them off with a comment to Scott warning him to not cheat, when Xornoth arrived at the door. “Hello again, I’m here to help with baby duties. I know you can always use an extra hand with that.” He winked at Sausage.
Scott groaned quietly. “Please, don’t start with the jokes again. I hear enough of those at home, I don’t need them from both of you.”
Xornoth and Sausage traded conspiratorial looks, and the elf said, “Oh, no, I would never subject you to so much torment, my dear brother. The offer goes to Sausage, after all. I know you can handle Mariposa fine by yourself, but he needs an arm to lean on sometimes. Although, I probably should have faith he can do it all single-handedly. Hands down, you both are doing a very good job with all of this—”
While Sausage cracked up at all the puns, Xornoth was hit in the face with a snowball that Scott had conjured from thin air. “Keep it up and you’ll become one with the frost elementals. We’re leaving now. I hate both of you.”
Sausage laughed again. “Okay, see you in a bit! Have f—” He was promptly struck in the chest by a less cohesive clump of snow and there was a round of giggles from outside the doorway. Azahar pointed down at Liana, although the gesture was unnecessary since she was already gathering up more snow from the nearby flower box for another attempt.
Scott conjured a smaller, more loosely packed snowball and tossed it at her. “Keep the snow outside please!”
Liana threw the new clump she had collected at him, then ran off around the side of the lodge to avoid retaliation. Scott glanced at Azahar, and at the unspoken signal the teen ran after her, flinging a snowball he had secretly made. The rest of the children followed and with a little bit of strategic herding, Scott managed to move the snowball fight behind the lodge so they wouldn’t accidentally involve anyone walking on the street.
He provided a few gentle bursts of extra snow, laughing and cheering along with them, and occasionally helping (or limiting) the twins with their enthusiasm. Rayen decided to once again get involved when Elowen and Azahar began to tussle in a snow drift. Scott mentally noted that they should probably keep tabs on how feisty she turned out as she got older. He scooped her up to move her out of the way, lightly swinging her around in the air to distract her.
She laughed and, after he set her down, returned to flinging bits of snow at her sisters and Ilan. Sausage and Xornoth watched from the bedroom window, the latter holding Mariposa up so she could watch while keeping safe and warm where she was. She babbled and giggled, seeing the motion outside and following the various colors as her older siblings happened to pass by the window.
At one point, Azahar stopped and waved at her. She babbled louder and made grabby hands toward him. Sausage opened the window a little and Azahar reached in with a little bit of snow on his glove. Mariposa automatically caught hold of one of his fingers but seemed to rethink it, not sure what to make of the cold and then the wet when the snowflakes melted under her warm touch. She made the baby noise equivalent of confusion and Azahar gently pulled his finger free with a smile and another wave.
Mariposa wiggled and kicked her legs. Xornoth kept a good hold on her, while Sausage went to get a cloth to dry her hand off; it never hurt to be overly cautious when she couldn’t say it might be bothering her.
The request for sledding was forgotten as the snowball fight turned from building small snow fortifications to throw from behind into a group effort to build several snowmen. Sausage put Mariposa down for a nap but remained inside to keep an eye on her while Xornoth went out to join the snow-sculpting. He and Scott worked on the higher parts and would smile warmly at each other from around the figures taking shape, both of them thinking about how they hadn’t played in the snow together since they were children, and rekindled their own brotherly bond – which included things like Xornoth pretending to accidentally dump a large handful of snow on Scott when it was meant to go on the biggest of the snowmen.
Naturally Scott responded by conjuring a tiny, localized snow flurry directly above his brother’s head. Xornoth made an exaggerated annoyed face, much to the amusement of the children; all except Liana, who was extremely focused on trying to weave some sticks together to make a right arm for one of the snowmen. At last, she held up her creation and called out, “Look! It’s just like Papa’s!”
“Oh no!” Xornoth cried dramatically. “Could it be? A frost elemental stole his arm the first time, now another is going to steal his new one?”
Liana emitted an indignant noise. “Uncle Xornoth! Stop changing the story or I’m gonna steal your arm an’ give it to Papa!”
This time the amusement was shared by everyone except Scott and Sausage, who glanced at each other from either side of the open window, until Sausage gave the elf a weak smile then turned away to check on Mariposa. Xornoth noticed the exchange and a realization about his joke hit him; he turned an apologetic wince toward his brother.
“It looks very good, Liana,” Scott interjected, moving to take the stick creation from her and carefully adding it to the tallest of the snowmen. “Everyone did a great job. I think it’s past lunchtime, though, so we should go inside for a while. We can play some more later this afternoon.”
~*~
The week continued on with various snowy activities, and Xornoth made up for his gaffe by babysitting Mariposa so Scott and Sausage could both spend time out with the other children at the same time, although they were just as happy to have everyone gathered by the fire in the main room before bedtime.
On the final evening of the festival everyone bundled up again to go out and join the crowd on the plateau. Scott, wearing the crown of crystals and shimmering cloak, dismissed the sigils, then placed the crown on Xornoth’s head and removed the cloak, folding it up neatly and handing it to his brother to finalize the ceremony, passing the power back to Rivendell’s ruler. Then, as the sun fully set, he found a comfortable spot to sit with Sausage and the children as a fireworks show started.
Sausage handed Mariposa to him then got the twins settled on his lap to keep them still for the show. Liana leaned on him from behind, arms around his neck in a loose hug. Elowen sat beside Scott, fidgeting with the crystal necklace he had worn again despite not contributing to the spellcasting this time, a gift to keep. Behind them Azahar and Ilan sat with Xornoth between them, having joined the family group after sending an attendant off with the ceremonial items.
The fireworks first appeared in the shape of the snow sigils, then, with a little extra magic, became more complex figures representing the frost elementals that appeared to move around, creating more sigils in the next round of colorful bursts. With the kids enchanted by the show, Scott leaned toward Sausage with a soft smile. “Happy Winterfest, love.”
There was the start of an attempt to kiss, but at that moment Mariposa let out a loud, happy squeal of her own and laughed, bright eyes on the sky as she kicked her feet. Sausage chuckled and settled for leaning his head against Scott’s with an answering fond smile.
 ~End~
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ilguna · 3 years
Text
Lacuna - Chapters 5-8 (f.o)
summary: they say the odds tend to favor those who need them. well, they were wrong.
warnings; swearing. MURDER, GORE.
wc; 13.9k
NOTES; I give reader a last name to fit the world.
-- CHAPTER FIVE --
With every passing day, you and Finnick manage to get closer. More information is swapped between the both of you. The nights where neither of you can sleep because the games are only getting closer, you two swap stories. He’ll tell you stories of his family. Some of them are things he’s experienced directly, other’s it’s a family tale.
He’ll tell you about how he’s gotten so good at fishing. That originally his parents thought that he would be useless when it comes to providing, but he eventually came around. They just had to find out how he wanted to do it exactly. This is where the spear and the tridents come in. He tells you that he’s learned knots of his own, and he takes the time to teach you how to tie them. They’re all very effective.
Finnick one night, comes into your room--he tells you that you have the better view of the city, and that’s one of the reasons why he likes to sit in your room for so long--with some paper and a pencil. He sat at the window, drawing the city, flipping through papers quickly as he drew the Capitol people. Made designs of clothing on his own.
He’s not good, but the more he goes on, the more he seems to get a hang of it. It only takes an hour before he’s completely run out of paper. After that, he throws it into the corner of the room and goes back to staring out the window.
Finnick tells you of the kids he wants to have, but he’s always teetering on wanting them, and then changing his mind because he’s scared of them having to go into the games. But then he laughs bitterly and says that he’ll never have to worry about that after all, because he’s going to be killed.
This is when you’ve had enough of it. You tell Finnick that his odds are extraordinary, like your own. He wants to argue that the careers will win, but you firmly get a hold of his shoulders and simply tell him that if he does this to himself, then he won’t win at all. That the careers might have a bigger chance, but he can change those odds if he just tries harder.
You tell him that he’s lined up for a win. That he knows his knots, he knows how to throw. He’s learned different plans and how to start fires and set snares all in the span of three days. You tell him that he’s tall, so he’ll be able to run, and he’s fit and not underweight, and if he’s felt what it’s like to starve, then he’ll have another advantage, he’ll be able to go hungry for as long as it may take. 
He’s charming, and smart. Elysia, Mags and his stylist are constantly telling that that the Capitol is swooning over him. That he’s become desirable because of how attractive he is. Finnick is going to have a good chance at getting sponsors, because he’s showing that capability. And for him to turn it all down just because he thinks that District One and Two are going to win is ludacris in your mind.
When you were done with the entire speech, there was silence. Before you had the chance to let go of him and go back to staring at the city, watching the lights get dimmer and brighter as they reflected off of the buildings, he kissed you. It wasn’t long, because he held you in place for a couple of seconds, before he backed off and went back to silence.
He thanked you, and you assumed it was because of you restoring his confidence, and then he turned the attention on you. Demanded to hear the stories from your family, know what happened to your parents. What it’s like having to parent a little sister and all of that. 
You explain to him that since Mox is such a softie, he sometimes got picked on. Which is the sole reason you took on fighting lessons from the neighboring boys because they supported you beating the fuck out of the bullies. All it took was for you to jump on them one time, and they left your brother alone after that. Reed tried to be disapproving, but at the end of the night, you could tell he was proud.
You tell him that Alyssum gets bigger everyday, and you know that she’s going to grow up happy. She might feel lonely and sad because she never got to know your parents, and maybe yourself. But she’ll feel loved all the same, because you guys will be her parents. You’ll protect her, and teach her to fight and tie knots and fish like you were.
You explain how everything works in your family, how the young ones get taught how to survive at a young age. How you didn’t even realize that it was a thing until you arrived the other day. He laughed at that, and told you that he thinks that’s how it works with everyone. But you remind him that some of the kids that are about to be thrown in with you are nowhere near as skilled as you guys are.
Then you gush about all your interests. It gets sad when you tell him about how your parents die and it’s such a burden sometimes as you try to live up to be like your mom. It’s difficult for you to go into their room still because the wound is still relatively fresh, and he understands that. He mentions that he heard about the accident a while back and he meant to give you his condolences.
You tell him that you’ve recovered and you appreciate the thought at least. And instead of going back to his room that night, the both of you end up passing out on the floor. You remember bringing the blanket down from the bed and swaddling him in it first. You found another blanket inside of the bed chest, and you did the same to yourself.
He woke you up only an hour or so later with his own nightmare, and only then did it come to you, that he probably has nightmares of his own. Which is why he ends up dodging sleep most of the time. You’re not the only one that has the problem when it comes to sleeping, and it was a little dumb for you to think that you’d be the only one that has those kinds of things.
You woke him up of course, and he stayed up long enough to clear it from his mind before he went back to bed, absolutely exhausted. You too went to sleep, and then at noon Elysia had found the both of you passed out on the floor. She let you guys sleep for as long as she could afford, she clearly had heard you two talking and she knew how late you’d stayed up.
The others are still buying your stupid act. Thyme now struggles to hide her laughter when you mock them behind their backs. Finnick is just as amused, but he doesn’t have the same trouble of trying to hide it. He’s very good at covering for you when it comes to things.
And miraculously, throughout the last two days, neither of you had talked about the fact that he had kissed you. Almost like it has disappeared in thin air, or it was something you had hallucinated. This entire time, you’ve been going a little crazy over it, until he did it again yesterday.
He lingered a little bit though, he didn’t want to leave to go to bed in his own room. His hand still on your cheek, and the longer you two stood there, the more your body started to heat up out of embarrassment. And then as cheeky boys do, he uttered a small, “You’re pretty, you know that?” and left.
Needless to say you couldn’t sleep last night because of it. This morning you felt energized though, because today would be the day you finally get to perform for the gamemakers. They’ve been monitoring you for these last couple of days of course, but this is going to be it. Today will be the day where they set your score in stone.
“Eat well!” Elysia tells you and Finnick, “but not enough to make yourselves puke.”
That part is obvious.
You all sit in silence, you’re mostly imagining yourself inside of the room with the gamemakers alone. Trying not to be anxious, because there will be plenty of eyes on you. Trying to throw the spear straight as best as possible. Or you could throw some knives.
There was this trick that you’d learned from Reed a while back. He only showed you how to do it once, and then no matter how many times you begged for him to do it again, he never would. Thought that it was useless and would never come in handy for any situation, especially for the games.
You’ll need two knives, and two seperate dummies.
“Is the training area closed?” you ask once you’ve swallowed your stew, looking to Elysia.
“Yes, since you’ll be doing it in private today, they don’t see a reason for you to practice. You’ve had three days to do whatever it is you want to learn now.” she tells you.
“No, not learn.” you tell her, looking over the table, You settle for the blackberries in the middle of the table. You pick up the spoon, beginning to mash the berries. They watch you curiously as you pick up two knives, and then head out of the room.
You’re not very hungry anyway.
In the confinements of your own room, you lock the door. With the mashed berries, you use it to draw two people, a little taller and a little shorter than you. You place the mush off to the side as you back up, watching as it slides down the wall from the layers being a little two thick.
With one hand, you place the knives between your fingers. The aim for this is to get the left one in the head and the right in the chest. And on the first try, you only get the taller drawing. One in the chest, the other in the groin. 
Just like that, you go back and forth. Pulling the knives out of the wall, leaving nice holes leaving behind. You’re about to give up on it, because you’ve been getting close, but not exactly. Until you nail it. You replicate the throw you did a couple of times, get the knives back and throw in the exact same way. With the same result.
After about thirty more times of the same result, with different distances and all, the hole where they keep landing is pretty big, and one of them even slips through and falls inside. You laugh, looking at all the damage you’ve caused, knowing that they’re going to have to repair this all by themselves. There won’t be any time for punishment because they’re already sending you inside of the games.
The second you’ve walked out of the room, Elysia hands you the outfit, not even asking why there has been thumping for the past hour, and she leaves. You get dressed and end up meeting Finnick in the hallway to see he has a similar outfit. You go to shut the door when he places his foot there, sticking his head in.
“You threw knives at the wall?” he asks, “Are those people outlines?”
You grab his arm, pulling him out and shutting the door behind you. He laughs, and slips his fingers into yours, holding on tight as he guides you to the elevator. Mags and Elysia don’t even blink at the fact that he’s holding your hand at all. After they’ve escorted you to the room, they go back to the floor, where you’ll meet them. 
You sit in the District Four spot with Finnick, talking to Allio, Lennox, Trink and Eytelle until they’ve left. Then, you look over the District Three boy curiously, wondering if he’ll want to be your friend inside of the arena. Then he too, leaves.
The girl goes, and you turn to Finnick, “You’ve got this, okay? Plenty of skills, I’m sure they’ll have something for you in there.”
“You too.” he tells you, and then his name is called. He’s pulling his fingers from your hand but stops long enough to kiss your forehead. Once the door shuts behind him, Thyme snorts.
“You guys dating?” a couple of the others snicker.
“I have no clue.” you whisper.
“But you like him?” one of the girls ask, she seems excited to talk about something, have a little bit of drama to pass around. Ignore the impending doom that’s creeping up on you guys the more that time goes on.
You can feel your face get hot, “I think so.”
“Who doesn’t?” one of the boys sigh, he’s got his head leaned up against the wall. You’re pretty sure he’s from District Seven—Mac, his district mate nods along, Cass.
You guys go back and forth on it, them asking you questions, but you don’t reveal too much. The only person you consider giving the information to is Thyme, since she’ll be in the alliance. The others will think that the way to get to you will be to kill Finnick, which isn’t entirely true. 
You’re trying to distance yourself from those feelings, but it’s kinda hard to do. He’s holding your hand, he’s kissing you. You’re learning about all the things he did back home, how his family life was. He’s sleeping with you on your bedroom floor, and through all of this you’re digging up memories to compensate for all the memories he’s giving to you. And along with that is coming the feelings for him you never knew you had before. Or, the ones you suppressed because you never thought you had a chance with him.
Finnick talked to so many girls, they swooned over him. But he never dated any of them, and that’s what kept the girls coming. They thought that he was always playing hard to get but maybe….
You can’t afford to dig them up. 
Fifteen minutes seem to drag on. As you’re forced to keep up with the conversation, listening to them list off all his good qualities, sinking you deeper into your feelings. Just before you get up, one of the girls mention how you’re lucky. Not because of his good looks, but because he seems to care about you a lot. He’s going to be good in the games and she seems to think that he’ll try to protect you.
When you walk into the room, you see that the gamemakers are watching you walk in. You have to take a deep breath to compose yourself. Your hands are a little shaky, but you ignore them for the most part, “(Y/n) Gallows, District Four.”
You set up two dummies on the other side of the room. Then you use the berries to mark the spots where you’re going to hit them exactly. On the way back, you pick up the knives, and turn to look at the gamemakers.
“You may begin.”
You place the knives between your fingers, with the exactly placing being perfect. One breath in, and then out, you draw your arm back.
The knives fly from your fingers quickly, and the sound of the dummies hitting the wall makes a dull thud sound fill the air. You stare for a moment, like you can’t believe you just showed them this trick of all things. But then you see you got them exactly where you had marked. There’s not even a little bit of the berries showing, it’s just… knife.
You turn to look at the gamemakers, and they nod, giving each other looks. Some lean over to talk to others, and they dismiss you from the room. On the way back to the elevator, the jitteriness of it all escapes your body, and you finally feel normal again. It slowly starts to come to you the longer it takes for you to get back, that you probably scored high, it was threatening enough.
It had to be more impressive because they were at different heights, and the precision, how you did it so quickly with no practice throw before. The distance between you and the dummies were over twenty feet clearly. You might not use that exact maneuver inside of the arena, but you’ll definitely be able to do something like it. Close, far, your aim is impeccable. You’re deadly, like you’ve been telling yourself the entire time.
Once inside of the apartment, you go ahead and sit on the couch. Elysia tells you that it might take a while for the program to come around, so you curl up and take a nap in the meantime. 
When they do come to wake you, you see that Laurel and Finnick’s stylist have also joined you inside. Mags sits in an adjacent chair that’s twice the size she is, but she looks comfortable. Finnick is just by your feet, and Elysia is next to him.
“Here we go.” Elysia mutters, before turning on the television.
They introduce the program first, explaining it as if the people in the Capitol would suddenly forget how all of this works. And then, they start with the first district, Lennox. He gets a solid score of ten, and Trink follows with a nine. Allio gets a nine, Eytelle gets the same. The boy from District Three gets a ten, the girl only gets an eight.
And then so quickly, Finnick shows up on screen. Without even thinking about it, your hand finds his, and you’re both squeezing tightly.
“Finnick Odair, with a score of…” Caesar purposely builds tension, “Ten.”
“Wow!” Elysia cheers, looking to him with big eyes, “You did well!”
“Now for (Y/n).” Finnick gives you a look, and the both of you start squeezing again.
“(Y/n) Gallows,” Caesar nods at the paper, “Ten.”
You’re even, the both of you are even. But you’ve gotten higher than Eytelle, Trink and Allio. You, Finnick and Lennox are the high scoring ones. They’ll be sure to take this into consideration.
“That’s good!” Elysia looks genuinely happy.
Finnick doesn’t release your hand, but the both of you don’t hold on as tight. Instead, you watch as the numbers fly by, revealing just how capable some of the other districts are. Most score a seven to nine, none getting as high as a ten. Only a few, the younger ones, fall below a six.
And then it gets to Thyme, you find yourself holding your breath again. Until she gets a score of nine. You hope that’s because she threw the knives like you taught her to. Or she had her own set of deadly skills that she hadn’t bothered to show off before.
You guys gather for dinner, the stylist joining you for once. You stuff yourself full as usual. Mags is the first to excuse herself tonight. She’s been doing a lot more later, putting herself out there. Elysia and Mags have been talking you guys up over the chances that you have to win. Only Mags can truly secure every single sponsor, and send them through during the games.
She says that you guys have promise, but the interview in two days really will determine how everything goes. 
After Mags is you, and Finnick takes that same opportunity. You take the time to thank Laurel for all the outfits that she’s been making lately, and she brushes you off, saying that it’s really nothing. Then after that, you’re heading back to your room as usual.
Finnick sticks around again, but not for as long. He doesn’t kiss you like the nights before and like this afternoon. But he does bid you goodnight and leaves you to be alone. To sit and wallow in all the emotions that you’re feeling.
The main one being anxiety.
--CHAPTER SIX --
It’s obvious that they’ve been watching your body language, and it’s kinda hard to hide it when Finnick is so out there with it. Like he’s purposely trying to draw people in to thinking that you two are together. It isn’t a bad strategy, to bring in more sponsors and shit like that.
But then you remember that they won’t see you side by side really. It won’t be until you’re standing with the others, watching the interview go on, when you’ll see what happens. The only time they have seen you together was during the second day, and maybe during the training session days. You’re not sure if they show that footage or not actually.
You just hope they don’t have cameras here, inside of the apartment, or you’d be screwed. They’d be able to broadcast all the private moments you’ve had with Finnick for the entire Capitol and the people back home to see. Or the kiss before the private training....
It doesn’t matter to you that Mags, Elysia, Laurel and--you’ve finally learned Finnick’s stylist’s name--Pleurisy know of your encounters. Mags is staying in the same building that you are, so she’s bound to know what’s going on. Elysia has caught you two only once, and even though she isn’t chatty to you and Finnick much, she definitely goes at it when talking to Laurel and Pleurisy.
Just by the looks they’re giving the both of you, it’s obvious.
Elysia thinks for a moment, and then she shrugs. You’re not sure what that’s about exactly, but she backs up.
And then proceeds to spend so much time hammering in manners that she seems are proper. She’ll tell you to sit with your back straight, hands together. A constant smile is on your face, and you manage to keep that on for a long time. She asks if you can get the blush going like you did on the chariot ride, and it isn’t very hard to do it this time.
Finnick asks what’s your secret, and you don’t give him a single word. Because the truth is, you’re thinking of all the times he’s kissed you. How it’s made you feel, talking about it with the other tributes as if you guys were a bunch of friends and they were teasing you about your crush.
You think of all those girls back home who like him so much, and here he is choosing you. You think about how Reed will absolutely destroy Finnick if it gets back to him that you’re kissing Finnick. How he’ll go big brother mode and then proceed to give you a talk when it comes to boys.
You’ll remind him that you’re not actually dating and it was harmless flirting. At least that’s what you’re thinking, or hoping actually. But you know deep down that it’s not flirting because flirting isn’t kissing. Flirting is teasing, and glancing across the room at each other when the other isn’t looking. 
You’ve slipped past the flirting stage, and you’re heading to something else that you’re not excited for. One of you is going to die inside of the arena, and it’s going to ruin everything between you two. The other will be devastated because of the fling that was going on, and you’ll struggle to overcome it. Maybe it’ll be easy. Maybe it’ll be a reason to continue to go on, to win and go home.
You’re able to do everything that Elysia wants you to do easily. The blushing, the giggling, the specific wave style. How your legs cross, hands in your lap. Your body posture, the look of wonder and curiosity in your eyes.
Elysia is confused on how you do it so well. You take a guess that Finnick knows what your trick is. All those months of pretending to be alive during school paid off a little too well. Those months have left you a partial actress, the Capitol people are going to be putty in your hands. For once, you’ll be manipulating what they think of you.
A part of you is excited to go into the games. You’ll play off this stupid look but the second you get inside you’ll turn into a machine. The entire act can be dropped off and you can go back to being cold, and really hating this entire thing. No more acting like you love it here, or the people around you. No more playing pretend, you’ll finally be able to be yourself.
Because the truth is, you’re not always this happy. The smile on your face nearly falters after a while as you struggle to not think about what it’s going to be like in the games. How your entire life will be changed when you get back home. Nothing will be the same, you’re not going to be happy when you get back home.
You’re going to remember every face that you kill. Learn their names and eventually meet their families and--
“Are you crying?” Elysia sounds appalled, but it has to be shock.
You wipe your hands on your face, and when you pull them away you can see only a little bit of wetness. You’ve only just started crying it seems.
Finnick jumps to comfort you, wrapping his arms around you and squeezing you, “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing, I’m fine.” you try to brush him off, and he looks like he’s going to argue with you, but then he accepts it. You know that he’ll bring this up later tonight, since the both of you sit in your room with the nice view in silence. Tonight will not be filled with silence.
Elysia moves on to helping Finnick. She brings out the inner confidence, and you watch a he transforms completely. He sits up taller, which means that he’s been slouching this entire time. You’re not sure how you didn’t notice that, but knew that Eytelle was doing it. Maybe it’s because she’s nearly six foot, as Finnick is only five foot seven-ish right now. 
He’ll get taller, he’s only fourteen right now. There’s plenty of time for him to keep growing. The same goes for you, but you’ll still end up being shorter than him no matter what happens. Boys are tall, girls are normally short, with the exception of Eytelle and her giant genes apparently.
Finnick smiles, and when he does, it sends butterflies through your stomach. You find yourself biting your lip hard, trying to fight back the smile that wants to creep over your face each time he looks to you. He plays the charming role well, and soon enough you’re forgetting the fact that you were crying, focusing on Finnick.
Elysia slowly transitions into asking you and Finnick questions--ones that Mags had come up with. You’ll go first, answering the question as humbly as possible, flashing a smile and making sure that it reaches your eyes. Every now and then you’ll widen your eyes, drop your mouth open like you’re taking in information. But the smile will reappear, and you’ll say something dumb like ‘wow!’.
Finnick sounds much smarter. He lets the spotlight stay on him for a little bit, and then he’ll turn it on Elysia. When the question of winning comes up, he tells Elysia that he thinks he’s got a good chance, and then refers back to his number. You answer will a flush, a giggle and then a tiny shrug, simply saying that you’re sure that you won’t be dumb enough to die in the bloodbath. 
It isn’t until you’re halfway through the interview when you realize that they might not buy the act anymore, because of the ten you had scored. This is when you ask Mags if the other tributes will realize that it is an act, and she shrugs. She doesn’t give you a straight answer, letting Elysia read it out to you.
Mags says that they’ll probably just think you’re skilled in some way. If you’ve been keeping it up behind the scenes, even without the careers around, then they’ll probably believe it. You then realize that you probably fucked it up a little bit when it came to Thyme and Finnick when you wandered around with just them for a while during the training sessions. That the others probably saw that you weren’t this dumb, bubbly girl who can’t believe that she’s learning so much in so little time.
You remember the fifteen minutes before your own private session with the gamemakers, and you decide that you did a pretty good act there. You must have looked hopelessly in love or something if they kept talking. They’re going to see you as some love-struck girl that has no clue what the fuck is going on. That’s probably for the best.
You guys go ahead and eat lunch once you’re done with the little coaching session. You definitely feel better about the interview. It’s not like it’s going to last long, only three minutes. The buzzer will go off before you know it, and suddenly you’re going to be worrying about being thrown into the games. This is all going to be too fast.
You avoid conversation with Finnick as much as possible. But unlike other days, you purposely stay at the table, eating slowly. Watching as Finnick stuffs himself quickly like you had been doing this entire time. Before you know it, Mags has excused herself from the table. Ten minutes pass--which is normally when you also try to escape--but you’re still eating. Finnick, eating so quickly and so much, is clearly full and can’t stand anymore.
When he leaves the table, it’s just you and Elysia. She seems to wait for Finnick to be gone completely, watching his retreating figure.
This is probably the only time you have sat with Elysia alone. You and Finnick are normally sticking around each other, even around Mags. It’s because the both of you are in it together. There’s really no point of sitting around Elysia unless she’s providing you with information. Where you’re going next, what’s going to be happening at whatever time…
“Aren’t you going to go too?” she asks, and you look over your shoulder to catch a glimpse of blonde hair.
You turn back to her, scooping up a spoonful of stew, “No, I don’t think I will.”
“Well, when you’re done eating I’ve got to teach you how to walk in heels. So finish quickly.” She’s pleased with the fact that you’re not leaving as quickly as you normally do.
Soon enough, you get tired of the taste of the stew. This is when Elysia calls up Laurel, and takes you to a spare room that you haven’t been into yet. Elysia gets you fitted into the shoes right when Laurel appears out of nowhere. 
The shoes aren’t too bad at the beginning. They have you walk in all sorts of ways. Making sure to make small steps, or bigger steps where they make your hips move a certain way. The entire point of this is to make you look appealing, and more girlish in their opinion. 
It’s a little bit later when you realize just how tight the shoes are. Laurel takes the size of the shoe, makes adjustments with the width and length, and then sends it to the assistants that you’ve only seen a total of three times. You’ll see them again tomorrow before and during the interview, since they’re supposed to be sitting in the front row with the other stylists.
When you’ve got the walk down, and your feet are officially aching, you’re allowed to take them off. You’re dismissed, allowing you to go back to your room to take a nap. You don’t get that far though, because Finnick is already sitting by the window, pad of paper and pencil in hand as he’s sketching again.
He’s clearly heard you come in, these doors aren’t very quiet. Yours especially, it squeaks like it’s been overused, and even if you try to turn the doorknob to make it more quiet, it clicks.
“I’m pretty sure you have the wrong room.” you joke, sliding off the flats you’ve been wearing all day. 
Over his shoulder, you see it’s a drawing of you. Sitting on that couch, tears spilling over your eyes and down your cheeks. He must have photographic memory if he’s able to draw this so well. It was so long ago too, a couple hours at least.
“Are you okay?” Finnick asks finally, just as you sit down next to him with a little distance in between.
“I was just thinking about what will happen post-games.” you tell him, bringing your knees to your chest, wrapping your arms around your legs, “If I make it out, I’m not going to be the same.”
“None of us will.” Finnick says, and you look over to see that his face is blotchy. He’s been crying too.
“What about you?” you ask, because he looks like he needs the support, “What’s got you down?”
“I just miss home.” he says simply, the pencil on the paper stops, and you see that he’s made a perfect picture in his own style. He closes the little makeshift sketchbook and tucks it beneath a chair nearby, along with the pencil.
Just like that, you’re off to sitting by each other quietly again. But no words are needed, just basking in each other’s companies. 
Again, the both of you fall asleep on the floor. But you’re wide awake for most of the night, busy staring down at the city. It isn’t until Finnick stirs around two in the morning, when you think you should go back to bed. He doesn’t allow you to make you own little bed, as he holds up one end of his blanket as an invitation to join him.
You’re about to tell him no, but he tells you that you need to sleep. If he just goes back to bed then you’ll probably stay up longer. This way, he’ll be sure you’ll go back to bed.
You know it’s a bad excuse as much as he does. But you comply, sliding beneath the blanket with him. You carefully wrap your arm around his waist like a hug, tucking your head beneath your chin. He uses both arms to pull you closer, letting one of them act like your pillow.
You don’t fall asleep for a while anyway like this. You try to even out your breathing to make it look like you’re sleeping. Even going to the length of closing your eyes, hoping that you will actually sleep, but it doesn’t come. You’re forced to lay here in Finnick’s arms, thinking about what it’s going to be like in the games.
It isn’t long until the tears come back, and you’re struggling to keep them from landing on Finnick to keep from waking him. It’s so funny how the tables have really turned. How he’s gone from being the insomniac, to you being the one who can’t sleep at all. You’re the one stuck in your thoughts, worrying about what’s going to happen.
At some point, you fall asleep. You’re not sure when but it had to be between the time of three to six in the morning. You briefly woke when Finnick got up to use the bathroom, but you went right back to sleeping. A couple hours later, Elysia had shown up to get you guys to eat breakfast.
You ate slowly, trying to savor everything. But soon Laurel gets impatient and she takes you to where she’ll be preparing you. Finnick is right by your side up until Pleurisy whisks him away. He can’t do more than wave, before the door is shut and you’re left to Laurel.
You listen to the assistants bubble. Jumping from topic to topic ecstatically. You can’t feel the same, you’re tired. They cover the bags underneath your eyes well, and eventually Elysia comes in to feed you an energy shot. You’re pretty sure it’s some type of coffee. In no time, you’re perking up and you feel just as bouncy as Laurel’s assistants.
They fix your hair, making it silky smooth, straight. And then they curl it up. They apply more highlight than anything this time. Telling you that you’re going to want to shine in the lights during the interviews. They say that it’s their personal favorite when the tributes will be a little shiny, a rainbow on their cheeks and noses, and wherever else they apply it too. They say that their friends enjoy it as much as they do.
Once they’re done, they slip out of the room, leaving you and Laurel alone. She quizzes you a little bit, and you’re smiling, and gushing and playing stupid again. She says that they’ll eat it right up, and that you’ll probably need one more energy shot, even though you feel like you’re going to bounce off the walls enough already.
Elysia comes in, feeds you the liquid, and that’s when she informs you that it’s good to be a little shaky. Humble is what you’re going for. Damsel is your main word. To be shaky and scared and a deer caught in headlights is what they’re going to want to see.
The shoes come last, and once you’re standing tall, your feet not being squeezed too tightly, you’re turned around to see yourself in the mirror. All you can ask yourself is if you’re going to be taller than Finnick with these heels on. They must have decided that since you did so well in the smaller ones, that you’ll do just fine with the bigger, taller ones.
You’ve grown at least three inches.
The dress is a beautiful baby blue. It’s an off the shoulder dress, and it relies mostly on your upper arm to stay in place. It clears room for your collarbones but doesn’t allow any cleavage to show. You’re happy for that part.
Around the top of the dress is white gems, upon closer inspection, they’re little water droplets. They’re placed irregularly, like they’ve been racing down a window when it’s been raining. The dress is long sleeved, but the arms are made out of the same see-through material the chariot outfit was made out of. It’s poofy, nowhere near skin tight.
The top part of the dress gathers at the waist, creating some wrinkles. This is where more gems appear, and then it gets bigger completely. It seems like leg slits are going to be your thing, because there’s one on this dress too. There’s two different materials for the bottom, the silk that’s the base, and then the same fabric that’s used for the arms and tops of the dress.
More blue eyeshadow and white eyeliner. Black mascara, you’re guessing because it brings out the color in your eyelashes more. Your mother’s ring is on your regular ring finger that you’ve been wearing it on this entire time. The shell necklace isn’t anywhere to be seen, this time it’s almost a choker. It’s made out of chain, it’s another wave but it’s a little loose around the neck. It doesn’t slide, though, it stays in place no matter how much you move.
Laurel also gave you little water droplet earrings that dangle. They’re uneven of course, still building off of that ‘water runnin’ effect.
“Wow.” you turn to look at yourself more, “This is amazing--”
“I know.” Laurel smiles to herself, “Don’t need to tell me twice.”
She then escorts you back to where Mags, Pleurisy, Peeta, Elysia and the rest of the teams are. Finnick is wearing a white shirt beneath a navy blue suit. Clearly they’re trying to savor the more feminine blue for you. But you’re sure that it would look good on him too.
“Wow!” Finnick’s mouth drops open.
“Yeah, I know. I said the same.” you laugh.
You take the elevator down to where the stage will be. Lining up with the other tributes. Once you see the others, you can clearly tell that you two are standing out a little more. Finnick especially, Pleurisy’s hair stylist must have used a ton of product to get curls like this to stay in place on Finnick’s head.
Trink nods approvingly at what you’re wearing, and then she goes back to looking at the stage. Soon, she’s introduced and you watch as she goes up for her interview. 
You’re not all that nervous, despite the fact that you’ve never really been in front of people like this. Except for at the reaping, that’s the only time you can recall being put in front of a ton of people at once.
Not to make yourself nervous or anything, but you’ll only be put in front of a small audience. The real numbers are the people in the Capitol, and the districts. Your brothers back home will be watching you get up on stage. Watch you play as the dumb girl. You wonder what they’ll think about it all.
Before you know it, three minutes has passed. And then again. You’re quickly moving on to District Two, and then three. It isn’t until you’re standing on the steps of the stage where you get the little butterfly feeling. Finnick squeezes your hand a little bit, and then lets it go completely.
“(Y/n) Gallows!” Caesar is calling. You smooth out your dress, before bounding up the steps, making your face heat up immediately. He reaches for you hand, and you take it gently, letting him guide you to where you need to stand.
You’re already looking to the crowd with the wondrous look in your eyes. When you catch a couple of people, you wave eagerly, a smile spreading over your face easily.
“You’ve been in the Capitol for a few days, now,” Caesar begins, and you turn to look at him, nodding a little bit, “Anything in particular stand out?”
Your mouth falls open as you mock thinking, and then you giggle, “This entire place is beautiful! A much different scenery than there is in District Four! I was a little bummed when I couldn’t see the ocean, though.”
“Ah, the ocean.” he nods thoughtfully, “I see you’re wearing it in little bits, tonight.”
“Oh, yeah!” Another giggle, you’re getting tired of this. You hold out your hand for everyone to see, extending your neck a little more as if it’ll straighten out the choker, but it hasn’t moved from it’s perfect spot this entire time, “It shimmers in the light! My stylist is very smart!”
The audience reacts accordingly, a couple people exclaim how pretty the entire outfit is, Caesar builds off of that, “That ring, is it a token from your district?”
You widen your eyes a little bit, nodding a little slower this time, “It was my mother’s. My brothers gave it to me before I left.”
“And did they come to say goodbye?” he asks.
Well, that’s what you just implied, Caesar. But you keep going, “Oh! Of course, that’s how I got the ring,” the both of you laugh for a moment. Caesar then asks what you told them before you left, “I told them I would try to win.” you tuck some hair behind your ear, trying for the innocent look.
The buzzer goes off, saving you from making you look anymore like an idiot. There’s a couple of complaints that it ended too early for you. But Caesar sees you off, and you take a seat. Trink looks over, eyeing you up and down, and you give her a small smile. She nods, and then goes to look to Finnick, her face expression shifting entirely. She elbows Lennox a bit.
They’re still sizing him up.
You scowl very briefly, catching your mistake as you then turn to Finnick. You catch his eye for a moment and he winks at you. The camera’s don’t miss it, and you hold your hands up to your face as if you’re embarrassed. The truth is, is that you’re trying to hide your laugh at his not-so-subtly flirting. The camera pans in to your face, you wave a little bit.
Finnick plays the cocky role very well. You watch as he’s got the audience watching him very intently, interested in what he’s going to say next. None of it is a surprise, after a while, they expect what his reaction to things are going to be. But that doesn’t stop them from cheering at everything he says. The crowd is absolutely fawning over him.
His time is up before you know it, and he joins you in the seating. The girl to District Five is called up, and during that time, when the audience and the camera’s attention is shifted, Finnick reaches for your hand. You allow it, scooting your chair over a little bit to make it less noticeable. 
Finnick laughs at your attempt.
-- CHAPTER SEVEN --
“Favorite color?”
“I thought you asked me that already?” He asks, and you give him a look.
“No, you asked me that. Favorite color?” 
He thinks for a moment now, which gives you time to think of your next question. You’re hardly as good as Finnick when it comes to questionnaires apparently. He had a ton of questions for you, all sorts of variety. And here you are, asking the basic questions like his favorite color.
“Sea green.” He says, and you can’t help it when you scrunch your face.
“Sea green?” You repeat, and he laughs, nodding, “Why?”
His face turns a little red, which obviously means that it has to be embarrassing. You’re sure that he doesn’t appreciate it when you lean towards him a little more, excited for what the answer is going to be. He scowls for only a moment, and then sputters out a laugh.
“It’s because—“ he shakes his head, “It’s the color of the dress you wore during the tribute parade.”
“That’s it?” You ask, “That’s what you were so embarrassed about? After everything that we’ve done together you’re blushy because your favorite color is the color of a dress I wore?”
Seeing how ridiculous this is, he laughs, shrugging slightly, “I guess so.”
You yawn again, and this time you struggle to keep your eyes open after. Finnick laughs at you, and you lazily swing to punch him in the arm. It isn’t very hard, but it’s enough to make him complain about it.
“Alright, that’s enough.” You tell him, using the window to get up. Then, you trudge over to the bed, flopping onto it, “I’ve got to sleep.”
“I’ll see you tomorrow.” He tells you, his voice faraway.
You’re about to agree that you’ll see him tomorrow. Until your brain starts thinking over what’s going to happen exactly. Is it another training day? Or is it something else?
And that’s when your eyes fly open and you sit upright on the bed. All the tiredness suddenly drains from your body as you look to Finnick.
You’re going into the games tomorrow—or today. It has to be sometime early in the morning. Today is the day you’ll be put on a pedestal. Sometime in the evening, you’ll be placed with the others.
“What is it?” Finnick asks.
You’ll be forced to kill your fellow tributes. 
“We—the games.” You gasp, jumping out of the bed as you return to the window. The festival has long since stopped, probably because they’ll need to be up early tomorrow to watch you guys fight against each other. There will be reruns, but they like to be there when it actually happens.
“What about them?” Finnick comes back over to you slowly, and you place your hand against the window, then you turn to Finnick.
“They’re today! The games—!”
“Did you forget?” He asks.
Did you?
You’ve had this past week of getting prepared for sponsors, worrying about learning new tricks and making allies. You’ve been so caught up in Finnick and your feelings. You’ve neglected to think about when the games start. You’ve been having so much… so much fun that you’ve forgotten to count down the days.
You’ve been so carefree.
Maybe you are a damsel.
“I did.” You tell him, turning to the window, “I did forget.”
You have to get rest tonight or you’ll be screwed later. Even if it takes hours, as long as you try, it’ll be better than nothing.
“Bed, sleep.” You tell him, “Stay or go, I don’t care.”
“Staying.” He seems glad at the invitation. 
Finnick curls up around you, and seems to fall asleep faster. You have to coax yourself into a mindset until you’re there. But even then, Finnick’s breathing is throwing you off and every time he shifts, you can’t help but jolt awake.
Eventually, you make a pattern out of Finnick’s breathing, matching it with your own. Slowly dragging you down under, until you’ve fallen asleep too.
The morning passes like a blur, though. Elysia wakes you up, Finnick nowhere to be seen. Then she tells you that he was up early, and he’s still taking a shower. Says you might as well do the same, so you take your time with scrubbing yourself clean, unsure when the next time will come.
Inside the games, they’ll likely offer a place for water in a couple of areas. But all the times you’ve watched and paid attention, it was mostly streams and ponds. Hardly anything above a pond. But the location changed every year, so maybe you’ll get lucky.
The longer you spend inside, the more likely you’ll get scars, and have dirt build up on your body. Under your nails, in your hair, in the creases of your skin. Blood does the same, which is why you’re hoping you won’t get the pleasure of having to kill anyone. And if you do, it doesn’t get all over yourself. The last thing you’ll need is having to walk around with blood on you for a while.
Clothes are one thing, but the skin is another. You’ll be able to feel when it layers onto your skin. When it dries and cracks in the heat. You hope that it doesn’t get too thick enough to the point where it’ll be able to be peeled off. Or you don’t accidentally smear it all over yourself.
Clothes you can wash, and you don’t feel the blood directly if it’s on the clothes. More like the weight, but even then it’s not really something to be worrying about.
You move your hair out of your face, this time so you won’t have to worry about it getting in your face when you’re running. Or during the small duration of the bloodbath at the cornucopia. You’re not entirely sure what the other career’s plans are, but to secure the cornucopia would be the best idea.
All the food, clothes, medicine and weapons you could ever want will be placed inside of it. It’ll have spears and tridents. Iodine for the water. Bread, dried fruits and vegetables. Clothes if yours get ripped and ruined from fighting. 
It’s normally the career’s ideals for winning the games. They secure the one place that’ll keep them alive—because they don’t normally go hungry they’ll starve easily. Deprive them of weapons and they’ll be forced to use fists, while you might have made one yourself, or someone like the boy from district three. Medicine if they get hurt after hunting down the local tributes during the first couple of days.
Of course, they can get sponsors as well as the rest of you. But for the sponsors it’s less likely, because they do have the cornucopia. If they have all they ever need at the reach of a hand then what’s the point of sending them anything? If they run out of things towards the end of game, the prices skyrocket, and then sponsors don’t want to send shit anymore.
You hope that won’t be the case with you.
The plan is to kill the careers as fast and efficiently as possible. Do it without alerting the others, and go from there. Luring them seems brilliant, and the first one on your list is Trink. She’s going to get what’s been coming at her for the last couple of days. And like you said on the train when you were on the way here, she seems capable. She’s bigger than the average girl that gets thrown in, especially for a career.
You’re rushed when it comes to breakfast, because they’ve got to get you extracted to the arena as soon as possible. Elysia bids you and Finnick goodbye, before taking off to the betting area. Where she’ll be lining up the sponsors for Mags.
Mags gives you the bit of advice that you already know, to stay the hell out of the bloodbath and run in the other direction. The only problem with that is, is that you’re technically in the career pack. Running is out of the question, you’re going to have to head right on in. Also to set up a temporary camp, food and water, stock up as much as you can. 
Mags kisses your foreheads, and she’s off too. Laurel comes in to escort you to the plane with Finnick and his stylist, Pleurisy. There, Laurel promises to see you again really soon, and you and Finnick are brought up to the plane.
Once inside, he’s sat across from you. A man comes up to you, a thick needle in his hand as he looks over it slightly. You hold your arm out reluctantly, you’ve never been afraid of needles and you’re not going to start now. He presses the needle to your arm, and then finally looks to you, “Tracker.”
When he slides it in with no prior notice, you jump a little bit. You wince when it’s inserted, because it does hurt. And then he moves on to another unlucky tribute, but they don’t look as willing. You watch as she has to have her arms held, and even then she’s struggling.
“Hey!” you push yourself up, and Finnick goes to grab your hand to stop you. Sliding past him, you move the workers aside, “You can’t assault her like that.”
“We’re not.” the man who put the tracker in your arm says.
“You’re going to leave bruises and that’s against the rules. Even if you’re not getting thrown in personally, we’re supposed to be packaged goods.” you shove him aside, the other girl working for the Capitol moves out of the way for you. You crouch down in front of the district girl, and it looks like she might be from twelve. Wobbly knees, probably one of the poorer parts of the district.
“Can I see your arm please?” you ask her, and she carefully shows you it. You’re very gentle when you place your finger where the tracker will go, “Just right here. It’ll pinch a whole lot, but the pain goes away, okay?” 
She nods, but doesn’t look happy. You offer her your hand, and she takes it. The man goes to do it, then he stops the second he sees the look in your eye. The girl gladly steps in, and she’s very gentle too when placing it in. Giving the twelve girl a heads up before placing it in. The girl squeezes as tightly as possible, but soon she stops.
You brush her hair back and give a smile, “See? Not so bad.”
“Thank you.” she mumbles, and you laugh, going back to where you were sitting before.
The plane ride is quiet, you and Finnick mostly steal glances at each other. Until you’re lowered to where you need to be in the tunnels. There, you’re split up. He doesn’t go before giving you a quick kiss though, promising to find you in the mess that will go on above. Told you not to get killed too quickly. He wants the district back home to at least know that you’re a thing.
Laurel is very courteous. She asks you if there’s anything she can get you at the last minute. You get bread and water, filling yourself up as full as possible before you’re sent up. You hope that Finnick has enough sense to do the same.
She tells you that it was a pleasure being able to design your outfits. She tells you that you and Finnick are her best bets. She says that she’ll send anything she can afford when you’re in need of it. And you promise her too, that you’ll try and win. You’ve been making this promise a lot lately, whether you’ve mentioned it or not.
Your brothers, Caspian, Finnick, Elysia, Mags and now Laurel. You really have to fall through with it now.
When the final countdown is announced, you give Laurel a hug, apologize for the mess you’re about to leave behind, and then she stops you, grabbing your hand. She slips on the ring, telling you that it passed the test. She wishes you good luck, you step in the tube.
It feels just like a coffin.
-- CHAPTER EIGHT --
They raise you slowly, allowing you to take in your first sights. Which is a blue sky, clear of anything abnormal. The higher you get, the more you can see. Trees, plenty of them to your right. You can smell the faint scent of the sea, or some salty body of water. It’s close.
Higher up you can see sand, and then you see the water. The arena is shaped like a dome, so there’s not really any corners. But it’s sectioned off like there’s supposed to be corners. The cornucopia is in the very middle, staring at it dead on you can see two of the terrains. Behind it to the right is a beach, palm trees litter it, beyond that is the body of water that you can smell. The beach doesn’t last for too long, but just enough to make the water look like a mirage.
You can hear a waterfall, hopefully buried somewhere inside of that water area. A place you’ll be able to retreat to if the alliance goes to shit. You’ll have to mention that to Finnick privately, let him know that would be the rendezvous spot if you two were to be split up. Or the other would be driven out by the stupid ass tributes that you made friends with.
You may or may not be regretting that now.
Because it would be so much easier to kill them than keep them around. But anything to survive what you’re about to live through, right?
There’s trees all around the rest of the place. The cornucopia is in a very small clearing, only large enough to hold the pedestals for the tributes and the cornucopia itself. Most of the trees nearly come into contact with the metal plates, it’s cutting so close. 
If the girl next to you really wants, she could lean over and touch the branch behind her. You hope she has the common sense not to do it. However, that would be the fastest way to go so you don’t have to die a painful death. Getting exploded into a million pieces because you stepped off before the designated sixty seconds, really is tempting. 
She doesn’t do it, and before you know it, the first thirty seconds have passed. 
There’s a ring of tributes, and you try to memorize who is where. There’s only so many you can see because of the structure blocking it. That’s fine, you’re sure that most of them will try to run anyway.
To your right is the girl from ten, you think. Small, feeble, easy to kill if she tried to come at you. Next to her is the boy from three, and he looks like he’s positioning himself to run, not a problem. Lennox is next to three, and the both of you make eye contact for a moment. He grins, like he’s enjoying the first shot of adrenaline that he’s going to be getting the second he steps off. Asshole.
Girl from three, boy from six, Eytelle. She also looks like she’s going to be running towards the cornucopia, so it looks like that you’re going to be doing is obvious. You’re going to have to match what they’re doing. Can’t be seen as the chicken who didn’t want to go right on in. You may be playing dumb, but you’re not that dumb.
Next to you is the girl from seven, Cass. She offers you a small nod, like she’s challenging you to a race. She’ll be stepping off for the middle, which isn’t great. You liked her, and you were hoping that she’d be alive for a long time. Trink is on the other side of her, and she’s eyeing Cass like she wants to pounce immediately and not even wait for the weapons. 
Another couple of nobodies after that, and then you can’t see anymore. This only means that Finnick, Thyme and Allio are on the other side. Maybe Cass’s district mate too, but he’s not a part of the alliance. You’ve only kept a tab on the seven tributes because they’re good with axes. If they’re smart, they’ll team up with the boy from three to get their own personal weapons made. But it doesn’t look like they’re that smart.
You look up to the sky to see an extra five seconds. How you’ve managed to analyze that so quickly, you’re unsure. But you’re glad that you’re processing things quickly. Because you’ve got to go.
The gong sounds, and you’ve stepped off the metal plate instantly, sprinting towards the middle as fast as possible. Out of the corner of your eye, you can see that not even Lennox is that fast. You’re first to the cornucopia, getting your hands on a sword first, since the spears are buried in the back. Along with whatever else will be put there for specific districts.
One quick glance, no trident in sight. Finnick will suffer.
You spin around quickly, and ten is at the edge of your sword, reaching for a weapon herself. You can feel that fear pierce your heart quickly, and suddenly you’re swinging the sword as fast as you can manage. Eyes glued to the girl to make sure that she doesn’t get to you first.
However, you have the misfortune of watching her head come clear off. The blood squirts everywhere but onto you. But you can still feel the spots where it should be itching. Your neck, face, arms, the rest of your body. Thick, thick layers--
“Wow!” Trink’s voice is peppy, and she takes the sword from your hand quickly, “Good job, Gallows.”
She throws the sword at a boy from five. You watch as it goes clean through his back, he falls to his knees. All sorts of things spill from his arms, scattering around his body. Around him, there is no one.
The boy from district six then comes in, like he’s prepared to do whatever it takes to kill you guys. But he falls too, blood trickling out of his mouth, dribbling down his chin. You’re not surprised to see Allio, Finnick and Thyme. Thyme is being held onto tightly by Allio, he throws her forward.
“Tried to run. Let her mate go.”
“Should kill her now--” Trink starts circling her like a vulture.
Behind her, a glint of light. You take the knife from one of the boxes likely filled with food and medicine, and you throw it before you even see who it is. Just like that, you watch as Thyme’s district mate falls, sword falling from his hands too. The one that you had used on the first girl, and the one that Trink had used on the boy from five.
You step out of the cornucopia long enough to see who’s dead, and while you’ve been caught up in watching them kill the others, you completely spaced the fact that there might be more dead. It wasn’t just you guys fighting, everyone had been struggling to get the stray items that were strewn randomly to at least give them a chance. It’ll be a boring set of games if you’re able to kill them immediately.
Cass is dead, a snapped neck you’re sure. Boy from five and six it looks like, they’re from you guys. You got the girl from ten and the boy from eleven. But the girl from three is like a starfish, facing the sky. A couple feet away is the girl from eight, and then the boy from nine is just on the edge of the trees.
“Three kills.” Allio sounds proud of himself, “You guys?”
“Thanks for the save.” Trink winks at you, and then she dives straight into the boxes, forgetting about killing Thyme.
“One.” Finnick tells you, you whisper your small ‘two’.
Trink snorts, “Two. The stupid lumberjack bitch thought she’d be able to make it here before I could. Then five was too easy.”
Lennox hadn’t got anyone, he fought the boy from ten for a minute but he slipped out of grasp. Eytelle and Thyme are both zero, Eytelle doesn’t seem too ashamed by the number, she says that she’ll just make up for it later. Which really opens your eyes to see that they think this shit is just one big fucking game for them.
You guys pack up a bag or two, before clearing out of the cornucopia to allow the gamemakers to collect the bodies. You take the canteens and the iodine down to the water, filling up. On the way, you can hear the cannons.
You count them out for the others, deciding that you can have the brains now. 
“Only eight?” Allio sounds unimpressed.
“Not many people to kill in the first place.” Thyme mutters, filling up her canteen with water, and then looking into it a little bit, like she’s suspicious, “There’s seven of us already.”
Eytelle shrugs, “Still a good number down. I’m sure that we’ll be able to get more tonight.”
You share a look with Finnick, wondering if you’ll be able to take out one of them during that time. He must be thinking the same thing, because he looks down, smiling at the ground. He carefully shuffles over to you, before throwing his arm around your shoulder.
“Mags is probably mad at us.”
“I would be too.” you laugh, and you guys get a little close for a second, like he’s about to kiss you. But then he pulls away, and Lennox wants to go back to the middle before one of the others can rob you guys.
Like you said, they’re about securing the middle so they can thrive off of it the entire time. Makes you wonder if it’ll be possible to destroy everything in the middle to keep them from living for so long. Blame it on one of the singled out tributes that won’t be anywhere to be seen until the final minutes.
The boy from three would be perfect. He knows his way around weapons, so it would be believable if he destroyed it. However, that would just mean you’re placing a bounty on his head, and you’re not entirely sure if you’ll be able to live with that. But then again, you’ve already killed two people, who’s to say that hasn’t ruined you already?
Maybe it won’t be you killing him directly, but one of the others will be doing it. The guilt will eat you alive—then again you have just killed two people, where’s your guilt now?—and you’ll have to see the families of the tributes you killed if you do win. For people like Trink, Allio, Lennox and Eytelle, it’s not a big deal. 
They’ve been training for this their entire lives. They volunteer, they’re not picked. They want to be inside of the games, so they can have the cash and glory when they get back home. They’ll stand proud in front of the tribute families, they’ll sneer at the ones that they killed. They don’t fucking care because to them, it’s just a small price to pay for a big house, infinite money and the memory of being a winner.
Careers are fucking nuts.
You pull Thyme and Finnick back a moment, the others don’t notice. Too busy planning out when you guys will go out and kill. Makes you sick to your stomach.
“There’s a waterfall in the lake.” You tell them, “We scope it out, check to make sure if it’s possible to stay inside. If we get separated, we go back there.”
They nod, and then you bounce a little bit, letting the smile come over your face, “So, are we going out tonight?”
“Yeah, might as well,” Allio flashes you a look, “Up for it?”
“She’s got two under her belt, I’m sure she’s ready.” Finnick mutters, the others ignore it, and he turns to you, “How are you holding up?”
“Not insane yet.” You tell him, Thyme laughs at this, shaking her head.
At the cornucopia, you gather the backpacks for them. Inside, it’s got iodine, bread and a sleeping bag. All the other years they had packed well, if you had one of these, a knife and knew how to hunt, you would have to try to die. This year it looks like they decided to undersupply. 
Thyme rations out the food, calmly explaining that they should try to eat as little as possible. The food will last longer that way, and it wouldn’t hurt for them to do it anyway. If you guys do happen to run low on food, then they’ll only have to eat a little bit to survive. She tells them to be prepared to drop in body weight, and stay hydrated. Water might be a good substitution.
You know all of this, so it isn’t a bother. You and Finnick stand next to each other. He keeps messing with your hair, and you keep ruffling his. A ton of curls lay on top, it looks like they did something to make them stay permanently. Personally, you prefer his straight hair, you hope that the curls will go away sooner rather than later.
He plays with your ring on your finger a little bit as you look around, distracted. Because the feeling that someone is watching you is beginning to freak you the hell out. You look over the tree line next to you first, and then the one behind Finnick.
The others are talking about where they want to start. By the lake on the left side or the right? They think no one will be dumb enough to try and go into that water unless they want to die. At sometime or another these other tributes had to have gone into the water and learned how to swim at some point, right?
You and Finnick are probably the best in the arena, coming from four. But that doesn’t mean that the others might be just as good. 
If most of them can’t swim then that means the lake is the best bet. 
Another idea pops into your mind, but you keep this one to yourself. In case there is a way to execute it, you’ll want it for emergencies. However, you wonder if there’s any willows hanging over the water. Or some vines running along the rocks.
Finnick will be able to make them a lot better than you will. But you’ll be able to tie the knots for him. You two can work together on it. It will have to be at the end of the games so they don’t see it coming. Draw in the careers and then kill them.
Perfect.
“We’re starting on the right of the lake.” Eytelle decides, tired of the bickering, “Let’s go.”
You keep your water in hand, knowing that there’s more in the bag if you run out. On the walk around the arena, you listen as they talk about their own family life. Occasionally they’ll ask you a question out of what looks like genuine curiosity. You keep the conversation flowing, because you want to know what the hell is in the minds of a couple of lunatics.
You find out that Thyme has a couple of sisters. Two older ones, one of them looks nothing like her, and it’s a speculation about who her mom had gotten with in order to have her. Her mom constantly denies that she cheated, but it’s a running joke. All of it is good fun.
Trink is an only child, but Lennox has a younger brother back home. Allio has an older sister but a ton of younger brothers. Eytelle is the oldest sister of two. 
It goes around like that. You’ll ask a question, everyone will go around, and it stops at Finnick, even though you know almost everything about him now. Soon enough, you all are laughing it off, like a couple of actual friends. 
It’s only been a few hours since the games have started. The sun isn’t that hot just yet, but you’re sure they’ll turn up the temperature later on. When the stakes are getting higher and the water runs dry.
Another hour passes just hunting. Thyme collects berries and leaves. She’ll peel bark off of trees and nibble on it in the men’s time. The others don’t seem as interested, and they even look down upon her a little bit. She says that if they can, then preserving the food would be smart. 
Since you’re the only one with precise aim, you’re put on the duty of throwing knives. You’re able to take down a squirrel and rabbit. You see something move off to the side in the bushes, but you hesitate. The others don’t catch this, since they’re up ahead. But Finnick does, and he turns to look immediately.
Crouched in the bushes is the boy from three. He holds up a makeshift knife, and you don’t know if it’s meant to be threatening or not. Finnick looks like he wants to launch, but you settle the problem immediately by pressing your finger to your lips and motioning for him to get down. Then, you take Finnick’s arm and pull him along.
“What—“
“Shush.” You tell him, pushing past him as you get back to the others. But on the way, he holds you long enough to say;
“Making friends with everyone is not how you win.” And then he lets you go. 
You’re not making friends, you’re giving them chances. It’s not your fault that the others had missed him initially. Your goal isn’t to kill as many people as possible, every single person that you come across. Your goal right now is to take out the career pack, which you can’t do immediately. It’ll take time to build up to.
Well, maybe you should have started a fight with three. It would have given you an opportunity to kill one of the others while you’re at it. Then the pack would be down to six, and it would continue to get slimmer. It’ll happen sooner or later, but you wonder when they’ll finally realize that it’s you, Finnick and Thyme till standing while it’s two or even one of the others. 
All of them dying tragic deaths while they’re out with one of you. Trink dies to a knife thrown at her. Eytelle is drowned, Lennox is hung and Allio dies because of another tribute. Doesn’t have to be in that order, but could you imagine?
You’re hoping that the districts and the Capitol know of the plan that you’re forming. If they’ll switch who they’re betting on to one of you. Although, it is very popular for one of the outsider districts to be good, only for them to fail later on. The sponsors had learned their lesson after a while, getting on the poorer districts, only for the careers to win time after time again. 
They’re basically wasting their money trying to aid someone that turns out to be a dud. You know that you’d be betting on the careers after that. Notice the pattern in which the careers win, and go from there. It really is all about potential. Their size, the district they come from, the number they get inside of the private session with the gamemakers. Who they’re posing as and all of that.
“Sun is setting already.” Thyme mutters, and you turn to see where it’s setting.
“Set up camp here?” Lennox proposed, but three comes to mind nad you turn to see Finnick thinking the same thing.
“Sure. I’ll take first watch.” You tell them, watching as Thyme sits right where she’s standing, and the others follow. 
You're all sitting near a big tree, hidden by bushes slightly. If someone were to walk by, they likely wouldn’t see you. But watching as Trink throws in some wood and pine, she’s going to swans a fire. That will definitely let the others know where you are.
There’s seven of you, it won’t be that hard to kill you all at once. You know what to look out for, dark hair, blue eyes. You’re sure that Finnick will even stay awake to help you out with watching for him. The problem with that, is that you might allow three to kill one of the,, and then alert. While Finnick will alert immediately.
Actually, you really have no clue how he’ll react. He’s a different story, he’s got other things goes on inside of his head. He looked down at you when you spoke of your kills as if you were supposed to just stand there and let them kill you. He didn’t look that impressed with the waterfall idea.
Maybe he’s also realizing how useless the temporary romance was. That it was just getting the both of you attached to each other. Making it harder to kill…
You can’t help it when you go to glare at Finnick. If his entire ploy was to get you to like him and then use that against you, he’s going to have another thing coming. He thinks that you’ll hesitate when it comes to killing him, huh? Just because he’s from back home, doesn't mean that you’ll spare his life for your own. 
Allio and Lennox get Finnick stuck in a conversation, giving Trink a perfect time to slide up next to you as you start the fire to cook the meat, “I saw the look you gave him.”
“And?” You ask, you’re really just hoping he didn’t see that. Two can play at that game. If he knows that you know, then it’ll be ruined. If he thinks that he can't get you to fall for him and not let it be the other way around, you have your own strategies. 
“Nothing.” She crosses her legs, and you focus on the fire. It light a lot faster than it did inside of the training center, because you’re not for the dumb act anymore. She won’t know the difference anyway, she’ll be too focused on saving her own skin.
Thyme comes over to help you clean the body. It’s mostly silence, but being left alone to your own thought did torture. Thinking of what he did in the training center was all for show. Get you to soften up when it comes to him. He was probably just glad that you were the first to offer an alliance so it wouldn't look suspicious.
“How long do these alliances normally last?” You ask bitterly, Eytelle snorts.
“Couple of days. I give it until there’s five other tributes left in the arena with us,then we split.”
“So four more until we hit that point, huh?” You ask.
“We might keep you around.” Trink grins, “Eytelle and I are planning on hightailing it the fuck out of here the second there’s a sign of danger.”
“Sounds smart.” Thyme mutters.
“You’re invited, kid.” Eytelle says, and then she gets up to go to the guys. She kicks leaves all over Allio, before letting them know that if they want to eat, they better come over.
You all gather around the fire, thinking the second alliance over. There’s a lot going on at the moment. First is you and Finnick, second is you, Finnick and thyme. Third is the entire pack, and fourth is you, Eytelle, Trink and Thyme. Then there’s the really quiet ones, like three and the boy from district seven, Mac.
They’re not people you would rely on, but you I’d talk to all of them before the private session. Made a friend out of some of them. Then again, you did kill two of them. Boy from eleven and girl from ten. But that’s their own fault, they should have known better than to go into the middle, would have lasted a lot longer if they had just ran, all of them.
As you guys are trading food, drinking water and still talking, the anthem for the fallen begins to play. On the way to look to the sky, Finnick shares a look with Lennox. They have the same thing that you and the other girls have. Him, Allio and Lennox are gonna split when shit gets shaky.
Those in the sky are the people from the bloodbath. There were no other following deaths that you know of.
First on screen is the girl from three, boy from five, following is the boy from six. Cass from seven, boys from eight and nine. Then the girl from ten, and finally the boy from eleven.
“I’m surprised district twelve lasted this long.” Allio remarks, a couple of them laugh, including Finnick.
They’re quick to wrap up the night, not really wanting to go and hunt around. There will be plenty of time to do it tomorrow. And you promise to wake them up if anything happens. Like smoke from a fire or a part of the forest lights up. 
You stomp out the fight and then sit against the tree, holding onto the little knife in your hand tightly. The others curl up next to each other, mainly Trink and Lennox. 
Thyme sticks close to some bushes, probably for an easy escape. Allio and Eytelle are on opposite sides of the fire. And Finnick sits next to you.
You wish you could just ignore him and call it a night. But you’re going to give it away that you know. 
“Why did you let him go?” Finnick asks after a while of silence, making sure that they’re asleep. He must have noticed the pattern in breathing just the same as you did.
“Didn’t see a point in killing him.”
“He’s smart, (Y/n). He’ll come back with a knife or something, you saw him in the training center—“
“Maybe he’ll spare my life later on, did you think about that?” You ask him, turning to look at Finnick, “he owes me. Because had we told them, you know that it wouldn’t have been a quick death.”
He takes this into consideration, and then speaks quietly, “And if he comes over here tonight?”
“I’ll wake you up.” You grab his jaw, making him look to you, “Promise.”
When you let go, he gives you a kiss. Then, you watch as he pulls out the sleeping bag, still staying right beside you. You place your hand on his back, and then you look to the woods.
You’ll keep him safe. Even if he doesn’t deserve it.
--
LACUNA IS THE FIRST VERSION OF BELAMOUR
//MASTERLIST//
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autodiscothings · 4 years
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Tu'sea: [tə si] Middle Aleise (Rakhana) in origin. A compound word taken from tu ("memory, breath, wave") and sea (“sand, small, layer.”) It is an abstract noun used in most modern drell languages to describe day-to-day living, of the memories formed on top of the other.
Two short stories exploring Kolyat and Ori’s first memories, after the cut. Alternatively, you can also read it on AO3.
Kolyat: The Death of Berald the Snuldak
I am barely two years old and the centre of my world -other than my parents- is a coloured lump of plastic that can talk and flash lights. My father removed the voice chip after a week of noise, a merciful death.
It was still a favourite, despite the change. I understood why it happened, of course; an adult’s hindsight looking back. As a child, I did not quite connect the dots of my toy’s sudden silence. My mother told me that Berad the Snuldak needed an operation, that was all: look, Kolyat- the pretty lights still work.
Noise or not, it was still a favourite. The memory goes like this: the toy is on the floor next to where my mother sleeps. I can see it light up from the cot in our room, a gentle wave of colour. I pull myself up by the bars, angry I’m in bed. The room is dark apart from the toy, and I see just enough to escape. It takes me three attempts to climb over the edge- I do so, and fall over. I’ve always wondered why this never hurt me, looking back- I can recall no pain. My aunt said children are mostly made of ashea jelly at this stage of their life, and that I was no exception.
-Gods help me,” Mami said, muffled by the pillow. I can see her frill bands glinting silver, even in the poor light. I clutch the toy to my chest, pleased with my bounty, and creep to the edge of her bed. “He can escape now, happy days.” Her hand falls over the mattress, and I hold onto it-
Mami still scooped me up to hold me despite the interruption to her sleep, until I demanded a much too early breakfast. No Father in the memory, but he was working. Construction for a block of apartments at that point, the only assassination he did was on noisy toys. My first real experience of his wetwork, I suppose. The death of Berad, snuffed with a calibration tool.
It is a good memory, despite the intervention. I am fond of the recollection each time it comes, even though my mother was tired. Another moment of an adult’s perception creeping in like an unwanted house guest, a dark shadow over my childhood. At the time, Mother’s research project was de-funded by the university; I knew this from my father’s memories, but it explained something a younger me struggled with. Why Mami hid her sadness with a deception I could never place, though a dim awareness still glanced at my smaller fins, like a dip of lights from a passing skycar.
Ori thinks my recollection is nostalgia, a human-like sonder. I don’t think it’s an accurate translation of the word: tu’sea, it’s called in my language. Quiet moments of living held like grains of sand in your hand, building over time.
They still shine like gold at their passing.
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Ori: A Shining Light Of A Distant Star
Time is non linear for memories, at least for me.
What you forget you can remember again, sparked by something. Chunks of my childhood never arrange themselves in an orderly way like a story, no matter how much I force them to. It’s still a filter of blur to sort through, like vids distorted by playback.
I remember the sink Omma washed me in, and the smell of the soap she used. A second later and it’s replaced by a memory of swimming, of flickering sunlight filtered by water. I think that’s my first, but I’m not sure. How could I be?
I remember my first instrument, a child’s violin placed in my hands by my father. He warned me to be careful -but not too careful- it was there to be used. I could barely write my name, but music was important, at least to us. Papa wanted me to learn as soon as I could talk, stubby fingers fumbling with strings. I don’t know why I chose the violin so young, but I did.
I don't remember Miranda. And I don't remember Henry Lawson, before you ask. Not the first time, anyway. I know she smuggled me out from him, wrapped in a white blanket. It was the only thing Randa took from my room- no toys, no clothes. Almost like a myth, a guardian angel and her ward.
Lawson showed me pictures of his home -our home, he said- when I bothered to speak to him at Sanctuary. All of it was mine, if I wanted it- and I didn’t. I have a false memory of the place, as strange as that sounds. Maybe a part of me wants to remember something. My imagination pieced together fragments made from the scraps I found, anyway.
The rooms were empty. That’s the best word for it, despite the money. A concept made by a man who thought he had taste, that if he paid enough designers, it could almost be a home. Lawson’s property was a monastery of grey and silence; the room he chose for me was just as sterile, the walls the exact shade of the blanket I was rescued in.
My parent’s entire apartment could fit into the en-suite alone, but space was a luxury in every language. He said he had it in mind since my creation, perfectly engineered for a child’s growth. It looked like a laboratory- it was one, I suppose. Dull walls and sharply lined furniture; bland toys neatly placed on shelves, all designed for learning.
That’s what I think of for first memories now. A vid shown by Lawson of a white room I can’t remember, but somehow feel I should. Reality is kinder, for once. Instead it’s giggling sink baths scented with standard issue Alliance soap, and dancing points of light. The muffled scrape of a plastic bow on plastic strings. My papa’s smile. Warm, hazy things.
My parents dug out that blanket and gave it to me after we met Randa for the first time, along with a stuffed animal I had since the beginning of my adoption. All my memories relating to both were tied to them and the apartment, not to her.
The corners were more frayed and worn than I remembered, an old childhood habit I had from worrying them. I knew I used it to tuck my toys in bed, small enough to be ‘their’ blanket. I tried sniffing the fabric, as if the act could trigger something. I could only smell detergent, a familiar scent of home.
I was trying to find a memory that wasn’t there. I could easily imagine the woman who rescued me, holding a swaddled lump of toddler to her chest with a gun in her hand. Far more visceral an image than my own dull recollection, that’s for sure.
Instead I thought about the things that I had. Because I remembered, then. The moments of luck found glittering: of the lessons that were paid for, despite my parent’s wage; the gifted Voirin bow after my first recital, donor unknown; random human food sent to the stores for us to find; a bully forced to move from Illium, thanks to her mother losing her job.
I sat in my childhood room and worked it out, a satisfying puzzle piece clicking into place. A sudden atari in Go, after a long battle with my laddered memory.
She was hidden away, that was all. Miranda was always there, shining distant as a star.
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saxxxology · 4 years
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What Goes Bump in the Night - 12
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PAIRING: Alpha!Sam x Omega!Reader WARNINGS: a/b/o dynamics, Victorian social dynamics, allusions to non-consent and dubious consent, dominance/submission, slow burn with eventual smut, suspense/horror/gore themes.
THIS WORK IS 18+ ONLY. DO NOT REPOST MY WORK ON ANY OTHER SITES.
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TWO YEARS LATER...
Yours and Sam’s relationship continues. The brothers work hard, sometimes leaving for weeks at a time as they go on hunting trips with their colleagues. Per Sam’s preferences, you spend your time reading and researching for them, which gives them considerably more time to focus on whatever case is at hand. 
On your second summer at the Winchester house, Sam takes you overseas to England for a much-deserved holiday. You spend the first day of the trip being sick in your private room onboard and finally venture out on the second to gaze out at the open sea. When you return, Sam promptly jumps back into the life, only giving you a couple of days to readjust to living at home before requesting your aid. 
One cold night in August, you’re woken by the sounds of an infant crying in the distance. Maternal instincts quickly take over, and you slip from the bed, runing from the room even as Sam warns you to stay back.
You follow the cries to the front door and let Sam work the heavy bolts back. It’s cold outside, and you shudder when a gust of cold wind washes over you. The cries are much louder now, and you peer through the darkness to see a basket on the stoop, piled high with blankets.
“What the hell?” Sam steps out and carefully picks the basket up, cradling it in his arms as he walks back inside and lets you close the door. Once you’ve thrown the bolts home, you’re at Sam’s side, eager to peer into its depths. 
There’s a pup nestled inside the blankets, wrapped snugly in a few thin layers that have done little to keep the chill out. The wailing hasn’t ceased, and Sam hears the sound of his brother’s bedroom door slamming shut. 
“What is that?” Dean asks loudly as he takes the steps two at a time. He’s upset at having been woken so late, and Sam places a hand on his chest, stopping him from coming closer. 
“It’s a baby,” you murmur, quickly unwrapping the blankets and checking the infant for injuries. He’s unharmed, if a little bit thin, and you swaddle him in one blanket and gently cradle him against your chest. He’s cold, his ears, nose, and fingers especially.
“There’s a note,” Sam says, pulling a thin piece of paper from the unraveled blankets. He skims over it, eyes narrowing before he starts to read aloud.
“Dear sirs, this is my son, Jack. He was born on May eighteenth, in the year of our Lord 1890. I am very sick and I am not strong enough to care for him. Your home is the only place I could think of where he would be truly safe for the time being. Sincerely yours, K. Kline.”
Sam sets the paper back inside the basket and peers down at the baby. His cries have petered out into soft, whimpering coos, and you’re carefully wiping the tears off his reddened cheeks.
“He’s still cold,” you murmur, “we need to feed him.”
“With what?” Dean asks gruffly. 
“We have milk in the pantry, correct?” You watch his nostrils flare and turn instead towards your Alpha. “Sam…”
With a grumble, Dean stalks away, heading back to his room. The sound of the door slamming again echoes all the way to the living room, and Sam lets out a deep sigh. 
“Sam,” you try again, “please?”
He swallows thickly and watches the baby root against your chest, searching for a nipple to latch onto. “Take him upstairs,” he says softly, “I’ll get the milk.”
You take the stairs carefully one at a time, trying not to jostle the baby too much. When you’re safely back in your bedroom, you slide back underneath the covers, slowly maneuvering Jack so that he’s cradled in one arm. You grip both of his hands in one of yours, trying to warm his chubby fingers. He’s barely three months old, and you have no idea how long he’d been out in the cold before his cries had finally woken you.
Sam comes back several minutes later, an old bottle half filled with warm milk in one hand. Jack’s begun to whimper again, his frustration evident as he tries in vain to search for food on a foreign body. 
“It’s from when Dean and I were little,” he murmurs when you give him an inquisitive look. “I sterilized it and the nipple’s a little stiff, but it should be okay for tonight.” He slips into bed beside you and watches you offer the bottle. Jack greedily accepts it, cooing lowly as the warm milk fills his belly. “I don’t understand why anyone would consider leaving their child with us,” he says. “We’re known through the city for being scientists who study inhuman things, not caregivers.”
“Maybe she knew I’d take it?” you supply. “At least he’s out of the cold. Any longer out there…” shaking your head, you lean down to nuzzle his soft blonde hair. 
“Where’s he going to sleep?” Sam asks. 
“Right here.” You pat the mattress next to you. “He can sleep between us, we’ll keep him nice and warm.”
Sam’s jaw tenses, but he gives in. He’s suppressed his Alpha instincts for a long time, especially with his denial of wanting children. Now, seeing you holding and nursing a baby sparks a warmth in his chest that he can’t stop from spreading. For a brief second, he wonders if this is how his father had felt when he’d seen Mary holding each of their newborn sons for the first time. 
“Just for tonight,” he says, trying to remain firm. The last thing either of you need is to bond with the infant, and as an Omega you’re already on your way there. “Tomorrow, we’ll have to let him sleep elsewhere.”
Satisfied, you allow Jack to finish the rest of his bottle and pat his back until he burps. You smile and nuzzle his cheek as you wipe the milky spittle from his chin, and Sam lets you tuck him in beside you before he turns out the light and lies down as well. One of Jack’s pudgy fists nudges his chest, and the baby gives a nervous whimper as he’s shrouded in darkness.
“There, now,” you coo before Sam can do anything. “It’s okay, Jack, you’re safe.”
It takes Sam a long time to fall asleep. When he does finally drift off, he’s torn between two final options. Convincing you to take Jack to an orphanage is going to be a long shot, and keeping him isn’t preferable either. Having a child in the house has never been a good idea, at least in his mind.
We’ll see what happens in the morning, he thinks to himself. 
***
You wake up to the sound of Jack’s mewling cries. Sam’s already out of bed and getting dressed, and he barely casts you an eye as you sit up, gathering the squirming baby to your chest to calm him.
“Good morning,” you offer him a small smile. “Did you sleep well?”
He grunts a reply and tucks his shirt into the waistband of his pants. “I’m going to make a run into town,” he says shortly. “I’ll be back as soon as I can.”
“What for?” You ask, sliding out of bed with Jack still cradled in your arms. 
“We have nothing to care for a baby,” he says, “even if it’s temporary.”
He grabs his coat and gives you a short kiss before turning and leaving the room. He’s upset, and you can practically feel the tension mount when he leaves the room without fully closing the door. You wait for the creak and slam of the front door before looking down at the baby.
“You need a bath and a change, don’t you?” you coo, immediately overtaken by maternal instinct. “Come on, then, let’s give you a nice bath and then we’ll get you some breakfast.”
You’ve never bathed an infant before, but you slowly get the hang of it. It’s easier to simply draw a bath for yourself and bring Jack in, holding him firmly as you pour warm water over his body. He protests loudly when you wash his hair, and immediately calms when you allow him to float his body in the water, held up in your arms. His little arms and legs pump reflexively in the water, and you watch him play for a few minutes before getting out and carrying him into the bedroom. There aren’t any clothes for you to change him into, so you settle for swaddling him in one of the softer blankets he’d been delivered in and make a nest of four pillows to lay him in while he sleeps.
Dean’s in the kitchen making breakfast. He eyes you suspiciously as you walk in, but you pay him no mind. You learned to ignore Dean’s attitude a long time ago.
“Sam was upset,” he says gruffly. “Bringing that baby here was a bad idea.”
“Desperate mothers do desperate things,” you reply simply, gingerly dismantling the bottle and setting it in the sink. “She probably didn’t want her baby to get sick.”
“Could’ve just taken it to an orphanage, that’s what they’re there for.”
“And what would they do with him?” You rinse the inside and refuse to look at him as he butters a slice of toast. “They give children away to abusive parents or send them straight into the workforce.”
Dean grumbles around a mouthful of bread. “Just don’t keep it.”
“Don’t tell me what to do,” you snap back. “I understand that Sam is less than happy about having a child around, but he is my Alpha and I will discuss this with him as I see fit.”
Dean relents with a quiet growl. “Where is it, anyway?”
“Asleep in our bed upstairs,” you answer simply as you pour boiling water over the glass and set it on the rack to dry. “I bathed him and let him rest. I was just going to make him a little bit of milk for breakfast.”
You finish sterilizing the bottle and prepare another small serving of warm milk before heading upstairs. Jack’s awake and wiggling around in his blanket, and he immediately takes the rubber nipple in his gums. He finishes the bottle in only a few minutes, after which you burp him again and snuggle back underneath the covers. 
Sam returns after another hour. He’s carrying a burlap bag in one hand, and you cast him an anxious glance as he sets it on the foot of the bed. 
“Please don't be upset,” you beg quietly, “I know you don’t want children, but I want to have him a little while longer—”
“I’m not upset.” Sam heaves a sigh and glances at the tuft of blonde hair visible between your breasts. “I just… you know how I feel about wanting children.”
You watch him start to unpack his purchases and hesitate briefly before speaking. “You’ve never explained why.”
Sam freezes for a beat. His eyes close, and he turns slowly to sit on the edge of the bed. “You know that I wasn’t born out of my mother’s will,” he says, “I’ve always been afraid that if I create a child, I’ll become my father, or pass his… his afflictions onto them. I don’t have the time for them, anyway, or the patience.”
 “Jack isn’t yours,” you try to reason. 
“He’s barely been here twelve hours,” Sam says sharply. “I understand that children have been on your mind lately, but… Y/N, we can’t keep him.”
You clutch Jack tighter. “Just a little longer,” you whisper, “please, let me just… what if he goes to someone else and he gets hurt or grows up abused?”
“We’ll find him a place where that won’t happen.” 
You try to hide the tears in your eyes as you cast your gaze down at the sleeping baby. “I don’t want to let him go.”
Sam’s chest aches when he sees an errant tear stream down your cheek, and he reaches over to wipe it away. “Don’t cry,” he murmurs, “I know you want him, I really do, but we can’t.”
You pull your face away from his touch and turn away, slowly lying down on your side and tucking Jack in against you. Sam bites the inside of his cheek and stands up, slowly unpacking the rest of the supplies before muttering something about making something to eat, heading downstairs and leaving you alone.
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linhiful · 4 years
Text
Neighbors
AO3
Modernlorian Series Part 1 | 2
Pairing: The Mandalorian x Reader
rating: Mature
a/n:  Hi! Hey! Hello! I haven't written fanfiction in years and I haven't written a reader-insert in even longer! But I am fucking hot for Mando and I thought it would be super fun to imagine reasons why you wouldn't see his face in modern-day. I've already come up with a bunch of ideas for this collection, some of them may be connected and some of them may not be! I do have maybe two more prompts to go with this particular story hehe.
As you laid in the dark, eyes gazing onto the ceiling, the lowlights of the parking lot peering through your bedroom window, it was probably the closest to home you’d ever felt. The building was old, creaky, walls so thin you could hear the quiet murmur of your neighbor beside you. But it was comforting like you weren’t really alone in this apartment.
You weren’t supposed to be alone, not originally, but maybe, that was for the best. He has never touched anything in here, never held you in this room, never tumbled through your hallway in the middle of the night. You never woke up in the morning just to find a body sprawled out across the bathroom floor, sometimes faced down deep into the bathtub.
Instead, you were surrounded only by your things, and everything you placed down was right where you left it. It was the first time any space was yours and yours alone.
Your lease was up in a month. In three years, you have lived in a different place every year. Not on purpose, not really, but each apartment you’ve lived in just had something that wasn’t quite right. Something that just made your home not really a home.
The first one, there were too many children, but not just too many children, too many unruly children. Children who left their toys out on the sidewalk, and stomped their feet in the room above you, rattling the ceiling at all hours of the day, sometimes even at night.
Then, across from you, their mom just left. Packed her bags one day and kissed them goodbye, and it didn’t take long before they turned their sparkly eyes towards you for guidance. Except you weren’t a role model, weren’t someone who was trying to be a pseudo mother to lost children wondering, why couldn’t we just be enough?  
And that was the question wasn’t it? One that you couldn’t answer for them. Couldn’t even answer for yourself.
The second apartment, it wasn’t just yours but ours. It was home for a little bit, but it was too good to be true the first few months. It was just painted well, the cracks hidden underneath cabinets, behind layers of beautiful taupe walls and marble counters.
But they crawled through, sneaking into every single corner and crevice. They never left, not truly. Even as you crushed as many as you could, doused each corner as thoroughly as you could, they just survived. Kept on going. Spreading whatever disgusting germs and filth they mucked around.
Until you had to leave.
And if that wasn’t a metaphor for that failed relationship, you didn’t know what was.
Your neighbor was quiet, for the most part. You heard his footsteps, heard the rustling of a body almost like it was beside you. You’ve never met him, not in the entire time you’ve lived here. You’ve walked by other neighbors, their smiles always spread across their face, and a small wave of a hand or nod of the head.
But you’ve never even caught a glimpse of the man who lived beside you. You didn’t even know what he looked like. But he had a routine every single day, and, as silly as it sounded, you’ve come to depend on it. Found comfort in it.
He started his day off as you ended yours, settling yourself into the warm covers of your bed. The weight of the blanket laid over you like a warm hug and the pillows filled up the empty corners of the bed. You were nestled in as tight as you could.  
Every night he did push-ups? At least it sounded like it. Maybe it was sit-ups? But you heard each grunt he made as he lifted up, a quick intake of breath, and on some nights you counted along with him until you drifted off into sleep.
On restless nights, when you would toss and turn, you'd count until each number turned into a pair of muscular, tan arms. Up. Down. Up down. The sweat trickling down those arms, his blank face slick with sweat, and veins bulging from the strain.
You wondered what it tasted like, the salt and power on his skin. Gods, it's been so long, too long, since you've had someone to quell the ache between your legs if you were lusting after someone you've never even seen.
He'd move on to something else. Pull-ups maybe? Because you heard the creaking of strained wood. The doorway maybe? But the grunts were louder now, and they'd fill your ears until you were biting down on your lip.
Would he hear you? If you needed relief? But surely he wouldn't hear you, not over the strain of whatever physical activity he had to concentrate on. Could you stay quiet?
You imagined the creaking of his bed, sometimes you'd hear it as he was slipping underneath his own covers as you were just rising for the day. Would it sound like this? Steady and strong?  You swore you could feel the puff of breath against your ears as his grunts would turn into moans and no one could fault you for your fingertips trailing down into your pajama pants.
You were already wet when you touched yourself, and you couldn't help the sharp intake of breath when you touched your own swollen clit. You wondered how big his hands were, how thick his fingers, but you just knew they'd be rougher than yours. Calloused.
Surely, they'd fill you up, more than the two fingers you slipped onto yourself. You smothered the moan with your other hand and slipped two fingers into those lips as well.
What would his cock taste like?
You pumped yourself to the rhythm of his grunts, and you imagined his strong wide back rippling with strength. How would it look with your nails digging into his skin? Leaving long angry lines that drew out even more deep noises from his lips.  
You could feel it if you closed your eyes, his shadowed form hovered over you in the dark. The only thing you could see in the dim light was his broad chest as his finger pumping steadily inside of you. He was rough in the best way possible, filling you up in ways that you had almost forgotten. You could only imagine how the stretch would feel with his thick, heavy dick.
You imagined brown hair against his tanned, bronzed skin as he trailed down the length of your body. You could not smother the whine that escaped from your lips when another finger slipped inside and you were sosososo close.
But the rhythm slipped, a pause, and for a moment there was silence. All you could hear was your fingers sunk into the slickness between your legs. Your orgasm slipped away from you but the ache was still there, so much that it hurt.
Did he hear you?
And you stopped with bated breath, heart pumping hard in your chest. You wiped your drenched fingers on your comforter and it was just a second later that his deep grunts filled the air once again. It was louder this time, faster, and a pang of longing clenched in between your legs.
But the moment was gone, even as you reached down and arched your throbbing clit into your hand. You didn’t remember falling asleep but instead of the toe-curling satisfaction of the best orgasm you’ve ever given yourself, you instead found yourself waking up to the shrill beeping of your alarm.
You settled in for the next night, swaddling into your warm blankets. You didn’t bother with clothes this time, the soft silky sheets felt luxurious against your skin and you wondered why you didn’t do this more often.
All day, your panties were damp with excitement, and you were teetering on the edge since the moment you woke up. It wouldn’t take long tonight, not from the moment his low voice would rumble from behind the wall and your hand touching you right where it hurt.
But you glanced at the clock and for a man who always did everything right on schedule, he was late. You sucked in a breath and felt a small trickle of worry. Was he okay? Did something happen to him?
And panic began to set at the bottom of your gut. Or what if he heard you? What if he was offended? Or embarrassed? You sat up, back leaning against your bedroom wall and strained your ear to listen for the tall tale sign of his footsteps. Of anything.
And you heard it. The soft creaking of the mattress and you almost gave out a sigh of relief. Except this was out of the ordinary? And your fingers twitched, longed to settle into yourself and pump the tension out of your body.
And then you heard it. It was maybe the sexiest noise you'd ever heard in your life. A moan, coming in from behind the wall and it was different from any of the ones you've heard from him. It was breathless, and the fluttered against your ears like a kiss.
You took in a deep breath, almost let out a moan yourself when another one came, a little bit louder this time and you imagined that he was on the other side of this wall, hand fisting that impossibly large cock.
Your pussy clenched, and you almost sobbed out in relief when you dipped your fingers inside. You didn't bother to smother down your moans tonight, not when that deep guttural sound was just behind the thin wall that divided you.
He was still meticulous, the grunts coming out in time, and you imagined the rhythmic pumping into his fist, tightening around his thick base nestled in coarse black hair.
He grew louder when you unashamedly threw your head back, thumping into the wall, thrusting in time with him.
"God, I'm so fucking wet for you," you say, and you weren't sure if he could understand, but it was enough for another gush of juices to coat the sheets below.
You were so slick, so fucking ready to cum, but it wasn't enough, not yet. His pace grew faster, and you wanted to hear what his voice sounded like, wondered if it was as sexy as noises he made now.
What would it feel like if he fucked your mouth at that pace, hands clenched into your hair, forcing your head down on his thick cock. You wouldn't be able to help the drool, only able to open up your throat and accept the punishing pace he set.
But he wouldn't cum. Not yet. He had to wait. Just like you. It didn't matter how many delicious noises he made as you slurped up the precum dribbling out of his tip. It didn't matter as you swirled your tongue against his skin as you suckled on his heavy balls.
No. He couldn't cum until he was inside you, filling your walls past anything you've ever taken in. You ached for him, so much that it hurt, but not as much as the delicious streeeeetch. It hurt in the best way possible, and you didn't need it slow, didn't want to adjust. Just a breathless groan of a fuck into your ear as he bottomed out.
And then you wanted him to fucking wreck you. To rail into you until you couldn't walk, just lay there and take his dick until it was the only thing you could think about.
"I'm going to cum." And you could have sworn you heard a growl in response, but you couldn't understand it. Maybe from the distance or the loud pounding in your ears as you finally finally reached your peak with a scream.
And he followed you with a primal roar that you will be dreaming about for weeks. You imagined him, spent with cum splattered against his thighs and chest and gods, you wanted to lick it off his body.
As you laid there, back against the wall, panting still from what really was the best orgasm you've probably experienced in your life, you could almost swear you could hear his breathing in time with yours.
And as you drifted off into sleep, faintly hearing the quiet squeaking of springs, you think that you will renew your lease for another year.
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fericita-s · 4 years
Text
Beginning After The End (Part 3)
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Part 1   Part 2
Thank you @the-spaztic-fantastic​ for your awesome contributions to this, including the whole framework for this chapter.  Her exact words were: “You really wanna f*** up some people, do a compare/contrast piece where it switches between her meeting Elias and her re-meeting Hubert and how she decides on both in scene by scene cuts.”  So, here it is, meant for maximum pain! 
***
Elias sent flowers to the print shop every day after their dance at the ball.  Thea’s parents were pleased, then amused, and then annoyed as every surface of their small store was covered and the fragrance made everyone who entered sneeze.
“Please tell this young man he may court you before people start thinking we’re florists,” her father said, looking up from his work with inky hands and a pleased smile.
***
“I hope you’ll stay,” Elias had said when she told him her parents approved the courtship but only planned to stay in Arendelle long enough to make the print shop profitable before they sold it and sailed back to their family land in Denmark. 
“I hope you’ll give me a reason,” said Thea before turning and walking further into Hudson’s, waving to Maddie and joining her at a table.
***
“If you’re leaving, don’t return here,” Thea told Hubert when he said he’d come back and visit.  “I can't bear it, waiting on a ship to come in.”
Hubert looked at her, steadily, and she didn’t see any anger or hurt in his eyes. Perhaps he understood.
“Then come with me.”
She began to cry.
***
“I love you,” Elias said, and it was like a groan, like a confession causing him pain.  His hips were flush against hers and she could feel the hardness there, could feel as well as hear his words as he half-whispered them into her ear. “I know we can’t get married right away but can we soon? May I talk to your father?”
She answered with a kiss, which was perhaps not what Manners Mistress had taught about courtship, but Thea didn’t see how she could respond any other way.  If she could melt her body into his, she would, and not mind one bit if she lost herself in the process.
***
“I know you don’t love me,  I know it's not love right now. You’re still grieving. We’re both mourning.” Hubert looked so earnest, so plaintive, and his kindness brought more tears to her eyes so that she wasn’t even looking at him anymore.  She covered her face and wiped at it with clumsy hands and then Hubert closed the distance between them and hugged her to his chest.
“Can’t we mourn together?  Make a new family?” Her ear was pressed against his chest and she could feel the rumble as he spoke. She took a few deep breaths and his hands dropped from her shoulders at this sign of composure. She drew back from him, but there were only inches between their faces and the space felt charged with a passion made from despair.
“Oh Hubert. If you want a family, find a young woman with child-bearing years ahead of her.  I’m sure mine are over.”
He shook his head. “I know they aren’t mine, but I could love Sasha and Vadik and Elias like they were.  Sasha could study music in Antwerp.  The Ecole speciale de musique is world-renowned! And you know Vadik would love to have an adventure in a new place.  Little Elias would get along fine, and you can bring as many of your own staff as you’d like. I won’t replace Elias. I won’t. But let me build a legacy.  Let us help each other.”
Thea shook her head and kept her eyes on the floor, on a spot just in front of him. “What you’re longing for, I don’t think I can give you that.  I think I don’t have any of it left.”  
“I meet plenty of young women and they make me feel like a lecher.  I could be their father in age and none will speak to me as easily about aquaculture and art. None could converse with dignitaries or business associates and help secure deals by virtue of her hosting.”
Thea gave a small laugh. 
Hubert smiled.  “We have a long friendship.  Is that not a basis for a good marriage?”
She began crying again but she put a hand up to keep him away. “Would you give me someone new to mourn?”
***
The first time they made love it was rushed and awkward and wonderful, desperation and longing finally fulfilled as Elias gently tugged at layers of clothing and pressed himself to her.  She sought the skin that had been hidden underneath his shirt and trousers and ran her hands along the hard muscle there, wondering if she would always feel this way, so urgent in her need of him. She hadn’t wanted to wait until the wedding and he had let out a sigh of relief when she told him, better than any marriage vow could be in her ears. Then, after the wedding, their nights together still felt like stolen time as his frequent expeditions made each leaving and each homecoming equally urgent and passionate.  Had she known even then their time would be too short?
***
The first time with Hubert was slow and unhurried. Like they had all the time in the world, and she supposed they did.  
Too much time.  
Hubert said he had been feeling the crush of time now that three dear friends were dead, that it would run out before he was ready.  But she felt cursed with it.  
All this time to survive. 
The elder Calders and the royal couple had died with their beloveds and she somehow had to make a life without hers. 
This would help her forget. 
It would feel good. 
She lost herself in his gentle and generous caress, his whispered words and his hands rolling down her stockings and pulling her body to his.  These were not frantic fumblings in the dark corners of a house between teenagers, ears alert to the movement of parents in upstairs rooms.  He took the dressing robe from her shoulders and she stretched her hands across the broadness of his chest, losing herself in the pleasure of his body against hers and the rhythm and heat they made together. It was a feeling of fullness, of pleasure, and it had been so long.
After, he pulled her trembling body against his and she cried, saying “I forgot, I forgot.” 
But even she didn’t know what she meant.  Did she forget what pleasure was like? Did she forget Elias? And was that a relief or tragedy? Hubert didn't ask and she was relieved he didn't. Instead his hands stroked her hair and pulled the coverlet over them as he murmured to her in a language she didn't know.  
In the morning when they awoke to the sound of Sasha practicing her violin and Vadik running down the steps and calling for Sara, Hubert pulled her tightly to himself again and offered new vows.
“I promise to help you forget when you want to forget and to help you remember when you want to remember.”
But she didn’t know which she wanted just then, so she tried to make light of it.  “Just promise me you won’t get on a boat.”
He lifted himself off of the bed and then lowered his head to kiss her firmly on the lips, more as a sign of agreement than a sign of passion but Thea felt the stirrings of desire at the sincerity and kindness in his words: “I promise.”
***
When Elias died, she was pregnant with their third child and it kept her alive, this remnant of her husband. She watched her body swell and grow in familiar ways and when the baby boy was born she saw his face and spoke the name of who she missed, who this baby looked like, who she wished could see what he had made and left behind. “Elias,” she whispered, as the baby grasped her finger with his fist. 
“What a lovely name, dear,” said the midwife. “It suits him.”
***
Hubert was the first to guess, even before Thea herself. His hands were on her breast and around her middle as they lay together in bed, the quiet of the house like a blanket of calm around them.
“No, I don’t think so. I haven’t had a cycle since little Elias was born, and that’s been over a year now.” She spread her hands over her middle where a roundness was evident.  “Perhaps you are just feeding me well.”
“Eat as much as you like.  More for me to love,” he said as he nuzzled his head into her neck and her heart sped at this declaration of affection and stuttered over the hope of new life.  Now that it was spoken, she wanted it.  But it was too dangerous to hope.
***
Elias was slightly drunk and reeked of cigar smoke when she placed Sasha in his arms for the first time, sleeping and wrapped tightly in swaddling.  Thea hoped to be sleeping soon too, every part of her felt heavy and tired though her joy at seeing their daughter in his arms was so wonderful, she closed her eyes, trying to commit it to memory so she could paint it later. The lines of surprise on his face, the reverence with which he held her. “Oh she’s beautiful,” he said. “Well done, Thea.”
***
Hubert was surprised, and Thea too, when a very tiny baby boy followed a very tiny baby girl after a mercifully quick labor.  Thea might have worried about their size but for the loud cries both made.  The midwife washed and wrapped them both quickly, placing one in her arms and one in Hubert’s.  Thea wasn’t even sure if she had the boy or the girl and the midwife was busy wiping her with a clean washcloth and only spoke Flemish so she didn’t ask.
Hubert kissed Thea’s sweaty brow, such joy in his face that Thea could feel it reflected back onto her. “I knew you were a remarkable woman. Two at once!”
 ***
“I love you,” Hubert said, and it was like he thought it a burden to her or an inconvenience, like he was worried she would feel obligated to love him too. He called her “dearest” but she only called him “dear,” and she knew he noticed the lack of the superlative when he dropped that endearment entirely.  He chose a new one each time he addressed her, mostly in the German native to his mother.  Liebling and Perle and Engel. Sometimes in French: Mon coeur, mon tresor, and even mon chou to make her laugh. 
She called him Hubert and that was enough for him, for now. At least she hoped. Too much of her was still faded and lost in grief. But waking up beside him every day in a new kingdom in a new city without the glare of the fjord and the creaking of boats, she thought she might not be faded much longer.  
The twins stirred in their bassinet and Hubert picked them up, cradling one in each arm.  He turned to her and smiled.
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71tenseventeen · 5 years
Text
Banya
Surprise pic fic! 
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Geno is pouting. 
Sid sighs as he turns onto the long driveway leading to their house. “G, come on.” He reaches over to squeeze Geno’s hand. “We’ve been looking forward to bye week for months. Six whole days alone together.” 
Sid didn’t think he’d have to remind Geno how excited they’d been when their new house had finally been completed last summer. Every detail of the property—from the dock and pool to the banya and lavish outdoor kitchen—had been designed to their specifications. 
Together they’d built their dream home. He’d always known they’d split their off-time between Nova Scotia and other places but Geno had been just as excited as Sid had when the home was finally finished. They’d only gotten three weeks together in it before they had to head back to training camp. Sid had loved every minute of it and was delighted when Geno seemed onboard with the plan to come back there during bye week. 
Geno’s expression softens. “Am happy for that, Sid. Is just…” He trails off looking around outside, scowling at the inches of snow that have accumulated in the past couple of days. “Was hoping for little bit better weather.” 
Sid tries to ignore the spark of annoyance flaring inside him. He’s well aware of how much Geno hates winter but he’d thought being here together would be enough to make him overlook the snow and bitter cold. Apparently he’d been wrong. “It’s Nova Scotia, G. We knew it would be cold.”
“Expect cold. Not expect so much colder than normal this time of year.” 
Sid sighs and bites back his frustration as he finally pulls into the garage. He knows from long experience that continuing to poke at the subject won’t do either of them any good. Geno is tired and hungry and, therefore, guaranteed to be very unreasonable. Sid’s tired too after an early morning and two flight delays due to weather but he opts not to remind Geno of that. Instead, he lets the subject drop. 
They eat a quick dinner—he’ll have to remember to thank Taylor for stocking the fridge for them— before climbing into bed together. Geno doesn’t bring up the weather again and Sid’s grateful for it as he nestles close to Geno and lets sleep pull him under. 
He wakes fairly early the next morning and smiles at the sight of the very top of Geno’s head sticking out of the covers, the rest of him buried beneath the blankets. Sid tugs gently at them, “Geno,” he whispers, getting them down enough to nuzzle Geno’s cheek. “You up?” 
Geno groans. “Why you pull down covers, Sid?” He whines sleepily. He tugs the blanket back up. “Too cold,” he says, voice muffled from the blankets. 
Sid sighs. So it’s still like that. 
“It’s not like we don’t have heat,” he responds dryly, annoyed when he only gets a muffled grunt in return. With a huff he throws the covers back, making sure to expose Geno’s long leg. He smiles to himself at Geno’s squawks as he retreats to the bathroom. 
He takes a hot shower, lingering in hopes that Geno will stop being a baby and join him but when he emerges from the bathroom twenty minutes later, Geno’s right where he left him. 
Sid dresses quickly and heads to the kitchen, annoyed but determined not to let Geno’s bratty mood ruin his day. 
He’s already halfway through his breakfast when Geno finally emerges, still bleary eyed and swaddled in layers of sweats. He pecks Sid on the cheek as he passes but stops short at the empty stove. Sid keeps his eyes on his own plate as he hears Geno check in both the oven and the microwave. “Leftovers in fridge already?” 
“No leftovers,” he says, popping the last bite of bacon into his mouth knowing full well how petty he’s being. “Didn’t seem like you were going to be waking up anytime soon.” 
He feels Geno’s glare on the back of his neck but doesn’t turn around. 
“Fine.” Geno shuffles around in silence, microwaving instant oatmeal while Sid finishes his food feeling maybe a little bit guilty. 
He decides to try one more time. “I was thinking maybe we could skate later? On the lake?" 
Geno shrugs. “Maybe,” he says, noncommittally. 
Sid sighs as Geno plunks the bowl down on the table across from him, glaring as he stirs milk into the sludgy oats. “Let me make you some eggs and toast.” 
“No thank you,” comes the short reply. “Looking forward to oatmeal.” 
“G, come on. I really didn’t think you’d be up in time. I don’t mind, really. I could at least make you some tea.” 
Geno grabs the milk container, takes a swig from it with a smile. “Fine with milk.” 
“Really, G? Right from the container? That’s mature.” 
Geno shrugs as he returns to his oatmeal. “As mature as not make any extra breakfast.” 
Sid narrows his eyes. “It was my turn.” 
That gets Geno’s attention and he looks up, confused. “What you talking about?” 
“We spent last bye week in Miami and we talked about it then. We talked about it again when the house was finished last summer. You agreed. “
“I’m here, Sid. Not like I fuck off and go somewhere else. Yes, we did agree and I’m come here.” 
“And you’ve been a brat about it the entire time” Sid snaps, giving into the building frustration. “I’m sorry you hate being here so much!” He jumps up, dumping his plate into the sink angrily. 
“Sid, I’m not—” 
“Save it!” Sid cuts him off. “We only get six days here and if you want to be miserable the whole time, fine but don’t ruin it for me!” 
He doesn’t look back as he stomps off. 
He heads to the den, yanking a book off a shelf knowing full well he won’t be able to concentrate enough to actually read. Instead he stews crankily, finally giving up and throwing the book into the cushions. He makes a half hearted attempt to watch TV and play on his phone but he finally realizes he needs a way to burn off his frustrated energy. 
Fuck it, he thinks. He’s not going to sit around and wait for Geno to stop being a brat. 
Five minutes later he’s bundled up and slinging his skates over his shoulder. Geno is nowhere to be seen and that’s just fine with Sid. He needs to let off some steam before he pulls at that thread again. 
He’s halfway down the back steps when he sees it. Geno’s coat lying in the snow several feet away. Did G come outside? If he did, why would his coat be off? Worry coils in his gut and he drops his skates in the snow, heading in the direction of Geno’s footprints. 
He’s just reached the coat when he sees the hoodie and beyond that— What the hell?
There’s a trail of Geno’s clothes heading right to the banya. Sid suddenly realizes that this is a gesture, albeit a very Geno-style one. He follows the trail, picking up the clothes as he goes.The hoodie, sweat pants, tee and even Geno’s boots sitting on the small outer terrace. Sid’s grin widens as he adds them to the pile and steps into the tiny relaxation room. 
Geno isn’t here either but there are his blue Calvin Kleins, discarded in the center of the room. Sid grins, dumping the clothes on the small bench before hastily stripping down to his own black boxer briefs. 
He steps into the steam room and there he is , sprawled out naked on the bench looking very much like a peace offering. Sid doesn’t want to smile but he can’t help it. 
“Is this your idea of an apology?” 
“Depend. It work?” Geno winks at him with a smug grin. 
Sid crosses his arms. He’s at least going to make Geno work for it. “I dunno. You really hurt my feelings.” 
And then Geno is suddenly standing before him looking completely sincere when he says, “Most sorry, Sid. Was being big jerk and you not deserve. Of course want to be here with you, of course happy to have time together. I realize I almost ruin it. Please forgive me? Let me make it up?” 
Just like that the rest of Sid’s anger drains away. 
Later Sid sits nestled in Geno’s arms, laughing as they marvel at their creative use of the space. “This is all I wanted, you know?” he says, nuzzling Geno’s chin with his nose. 
“I know. I’m sorry, Sid. Yesterday rough day, just get to me little bit but no excuse. We here now, need to make best of our time. Love our home, love you. Nowhere else I’d rather be.” 
“Not even Miami?” 
Geno shakes his head before leaning in to kiss Sid slow and deep. “Nowhere. Nothing as good as being here with you right now.” 
And Sid knows he means it. 
131 notes · View notes
namjoonchronicles · 5 years
Text
beginners | nj
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↳ genre fluff, domestic, parenthood 
↳ words 3.4k
↳ summary Challenges in parenthood are not meant to be a one sided task. sometimes, Namjoon will need some help in raising Koya. And parenthood is not as easy as it seems. 
↳ warning none, just a few surprise guests you might not see coming
↳ namjoonchronicles’ honorary taglist @kai-tashi​ @septemberalien​ @joon94net​ @yourlocalalien​ @snugglemejeon​ @yoongiseesaw​ @majestikblue​ 
↳ special mentions this is for @majestikblue​ for always being supportive of my work, and making me thrive harder and unlock many others creative corners I didn’t know I had
↳ song the daydream 'stepping on the rainy street'
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As usual, Koya would wake up by babbling. His tiny feet peeks through the striped baby blue fuzzy blanket. His curly light brown hair, rosy cheeks mushed against his little pillow. He threw his bottle on the side of the mattress and climbed out of the play pen, reconstructed as a bed by his mom. Diapers heavy from overnight use, he waddles to the room next door where his parents sleep in.
"Dada," he knocks air. The door opened slightly, stood ajar, but he never enters. Nobody knows why.
Namjoon stirs and check his phone for time. Hearing Koya calling him from the door made him slip out of bed at once. When he peeks through the gap, Koya is there standing, barely taller than his knees. "You called for me?" he asked, his raspy morning voice was deeper than usual. Koya cranes his neck to look at his ridiculously tall daddy, so Namjoon crouched to carry him up before he falls back on his butt. Koya petite chubby fingers dances on Namjoon's cheeks and the dad puckers his lips for a kiss but Koya tilts his head back so Namjoon peppers kisses on his neck and jaws and cheeks, instead. Blowing air against his skin to make the little one giggle.
This is the life any man ought to live. He feels very lucky.
"Mama..." Koya tilts his head on one side. "Mama's not here, mama went to work," he carried Koya into the bedroom so he could look at the unmade bed and prove that he was telling the truth, "See? It's just you and me, buddy..."
Koya nods and let out a baby gibberish that sounded like a full sentence but isn't. Namjoon is an expert on that, "She'll be home later at 5 pm, as usual... Today, we are going to do some grocery shopping, and you're going to help me. But first..."
Namjoon passed Koya a dinosaur plush while he sat on the ground. Then Namjoon turns his attention to the unmade bed, fluffing the pillows, straightening the sheet and covering it with the neatened duvet. The shade is open and the air humidifier is turned on. Koya is such a well-behaved baby. Namjoon is sure he got that from your side of the family.
Your side of the family, he repeated. Debatable.
Every occasion done with your side of the family surely made its mark in his head. From your screaming aunts, to your deathly silent uncles, and your chaotic cousins, and their children. And their children's children. Namjoon smiled to himself, shaking his head at the thought of it.
Faucets twisted. Tub is steadily filling up with water. Koya is seated on the sink counter under his dad's watchful eye.
"Up..." Namjoon motions his arms above so Koya would follow. Off goes the shirt, pants and the heavy urine-filled diaper. Roll the diapers neatly, refastened it with the sticky tapes, into another biodegradable plastic, and then tied in a knot, until finally, discarded into the actual bin. Koya is lifted into the tub, water reaching up to just below his waist, not too much. Namjoon kneels next to the tub, taking the shower head from it's holder, checking the water temperature with his hands. It mustn't be too hot or too cold.  Koya plays with the floating little dinosaurs and doll ducklings, dunking them into the water, squeezing them between his sausage fingers.  
"Buddy, you ready for this?" he asked. Koya gaze up to him with big dewy eye and a huge smile. "You ready to get hyped up?" Namjoon made Koya play with the drizzle first before running the shower head above his curly brown hair, now drenched. Koya visibly shudder upon contact and it made Namjoon chuckle. Baby shampoo bottle, where is it. Oh. Squirt a small amount, carefully bubble it up with Koya's hair. Koya splashes the water with his hand, making Namjoon flinch a bit. His glasses mustn't get wet.
"Okay, okay," he doesn't know what he's saying 'OK' for, but he fetched the baby body wash next. He lathers them all over Koya's supple baby skin. It amazes him how it's so soft.
Little hands, and little feet. He lifts the baby's arm to get the armpits washed, and rinse the baby down with running water. He's clumsy, but Koya doesn’t seem to mind. All swaddled and clean in a warm koala towel daddy got for him. Out the bathroom of course, he gets after shower kisses and carried out in Namjoon's arm. Next, powdering the baby. Warm baby oil so he doesn't get cold when they leave the house later. New diaper, three layers of cloth for the weather, khaki trousers and a small matching red beanie like dad. All dressed.
Which he takes off when Namjoon isn't looking.
Namjoon is now preparing his formula milk in the kitchen. He counts up to 3 scoops of milk powder and filled the bottle with lukewarm water. He walks over to Koya in your shared bedroom and does the dance with the formula milk. Spinning and twirling with an idiot big smile on his face.
"Customer, your drink, sir," he said with gusto, complete with chef's kiss. Koya shrieked and gurgled, fetching the bottle with both hands. Namjoon thwarted, "Where did your beanie go?"
Then he disappears into the bathroom, leaving the door open so he could watch Koya drink his formula milk on his baby mattress next to the bed, holding crescent moon plush tightly in one hand, while Namjoon prepares himself for the outing.
Namjoon hurried to brush his teeth, splash water on his face, dry them up and changed to new clothes. He fetched the red beanie from the floor and fastened them on Koya.
"Like daddy's, we're bros aren't we?"
He carries Koya in his arms and walks out.
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Koya has exercises in the morning. Down in the apartment's playground. It's Namjoon's favorite past times. He gets to meet chaotic Seokjin, Lily's dad who's now bored because Lily's now attending kindergarten; handsome super-dad Taehyung with two of his girls (Sam & Tati), and counting; young but more responsible dad than they all combined, Jungkook who has a 2 year old girl  name Ben; and last but not least, the ever panicking always screaming,forever sleep-deprived Park Jimin who just joined the dad group with his girl, Sona, last January.
Their little house-husband group have morning meetings, like these. Jungkook always makes great coffee. And Seokjin is always generous enough to bring his leftover from last night unless he was fighting with his wife and refused to cook. In those days, Namjoon will have to get something from the convenient store so dads could eat and won't starve because it's a hard life.
"What's up, Jimin?" he greets and meets the lad in the elevator, crossed ankles, hands in pocket.
The poor guy looks like he aged overnight. He has his head leaned against the elevator walls, lulling to Namjoon, carrying Koya.
"Where's your girl?" Namjoon asked. "My mom came and took her to the village last night, she has chicken pox... I hadn't slept in 3 days," Jimin mumbled. "At four months? Tough," Namjoon retorted, "But hey, at least you get some time with the wifey," the taller dad shrugged his shoulder, wiggling his eyebrow at Koya to make him laugh, bouncing the giggly boy. Jimin scoffed tired with a small smile, "I don't know about that man, she's pissed because of work and every time I make a move, she looks like she's going to gnaw me alive." "Isn't that a good thing?" Namjoon knitted his brow at his dear friend and shot a glance outside when the elevator doors open to reveal Seokjin bringing a picnic box and a thermos.
"Do you not have eyes or hands?" Seokjin shot at Jimin, muttering angrily. Being the oldest of the three, Seokjin was always bullying Jimin at any chance he's got. Jimin gathers the picnic box and the bags of plastic wares. "Someone's cranky," Namjoon spat, "Good morning, Seokjin. Say Good Morning to Uncle Seokjin, baby...?" Leaning Koya down to Seokjin's shoulder. His favorite uncle. Koya immediately stretches his arms to Seokjin. Seokjin groans and kissed Koya's chin like the baby is his. Namjoon fetch the thermos from Seokjin in exchange. It's going to be an interesting gathering today because Jungkook just returned from his wife's hometown. They can't wait for him to share pictures and funny events that happened.
"Gah, I miss holding a toddler. When they start talking, I just want to mute them...does that make me a bad daddy?" Seokjin swaddles Koya, turning side to side while Koya shrieks excitedly. Namjoon took the chance to thumb Koya's rosy cheeks and cooing at him from behind Seokjin, puckering his lips, making kissing sound and Jimin smiling fondly.
"Lily's so big now, she's doing math effortlessly and I'm certain that's from her side of the family," Seokjin walks out with Koya first when the elevator reaches the ground floor to Jungkook panicking face, carrying Ben on his side, rushing himself into the lift as the three got out.
"What's wrong with you?" "Take Ben. I think I forgot to turn the stove off, I think," he breathily say. Jimin fetches Ben by the hand. She wraps her hand around his pinkie and watched her dad panicked face in utter calmness expression on hers. Nothing scares her. Jungkook raised her well.
Namjoon and Jimin glances over their shoulder at Jungkook stabbing the buttons, repeatedly.
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At the playground, Koya and Ben begins with the slides first. The dads are sitting on the benches, munching on their long-awaited breakfast, with their knees spread wide, sitting in silence until Jungkook re-emerges from the lobby and into the open air playground, wearing black sweatshirt and pants, hair a little longer than last week. It passes his brows, in length and very soft. He helps Ben to reach the monkey bars.
"...Had anyone seen Taehyung?" Namjoon suddenly asked, shoving another rice rolls into his mouth.
"No..." "...nope."
"You think he's okay?" Namjoon darts his attention ahead where his son is. "Probably expecting baby number 6," Seokjin snickers. "I heard they got in a fight before..." Jimin leans forward, looking to the side where his older brothers are.
Namjoon and Seokjin both had different reactions but can be summarize to one word: They squawked.
"They always get into a fight, and then bam!" Namjoon motions an explosion with his hands, "He goes: So uhh, my wife's 3 months pregnant; with his boxy smile and perfect hair." "Is that a normal thing for marriage couple? Like do you guys like fight and then make love?" Jimin asked, earnestly, genuinely curious.
"What do you mean that you don't?" Namjoon frowned in a glimpse, carried Koya to his lap and cleaned his hand since he fell on the sand bed, with the wet wipes Seokjin passed nonchalantly.
"Namjoon's wife is a whole different breed, my wife didn't touch me at all after Lily came out, and then she devoured me whole. And now it's a regular thing. We don't have schedules or anything like that, though," Seokjin answered, leaning back and relaxed.
Finding Seokjin and Namjoon's answer to be satisfying,Jimin turns to Jungkook who is now at the swing, pushing Ben.
"What about you, Jungkook?" "Me? About what?" Jungkook yells from afar. "Do you fight with your wife and then make love to her?"
Jungkook's ears turn bright red. How could he ask something so personal, out in the open like that? Does he not know shame?
"Sometimes?" Jungkook crumpled his face and joined the dads on the bleacher, fetching the newly poured coffee from Seokjin, as if he's not sure of his answers.  He pauses and did some thinking, but nothing much came out. Because sex is something common but also not very common in his household?
"It really depends on her mood though..." Jungkook took a noisy sip from the steaming coffee. Namjoon nods. Jimin seems to be bothered by it.
"But Taehyung has a lot to worry about, wife's a CEO," Seokjin sighs. "Makes good money too..." Namjoon shot. "The assistant is a guy, Taehyung said he's attractive..." Jungkook passed. "Sucks," Jimin pursed his lips.
All the dads nod in agreement.
It's tough to be a house husband. Dealing with the stigmas, the condescending tone that comes with the status, having your manhood challenged and finding yourself ridiculed solely because you don't earn for the family. The criticism is vicious, coming from your own family member. All they have is themselves, their partner and friends who are under the same pressure. Of having kids, of becoming a parent, of having a working and successful wife. Constantly renewing self-worth and  value by means of being a good husband and a father. while getting almost nothing in return accept the promise of raising well behaving children. Reassurance could only do so much. Roles are reversed and the men has to learn from scratch how to manage a household. Holidays are rare and emotions are constantly in a state of turmoil.
"So how did the village trip go?" Namjoon asked Jungkook. Jungkook's face visibly brightens up. Now he can show off the pictures he took and his talent as a photographer. His wife's village had a majestic sea spread, and beautiful sunset. The whole thing looks like Windows wallpaper shot.
Close to 10 am, Namjoon excused himself and little Koya to get the grocery started with the list you wrote down. Diapers, talcum powders, veggies, beefs, chicken thighs. Koya is seated on the baby chair in the kart, while Namjoon check the ingredient of a new baby food. The pack has slimy green and doesn't look appetizing at all.
"Wow, even I wouldn't eat that..." Namjoon commented. He places the pack back and take the usual one he buys. Carrots, spinach, chicken breast. Shopping is faster when there's a list and he stick religiously to it. He pushed the cart and passed by an electronic store. There he saw a new vacuum. He pouted and stood idly, before taking a picture of it. He sends them to you.
"I don't need anything else on my birthday, just this... please," he added a crying emoticon at the end. Sent. Delivered. Read.
Wife is typing.... Wife is typing....
"Okay sweetie :) shopping?"
Namjoon grins to the phone and began typing, but Koya started whimpering. He is taking off his shoes so Namjoon shove his phone into the back pocket in a hurry. Koya is bored. So Namjoon takes out the house key for him to play with while he chooses chicken breast by the freezer corner. He settles with one and grabbed a scallion on his way out. He stood by the self-checkout payment counter and scanned the things carefully. Koya is still playing with the keys. Last item, and then we're heading home, he thought.
When they got to the block of their home, at the lobby, Koya isn't playing with the keys anymore. That's when Namjoon's nightmare began.
"Baby, where's the key? Where's our house key, buddy?" Namjoon asked, searching his pocket and Koya's but Koya just pointed away at the birds he heard outside. Namjoon on the other hand is panicking while keeping an outwardly calm demeanor.
This can't be. He has to call his wife.
"Hey!" "Hey, hun. I'm at the lobby..." "Is there something wrong?" your cheerful voice switches to a concerned one. "Yeah, ha ha," Namjoon chuckles nervously, "See, I gave Koya the house key he dropped it midway here and now we can't get into the lift." "Oh shoot," you smacked your lips together, pinching your hips while pressing the phone to your ear standing by your work desk, "I'm going to see what I can do, if I can leave,"pausing, you remembered that the afternoon meeting was cancelled so you could leave for a bit, "Okay, don't worry, I'm coming," you hurried to say and the call ends.
Twenty minutes later, you walked in your pastel blue pumps and light beige dress, wearing a long black coat and ballerina bun hair. Your Pandora bracelets jingle and  ran mid forearm when you tuck your baby hair behind your ear making your way into the lobby. Namjoon beams and Koya gets visibly excited, grabbing air and leaning over for his mommy.
"Hello boys," you sang and took Koya from Namjoon, brushing your lips on your husband first and then your baby. Namjoon fetch the house key from you and you turned to the apartment manager, to thank him.
"So can we have  the door set changed today?" you asked. "Yes, madam... not a problem," he answered.
Namjoon walks in the elevator and held the door for you while carrying a bag of groceries. He leans back to the elevator wall while you bopped Koya's nose, cooing him.
"You look pretty today," Namjoon presses his smile and his little dimple show. "Of course, I look pretty everyday," you spoke in gurgles at your son even as you're talking to your husband. "How's work?" he asked. "Not too hectic as it usually is, so I may head home early," you cocked an eyebrow at him and smirked.
That's good news. The view of your wedding ring, glittering as you held Koya up sends his heart racing, knowing that he bought it. It still feel surreal even after Koya's birth. Now he's turning two in September. At the beginning of the relationship, it seemed that this future he seeks for, felt impossible. He still remembers how you said that you weren't his ideal type, and the fear of rejection rendered you silent, in love with him from a corner. That you weren't enough, that you know he can find someone better.
And here you are, being everything he ever wished for, prayed for, dreamt of.
Making fun of Koya falling asleep is your favorite past-time. Both of you speaking in hushes.
"Look at how he is still chewing when he could barely open his eyes," you leaned your chin on Namjoon's shoulder from behind. Your husband feeding Koya his daily spinach intake from the dining chair. "His cheeks," Namjoon snickered and pointed out, eyes turning to thin slits as he chuckles.
Koya finally leans his head back and fall asleep for good. Namjoon removes him from the baby chair and let him sleep in his bed pen after cleaning his face and hands. Namjoon doesn't leave until he presses his lips on the little one's head, and then he stares fondly at him while kneeling by the pen, sitting on his heels for a bit. You leaned on the door frame crossing your arm. A faint smile playing on your lips at the view of your husband carrying his usual duties. As if he felt your eyes on him, he glanced at you with a secretive smile. He cocks an eyebrow while sucking his cheek in, standing up.
"What's that look for?" he spoke in whispers, against you, pushing you out of Koya's room with his advances. "What look?" you grinned.
"That look, you gave me a look..." "I did  not give you a look?" "Yes you did..."
This silly conversation isn't going anywhere so you made him bow down a little to whisper in his ear. Your lips brushing on them, teasingly with every word you said, "I think you look extra sexy today." You pushed back to enjoy the look on his face as you bite your smile.
He licked his lips and placed his arm around your waist to pull you close and press your body on his.
"Is that so?" "And I think we should mess up the bed." "Okay, but you're gonna call your co-workers and say there's an emergency at home." "Oh? And what kind of emergency should I say?" "We'll figure it out. After." . . . . Namjoon's shirt rode up to reveal his back, your hands at the brims, while you lay underneath him. Sharing a searing, heated, hungry kiss that grows more and more desperate. Arms around his neck. Knees digging into the mattress, staying awfully quiet because you don't want Koya to come awake. Cradling your back with his arm as he brought you down, Namjoon moans into the kiss, letting out a shaky sigh through his nose, brows furrowed in concentration until...
Ding-dong.
"Door set change, ma'am?"
Namjoon and you shot your heads at the door's direction at the same time. Damn it.
.
.
.
.
.
copyright © 2019 namjoonchronicles do not repost, this is the foundation of something I’d like to call a house husband universe, and I plan to make more in the future for each of the dad’s. You can say that it sort of merge with taehyung’s ‘outnumbered’, seokjin’s ‘marriage is’ and jimin’s ‘perfectly wrong’ universe... curious why the children’s name the way they are? talk to me
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phoenixryzing · 6 years
Text
Twilight Family:  Moving In  (Part One, Chapter Two)
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“Akright everyone, pick your rooms!” Twilight called. “Let’s move in!”
The kids cheered, and a chorus of ‘my room!’ echoed through the empty house. Twilight smiled. Despite their earlier reservations, they seemed to be embracing the new house. Or at least getting their own bedrooms.
Twilight walked through the second floor to see where everyone was. Animalesc Amaya had chosen the highest room atop the right turret, where she could watch everyone down below her.  Quiet Raven had picked the shabby front room,holding only the front window and accessible only by a thin crack in the wall. Professor Aster had picked the left-hand Observatory room, which overlooking the overgrown backyard. Loner Shadow had chosen the left turreted room, accessible only by a steep, retractable ladder. And Twilight picked the only other bedroom on the second floor, the small right bedroom close to all her children. 
One the bedrooms were picked, the real work began.
The first part was simply moving everything into the right section of the house. Initially Twilight assigned Shadow to organize what went where and Aster to unpacking it, but she quickly noticed that fastidious Aster was better at sorting, while Shadow did better at unpacking items. Amaya, with her enhanced animal strength, helped Twilight carry the heavier items in, while Raven carried in the lighter, more fragile items. Once all the normal items- kitchen equipment, books, folding table and chairs- were unpacked, the children’s rooms had to be done.
Each child owned a few items tailored to their particular tastes. Amya had toys, mostly blocks and animals of various kinds; as well as action-packed posters. Aster owned science equipment and books, mostly her mother’s, as well as a collection of mechanical items she disassembled and reassembled. Raven had the least, having an aquarium, terrarium, plants, and many plushies and blankets. Shadow, like her mother, mostly owned books, and also many candles and little lamps, and writing equipment. 
The children did not own much, but what little they did had problems getting into their rooms. Raven’s lack of a door meant she had to carry them in by hand, by her weakness made it laborious. To speed things up, Twilight had Amaya carry the items in, as she was small enough to fit but much stronger than Raven. Meanwhile, Raven and Shadow moved the latter in.  Amaya and Shadow’s decisions to live in the turrets made getting their various toys and books, respectively; hard to move. After having the children try to carry them up, and Raven having to catch them with her shield before they fell and cracked their skulls; Twilight decided to have Raven move everything up with her shield, while Shadow took them and unpacked the boxes. While the three did this, Twilight and Aster went around the house and fixed various things- Twilight fixing whatever wiring or plumbing she could see, and Aster restoring whatever was unrepairable. All was going well, until...
CRASH
Twilight whipped her head around when she heard the crash, and heard the thin cry of Raven. Heart sinking, she raced to where her daughter was, and found a horrible scene.
On the floor  lay Raven, bleeding from many cuts across her back and arms. On top and around her lay shards of glass- a mirror of Shadow’s which had fallen on her and evidently broken. Raven was crying softly, but it was clear she was close to passing out from the sheer amount of blood she was losing. Aster rushed over to her and started to restore her wounds, but it evidently wasn’t enough, and she started to pant from the strain.
Twilight rushed over and put a hand on Aster’s back, transferring energy over to her so she could continue to heal Raven. She could see that it wouldn’t be enough though, and yelled, “Get bandages, stat!”
She heard bumps from upstairs, and Amaya appeared. Before Twilight could yell at her to stop, she had jumped down from her turret and raced to find the ran to get the bandages, coming back only a moment later, panting but no worse for wear. Twilight looked at her and said, “I know it’s difficult sweetie, but could you try to staunch the bleeding a little? Just focus on keeping it in her skin.” Amaya nodded, and sat down beside Raven, her eyes slowly turning red as she focused on the blood in Raven’s body.  Twilight looked up to call for Shadow, but she had already climbed down and was right there.
“Shadow, take over on infusion- don’t overdo it, I don’t need you fainting- and I’ll bandage Raven.”
Shadow gave a tense nod but got to work, a soft purple glow emanating from her hand. Aster continued to breathe heavily, but kept up the restoration, and slowly Raven’s wounds started to close. Twilight pulled off Raven’s shirt and started to expertly bandage the fresh wounds, layering the cloth over many old scars. Even though she tried to be delicate, Raven’s thin skin tore under the pressure of just the bandages, bleeding afresh. But at last, she managed to swaddle Raven enough to stop the bleeding. The child was by now in a dead faint, and from the looks of it Shadow and Aster weren’t far off. 
Twilight stood up and carefully picked up Raven. “Children....I must take Raven to the doctor. She needs a blood infusion at minimum, or.... while I’m gone, Shadow, please make sure nothing terrible happens?” Shadow gave a curt nod, but Twilight could see the worry in her eyes. Twilight looked between her three worried children, and attempted a faint smile. “Be good while I’m gone, okay? I’ll be back soon. And maybe then, we can go do something fun! That sounds good, right?”
Her cheer fell on deaf ears, as worried eyes met her own. Amaya whimpered, “Will ray-ray be okay? I- I don’t- I don’t want-” she started to cry, her face flushing as her emotions rose.
Twilight hurried to say, “Shh, shh, she’ll be okay. I just need to go see the doc, and we’ll be fine. It’s okay. This has happened before, remember? We’ll be fine.”
“Twi’s right,” Shadow said, feigning optimism. “Raven will be a-okay. Now, why don’t you show me what you have unpacked? I’ll help you...” she trailed off, as the two walked towards Amaya’s room and started to climb up, Shadow moving slowly to make sure she didn’t fall.
Aster turned to Twilight. “Will she really be okay?” she asked quietly.
Twilight bit her lip. She couldn’t lie to the smartest of the lot. “She will be... if the doctor sees us. Hopefully, they will. But we won’t know until we see.” She took a deep breathe, and turned to leave. “Be good while I’m gone, okay?” she called back with fake cheer.
Behind her, Aster stared at her back, biting her lip from worry. Please.... let ray-ray be okay....
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sonofhistory · 7 years
Link
Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4
American Revolution RPF, American History RPF, 18th Century CE RPF
Nathan Hale (1755-1776)/Benjamin Tallmadge
Tags: Young Love, Last Kiss, Brief Smut, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Fluff and Angst, Emotional Roller Coaster, Cuddling & Snuggling, This is the last time they ever see each other, Foreshadowing Death, Fight Scene, Tags will be updated
Part 2 of the Early American History | Stories They Won’t Tell series (fics places in the series get rearranged by date in happens in)
All Fic Total Words: 9,187
____________________
September 15th, 1776 || 3:47 p.m.
6 days, 7 hours, 50 minutes till Nathan Hale’s death
“But here, I think you’re wrong, to blame,
your gen’rous muse and and call her lame.”
_______________________
         Nathan Hale could not sleep. His eyes floated back up to the roof of the tent, staring at the sheeting fabric sewn together at the corners in the flash of a simmering candle in the oil lamp. He lifted Ben’s head off of his bare breast, setting it on the single pillow he was lying on and sat up on the cot stiffly, his space filling. With goosebumps rising on the sleeping man’s surface, he tugged the blanket up to the undercut of their chin, slipping off feet onto the ground, grabbing his shirt from the corner of the bed, sliding it over his arms and shoulders but not bothering to button the front up.
         He ran his fingers through the front of his hair, combing it back with his nails, sitting back down on the edge of the cot, narrowing his shoulders and his eyes once again dipped to the sleeping man on the bed. With his curly, unruly cinnamon locks, without a ribbon now, the strands tumbling messily against his lower back and his collar bone, barely sweeping the curve of his spine. Nathan sighed, his shoulders declining, fixing out his tense muscles. He wondered what time it was now, it was still dark, perhaps three in the morning? There was no ability to rest left in him, wide awake now. He gazed at Ben’s chest as it fluttered up and down, and his ears twitched in their state making him wonder just what kind of dreams played behind those eyelids this night.
         Their brows arched, etching out further those two wrinkles at the center of his brow--he was only twenty-two, why were there already markings on his sheath?
         Tenaciously, his own hand departed the cot and aligned upon those two nicks, tracing them with his cracked nail as one would gentle rub a stain from their clothing; they were anything but so. Riveting longingly at a portrait of the most perfect being in his perspective. Fingers stumbling across a dancefloor of flesh, with hands that had already memorized the contours of his spine, ears absorbing the music of those sleepy sighs escaping from his lips. He wanted to write down exactly how he felt as his vision scoped down, trailing the indigo veins until they culminated at his wrist, he knew the paper would remain empty. He could not of described it any better.
         Of everything he’d ever seen in his twenty-one years, of anything he’d touched, he kept on touching him , wrapping his grip around that wrist where it lay limp, rising it to his lips, pressing a kiss into his lifelines. It was his bronze laughter, it spread across rooms as hues of the same shape transform the skies. The Connecticut boy felt like scarlet and the most consuming passion, with its vehement divulging shades ripping their pictures around his silhouette. Their lips would meet delicately enough to not crush the rose petals of his skin, no less the devotion as the colors erupted together in the atmosphere revealing the most dazzling display of light.
         Dawn was breaking as their interaction stole form across the heavens. A fleeting juncture in a world that romanticized the universe. Nathan’s palm glided up to flicker down his abdomen his touch merely ghosting with fluttering wings like a butterfly, Ben’s gut tightened, coiling in on itself. His smoothing caress arrived to those hips that did not feel quite the same, protruding a little too much and a stomach that now revealed the bottom rib when he inhaled. Nathan frowned, just as exquisite as before in his most innocent form. But, Nathan Hale craved so much more than just form. He wallowed for depth, and for a soul. Something to burn him up with purpose and desire, wishing to be reduced to ashes by it but learn that he could rise from the embers just as fast. An attraction for things that would destroy him in the end.
         Nathan lay his now tired skull back upon the pillow, his face falling allineate with the man he’d studied so earnestly. Their noses brushed, he shut his eyes slowly, edging closer and pressing a kiss against Ben’s lips. Maybe it was an aspiration for the taste of his lips that flashed him to the scent of everything after it had rained, but the sunshine comes out. The lapping sound against the slippery cobblestones and the shamrock moss in between each carving pebble. Tree bark, pine needles weaves with how calm lakes feel against his skin on steamy summer nights with beads of sweat shimmering down the back of his neck and Ben’s form slipping between the water, stunning in the reflection of the moon across the rippling water.
         It was every marvelous memory swaddled at the corners of his mouth. He eased his burdens to share his joy and content in his sorrow. Every breath exchanged between urged jaws tasted limitless. Boundary lines pleading with ardent flesh with only that nods could utter. Out of his mortality, that hungers and his tongue that comes to know the semblance in seeking reason. The curvature of his lover’s waiting body fits into his wanting hand, breast warm as sunlight, pressures quick between his thighs. Ben was still asleep as he let go, sensing a stranger shift in his bones as if doing something for the very last time without knowing it. The last time he’d kiss, or the last time he’d kiss Ben?
          He felt his heartbeat on his fingertips as he shifted phantom strokes over Ben’s eyelids, spiraling down his nose and around his cheek before sloping to his chin and he drew his pads off, stationing a hand on their chest above his frantic heart. Air plummeted all to quick out of his lungs and he failed to breath, something warmed his veins and his eyes widened. Underneath the layers of skin, and the ribs, the muscle and bone, he was closer to anybody that he had ever been in his entire life. His palm was becoming a prisoner to the rhythm of that pulse.
         “You keep your soul in your eyes, Damon.”
         “Is that so, Pythias?”
         “You unlock it for selective few, but whenever it tis’ there, it guides its arms to the center of my chest.”
         “Then you must keep your soul in your chest.”
         “How so?”
         “Silly question. My soul can always find you.”
         Nathan blinked, as the absence of day ceased and darkness crawled back towards the Earth. Those ravenous tinctures of bronze and scarlet brimming up the heavens, shallowing across the tent. Still blind to the time, it must be four-thirty.  
         It was time to leave.
         Reluctance with strings like a violin swarming about him and leaping him back, he shook them off loosely, tipping back up, throwing his feet to the floor and hovering off the cot. He buttoned up the front of his open shirt, plucking down the sleeves to where they washed the coat of his forearm. Pausing to pull the blanket back up to Ben’s chin before passing across the tent; gathering his coat, slipping it over his arms, straightening out the collar remembering Ben’s tormented eyebrows meeting at the center of his brow as he did the same, standing above him, his outline against the eventide and Nathan’s arms behind his head with the most innocence he could establish. For justice, perhaps a copy to keep with him so that he’d carry a movement with him, he mirrored Ben, rubbing two fingers over his collar to straighten the material.
         He stood, tugged his boots on, rounding up all of his hair with two hands at the center of the base of his neck, re-doing the ribbon and looping it into his golden fibers once again. He circulated his eyelids, ripping at the corner of his eyes and not sensing the least bit of exhaustion. He tucked his waistcoat into his waist and slid the jacket completely over his torso, ceasing; he was done. Something plunged in his stomach, a cloudy pit of despair; there was nothing left. A moment of dread waded over him. He was done.
         Nathan Hale glanced back over to the cot and the man with his face buried in the pillow and rouge coating his eyelids. He didn’t want the chaos to leave him, not ever. It kept him wild, in strange ways of unique attraction. Tonight everything seemed to of made sense, except for the way Ben made him feel. He would depart from his eyes and he wondered if he would remember when he was gone how beautiful it was to feel. How guilty he felt knowing Ben would be waking up in the morning with half shut eyes, reaching automatically for the spot in the bed and remember just about all of his depression.
         Tears threatened to drowl from him, but he blinked them back sternly disciplining himself, composing, clenching a jaw in retaliation. He strided back towards gape of the tent, prepared to step out when he heard the cot’s joints creek. Incoherent murmurs flooded the room and he turned back, following the sound and landing on Ben. What began as a mere rustle revolved into kicking, rolling his neck back and forth whimpering. Nathan breathed, rejoining the foot of the cot when the screaming started. “No!”, a shout forced from the sleeping man’s throat, his chest racing up and down, sticky sweat clinging to the strands touching his forehead, “You can’t take him!”, a sob billowed in his chest.
         Nathan gathered on his ankles, throwing himself onto the cot, “Ben! Wake up!”
         Ben didn’t change, tears flooding onto his cheeks like oceans. His eyelids barely parted, and a sob emerged from his lungs, throwing himself into Nathan’s neck. “Nathan?”
         “It’s me”, he pulled him close into his neck, whispering softly in his ear.
         “You were gone,” he let out another whimper and covered his eyes with his hand, still half asleep, “You were gone.” He buried his face in the crook of Nathan’s neck, shaking, hands clinging to his shirt, balling his fists, his neck began to feel wet. “Please, Nathan…”
         Nathan’s own chest began to ripple, holding back his own emotion by cupping a palm over his aperture, muting himself. “Benjamin, I am not going anywhere.”
         “You were gone…”
         “I promise.”
         Ben grew limp again, flirting with sleep it seemed. A few mutters passed the space in his lips before there were words, “...soft as rose petals…” mentioning the hands clinging to his back.
         Nathan quivered, stamping the tears from his eyes, squeezing them shut, “I’m not going anywhere.” He breathed, setting Ben back down on the pillow once again and rising back again on unsteady feet. He held clamped knuckles between his teeth and his trembling chin where it landed in the palm of his hand, inclining, feeling bile rise in his throat that he swallowed down. He smoothed his shirt again with vibrating hands, zipping over the creases Ben’s fists had formed by those nightmarish portraits behind his dreams. He shook his cranium knowing just as well that he would never be back and in a violent or delicate acceptance, a battle shuffled in his chest; the place where Ben had once pointed to his soul.
         He grasped the lapels of the tent, parting them patent and treading out into the shimmering dawn luminescence. Breathing in the meadow air, gratified that there was not breeze to mask the warmth. He deviated the opening, peering his eyes back to Ben where they navigated the curve of his body on the cot. Reluctance to blunder away. The parts of the New York boy pulsated inside of him, knotting fingers around his ribs, daisies danced across his spine, pushing between the vertebrae, a garden of dashing roses wilting away. The floating petals plucked off of the stem, gliding to his domestic layers. He witnessed them poking up through his skin and already felt homesick for the places that were never really his own.
         “Goodbye, Damon.”
         Nathan knew Ben’s lips were moving to form syllables, Pythias. .
         Nathan Hale took his last look of Benjamin Tallmadge before shutting the opening, hesitant to step off into bigger things as he landed into their air. The very same bronze and scarlet coasting across the horizon, trailing up towards the sky where he said he might find his words written in the clouds. He smiled, fluttering lashes; the fusing intensities were searing his skin and he knew the familiarity of watery rain-slickened petals.
         He started away, not looking back; his lover’s kisses singing to the flowers inside him.
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kristophefgrperez · 6 years
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lindaschuler540 · 6 years
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Buy it on Amazon - http://ift.tt/2DsjnxB - Cheap Swaddle Blankets Muslin - Feather Print Bamboo Cotton Baby Swaddle Wrap, Burping Cloth & Stroller Cover - Gender Neutral Baby Girl or Baby Boy Blanket By LifeTree -- Click the link to buy now or to read the 37 4 & 5 Star Reviews.Subscribe to our Channel: https://www.youtube.com/channel/UCntoLigfkFpHtZMqFG89I4g?sub_confirmation=1 Like us on Facebook for videos, pictures, coupons, prizes and more - http://ift.tt/2wCDdi2 Cheap Swaddle Blankets Muslin - Feather Print Bamboo Cotton Baby Swaddle Wrap, Burping Cloth & Stroller Cover - Gender Neutral Baby Girl or Baby Boy Blanket By LifeTree These are some really nice quality blankets. They are nice and soft and I like that I got three different patterns and colors for variety. The material feels durable and not cheap in the least. The colors in the pictures depicted are pretty much spot on as far as I could tell. If you want some nice, soft blankets that are durable for your baby, these are great. ... Reviewer : Timothy Flores LIFE TREE Muslim swaddle blankets are AWESOME. Love the soft texture and whimsical prints that work beautifully for both boys and girls. These swaddles are oversized. They work perfectly for wrapping your newborn and child snuggly before bedtime, adding a extra layer of protection over your car seat or providing privacy while breastfeeding. Highly recommended this swaddler set for baby shower gift or any occasion
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readbookywooks · 7 years
Text
Theon
Maester Luwin came to him when the first scouts were seen outside the walls. "My lord prince," he said, "you must yield."
Theon stared at the platter of oakcakes, honey, and blood sausage they'd brought him to break his fast. Another sleepless night had left his nerves raw, and the very sight of food sickened him. "There has been no reply from my uncle?"
"None," the maester said. "Nor from your father on Pyke."
"Send more birds."
"It will not serve. By the time the birds reach—"
"Send them!" Knocking the platter of food aside with a swipe of his arm, he pushed off the blankets and rose from Ned Stark's bed naked and angry. "Or do you want me dead? Is that it, Luwin? The truth now."
The small grey man was unafraid. "My order serves."
"Yes, but whom?"
"The realm," Maester Luwin said, "and Winterfell. Theon, once I taught you sums and letters, history and warcraft. And might have taught you more, had you wished to learn. I will not claim to bear you any great love, no, but I cannot hate you either. Even if I did, so long as you hold Winterfell I am bound by oath to give you counsel. So now I counsel you to yield."
Theon stooped to scoop a puddled cloak off the floor, shook off the rushes, and draped it over his shoulders. A fire, I'll have a fire, and clean garb. Where's Wex? I'll not go to my grave in dirty clothes.
"You have no hope of holding here," the maester went on. "If your lord father meant to send you aid, he would have done so by now. It is the Neck that concerns him. The battle for the north will be fought amidst the ruins of Moat Cailin."
"That may be so," said Theon. "And so long as I hold Winterfell, Ser Rodrik and Stark's lords bannermen cannot march south to take my uncle in the rear." I am not so innocent of warcraft as you think, old man. "I have food enough to stand a year's siege, if need be."
"There will be no siege. Perhaps they will spend a day or two fashioning ladders and tying grapnels to the ends of ropes. But soon enough they will come over your walls in a hundred places at once. You may be able to hold the keep for a time, but the castle will fall within the hour. You would do better to open your gates and ask for—"
"—mercy? I know what kind of mercy they have for me."
"There is a way."
"I am ironborn," Theon reminded him. "I have my own way. What choice have they left me? No, don't answer, I've heard enough of your counsel. Go and send those birds as I commanded, and tell Lorren I want to see him. And Wex as well. I'll have my mail scoured clean, and my garrison assembled in the yard."
For a moment he thought the maester was going to defy him. But finally Luwin bowed stiffly. "As you command."
They made a pitifully small assembly; the ironmen were few, the yard large. "The northmen will be on us before nightfall," he told them. "Ser Rodrik Cassel and all the lords who have come to his call. I will not run from them. I took this castle and I mean to hold it, to live or die as Prince of Winterfell. But I will not command any man to die with me. If you leave now, before Ser Rodrik's main force is upon us, there's still a chance you may win free." He unsheathed his longsword and drew a line in the dirt. "Those who would stay and fight, step forward."
No one spoke. The men stood in their mail and fur and boiled leather, as still as if they were made of stone. A few exchanged looks. Urzen shuffled his feet. Dykk Harlaw hawked and spat. A finger of wind ruffled Endehar's long fair hair.
Theon felt as though he were drowning. Why am I surprised? he thought bleakly. His father had forsaken him, his uncles, his sister, even that wretched creature Reek. Why should his men prove any more loyal? There was nothing to say, nothing to do. He could only stand there beneath the great grey walls and the hard white sky, sword in hand, waiting, waiting . . .
Wex was the first to cross the line. Three quick steps and he stood at Theon's side, slouching. Shamed by the boy, Black Lorren followed, all scowls. "Who else?" he demanded. Red Rolfe came forward. Kromm. Werlag. Tymor and his brothers. Ulf the Ill. Harrag Sheepstealer. Four Harlaws and two Botleys. Kenned the Whale was the last. Seventeen in all.
Urzen was among those who did not move, and Stygg, and every man of the ten that Asha had brought from Deepwood Motte. "Go, then," Theon told them. "Run to my sister. She'll give you all a warm welcome, I have no doubt."
Stygg had the grace at least to look ashamed. The rest moved off without a word. Theon turned to the seventeen who remained. "Back to the walls. If the gods should spare us, I shall remember every man of you."
Black Lorren stayed when the others had gone. "The castle folk will turn on us soon as the fight begins."
"I know that. What would you have me do?"
"Put them out," said Lorren. "Every one."
Theon shook his head. "Is the noose ready?"
"It is. You mean to use it?"
"Do you know a better way?"
"Aye. I'll take my axe and stand on that drawbridge, and let them come try me. One at a time, two, three, it makes no matter. None will pass the moat while I still draw breath."
He means to die, thought Theon. It's not victory he wants, it's an end worthy of a song. "We'll use the noose."
"As you say," Lorren replied, contempt in his eyes.
Wex helped garb him for battle. Beneath his black surcoat and golden mantle was a shirt of well-oiled ringmail, and under that a layer of stiff boiled leather. Once armed and armored, Theon climbed the watchtower at the angle where the eastern and southern walls came together to have a look at his doom. The northmen were spreading out to encircle the castle. It was hard to judge their numbers. A thousand at least; perhaps twice that many. Against seventeen. They'd brought catapults and scorpions. He saw no siege towers rumbling up the kingsroad, but there was timber enough in the wolfswood to build as many as were required.
Theon studied their banners through Maester Luwin's Myrish lens tube. The Cerwyn battle-axe flapped bravely wherever he looked, and there were Tallhart trees as well, and mermen from White Harbor. Less common were the sigils of Flint and Karstark. Here and there he even saw the bull moose of the Hornwoods. But no Glovers, Asha saw to them, no Boltons from the Dreadfort, no Umbers come down from the shadow of the Wall. Not that they were needed. Soon enough the boy Cley Cerwyn appeared before the gates carrying a peace banner on a tall staff, to announce that Ser Rodrik Cassel wished to parley with Theon Turncloak.
Turncloak. The name was bitter as bile. He had gone to Pyke to lead his father's longships against Lannisport, he remembered. "I shall be out shortly," he shouted down. "Alone."
Black Lorren disapproved. "Only blood can wash out blood," he declared. "Knights may keep their truces with other knights, but they are not so careful of their honor when dealing with those they deem outlaw."
Theon bristled. "I am the Prince of Winterfell and heir to the Iron Islands. Now go find the girl and do as I told you."
Black Lorren gave him a murderous look. "Aye, Prince."
He's turned against me too, Theon realized. Of late it seemed to him as if the very stones of Winterfell had turned against him. If I die, I die friendless and abandoned. What choice did that leave him, but to live?
He rode to the gatehouse with his crown on his head. A woman was drawing water from the well, and Gage the cook stood in the door of the kitchens. They hid their hatred behind sullen looks and faces blank as slate, yet he could feel it all the same.
When the drawbridge was lowered, a chill wind sighed across the moat. The touch of it made him shiver. It is the cold, nothing more, Theon told himself, a shiver, not a tremble. Even brave men shiver. Into the teeth of that wind he rode, under the portcullis, over the drawbridge. The outer gates swung open to let him pass. As he emerged beneath the walls, he could sense the boys watching from the empty sockets where their eyes had been.
Ser Rodrik waited in the market astride his dappled gelding. Beside him, the direwolf of Stark flapped from a staff borne by young Cley Cerwyn. They were alone in the square, though Theon could see archers on the roofs of surrounding houses, spearmen to his right, and to his left a line of mounted knights beneath the merman-and-trident of House Manderly. Every one of them wants me dead. Some were boys he'd drunk with, diced with, even wenched with, but that would not save him if he fell into their hands.
"Ser Rodrik." Theon reined to a halt. "It grieves me that we must meet as foes."
"My own grief is that I must wait a while to hang you." The old knight spat onto the muddy ground. "Theon Turncloak."
"I am a Greyjoy of Pyke," Theon reminded him. "The cloak my father swaddled me in bore a kraken, not a direwolf."
"For ten years you have been a ward of Stark."
"Hostage and prisoner, I call it."
"Then perhaps Lord Eddard should have kept you chained to a dungeon wall. Instead he raised you among his own sons, the sweet boys you have butchered, and to my undying shame I trained you in the arts of war. Would that I had thrust a sword through your belly instead of placing one in your hand."
"I came out to parley, not to suffer your insults. Say what you have to say, old man. What would you have of me?"
"Two things," the old man said. "Winterfell, and your life. Command your men to open the gates and lay down their arms. Those who murdered no children shall be free to walk away, but you shall be held for King Robb's justice. May the gods take pity on you when he returns."
"Robb will never look on Winterfell again," Theon promised. "He will break himself on Moat Cailin, as every southron army has done for ten thousand years. We hold the north now, ser."
"You hold three castles," replied Ser Rodrik, "and this one I mean to take back, Turncloak."
Theon ignored that. "Here are my terms. You have until evenfall to disperse. Those who swear fealty to Balon Greyjoy as their king and to myself as Prince of Winterfell will be confirmed in their rights and properties and suffer no harm. Those who defy us will be destroyed."
Young Cerwyn was incredulous. "Are you mad, Greyjoy?"
Ser Rodrik shook his head. "Only vain, lad. Theon has always had too lofty an opinion of himself, I fear." The old man jabbed a finger at him. "Do not imagine that I need wait for Robb to fight his way up the Neck to deal with the likes of you. I have near two thousand men with me . . . and if the tales be true, you have no more than fifty."
Seventeen, in truth. Theon made himself smile. "I have something better than men." And he raised a fist over his head, the signal Black Lorren had been told to watch for.
The walls of Winterfell were behind him, but Ser Rodrik faced them squarely and could not fail to see. Theon watched his face. When his chin quivered under those stiff white whiskers, he knew just what the old man was seeing. He is not surprised, he thought with sadness, but the fear is there.
"This is craven," Ser Rodrik said. "To use a child so . . . this is despicable."
"Oh, I know," said Theon. "It's a dish I tasted myself, or have you forgotten? I was ten when I was taken from my father's house, to make certain he would raise no more rebellions."
"It is not the same!"
Theon's face was impassive. "The noose I wore was not made of hempen rope, that's true enough, but I felt it all the same. And it chafed, Ser Rodrik. It chafed me raw." He had never quite realized that until now, but as the words came spilling out he saw the truth of them.
"No harm was ever done you."
"And no harm will be done your Beth, so long as you—"
Ser Rodrik never gave him the chance to finish. "Viper," the knight declared, his face red with rage beneath those white whiskers. "I gave you the chance to save your men and die with some small shred of honor, Turncloak. I should have known that was too much to ask of a childkiller." His hand went to the hilt of his sword. "I ought cut you down here and now and put an end to your lies and deceits. By the gods, I should."
Theon did not fear a doddering old man, but those watching archers and that line of knights were a different matter. If the swords came out his chances of getting back to the castle alive were small to none. "Forswear your oath and murder me, and you will watch your little Beth strangle at the end of a rope."
Ser Rodrik's knuckles had gone white, but after a moment he took his hand off the swordhilt. "Truly, I have lived too long."
"I will not disagree, ser. Will you accept my terms?"
"I have a duty to Lady Catelyn and House Stark."
"And your own House? Beth is the last of your blood."
The old knight drew himself up straight. "I offer myself in my daughter's place. Release her, and take me as your hostage. Surely the castellan of Winterfell is worth more than a child."
"Not to me." A valiant gesture, old man, but I am not that great a fool. "Not to Lord Manderly or Leobald Tallhart either, I'd wager." Your sorry old skin is worth no more to them than any other man's. "No, I'll keep the girl . . . and keep her safe, so long as you do as I've commanded you. Her life is in your hands."
"Gods be good, Theon, how can you do this? You know I must attack, have sworn . . . "
"If this host is still in arms before my gate when the sun sets, Beth will hang," said Theon. "Another hostage will follow her to the grave at first light, and another at sunset. Every dawn and every dusk will mean a death, until you are gone. I have no lack of hostages." He did not wait for a reply, but wheeled Smiler around and rode back toward the castle. He went slowly at first, but the thought of those archers at his back soon drove him to a canter. The small heads watched him come from their spikes, their tarred and flayed faces looming larger with every yard; between them stood little Beth Cassel, noosed and crying. Theon put his heel into Smiler and broke into a hard gallop. Smiler's hooves clattered on the drawbridge, like drumbeats.
In the yard he dismounted and handed his reins to Wex. "It may stay them," he told Black Lorren. "We'll know by sunset. Take the girl in till then, and keep her somewhere safe." Under the layers of leather, steel, and wool, he was slick with sweat. "I need a cup of wine. A vat of wine would do even better."
A fire had been laid in Ned Stark's bedchamber. Theon sat beside it and filled a cup with a heavy-bodied red from the castle vaults, a wine as sour as his mood. They will attack, he thought gloomily, staring at the flames. Ser Rodrik loves his daughter, but he is still castellan, and most of all a knight. Had it been Theon with a noose around his neck and Lord Balon commanding the army without, the warhorns would already have sounded the attack, he had no doubt. He should thank the gods that Ser Rodrik was not ironborn. The men of the green lands were made of softer stuff, though he was not certain they would prove soft enough.
If not, if the old man gave the command to storm the castle regardless, Winterfell would fall; Theon entertained no delusions on that count. His seventeen might kill three, four, five times their own number, but in the end they would be overwhelmed.
Theon stared at the flames over the rim of his wine goblet, brooding on the injustice of it all. "I rode beside Robb Stark in the Whispering Wood," he muttered. He had been frightened that night, but not like this. It was one thing to go into battle surrounded by friends, and another to perish alone and despised. Mercy, he thought miserably.
When the wine brought no solace, Theon sent Wex to fetch his bow and took himself to the old inner ward. There he stood, loosing shaft after shaft at the archery butts until his shoulders ached and his fingers were bloody, pausing only long enough to pull the arrows from the targets for another round. I saved Bran's life with this bow, he reminded himself. Would that I could save my own. Women came to the well, but did not linger; whatever they saw on Theon's face sent them away quickly.
Behind him the broken tower stood, its summit as jagged as a crown where fire had collapsed the upper stories long ago. As the sun moved, the shadow of the tower moved as well, gradually lengthening, a black arm reaching out for Theon Greyjoy. By the time the sun touched the wall, he was in its grasp. If I hang the girl, the northmen will attack at once, he thought as he loosed a shaft. If I do not hang her, they will know my threats are empty. He knocked another arrow to his bow. There is no way out, none.
"If you had a hundred archers as good as yourself, you might have a chance to hold the castle," a voice said softly.
When he turned, Maester Luwin was behind him. "Go away," Theon told him. "I have had enough of your counsel."
"And life? Have you had enough of that, my lord prince?"
He raised the bow. "One more word and I'll put this shaft through your heart."
"You won't."
Theon bent the bow, drawing the grey goose feathers back to his cheek. "Care to make a wager?"
"I am your last hope, Theon."
I have no hope, he thought. Yet he lowered the bow half an inch and said, "I will not run."
"I do not speak of running. Take the black."
"The Night's Watch?" Theon let the bow unbend slowly and pointed the arrow at the ground.
"Ser Rodrik has served House Stark all his life, and House Stark has always been a friend to the Watch. He will not deny you. Open your gates, lay down your arms, accept his terms, and he must let you take the black."
A brother of the Night's Watch. It meant no crown, no sons, no wife . . . but it meant life, and life with honor. Ned Stark's own brother had chosen the Watch, and Jon Snow as well.
I have black garb aplenty, once I tear the krakens off. Even my horse is black. I could rise high in the Watch—chief of rangers, likely even Lord Commander. Let Asha keep the bloody islands, they're as dreary as she is. If I served at Eastwatch, I could command my own ship, and there's fine hunting beyond the Wall. As for women, what wildling woman wouldn't want a prince in her bed? A slow smile crept across his face, A black cloak can't be turned. I'd be as good as any man . . .
"PRINCE THEON!" The sudden shout shattered his daydream. Kromm was loping across the ward. "The northmen—"
He felt a sudden sick sense of dread. "Is it the attack?"
Maester Luwin clutched his arm. "There's still time. Raise a peace banner—"
"They're fighting," Kromm said urgently. "More men came up, hundreds of them, and at first they made to join the others. But now they've fallen on them!"
"Is it Asha?" Had she come to save him after all?
But Kromm gave a shake of his head. "No. These are northmen, I tell you. With a bloody man on their banner."
The flayed man of the Dreadfort. Reek had belonged to the Bastard of Bolton before his capture, Theon recalled. It was hard to believe that a vile creature like him could sway the Boltons to change their allegiance, but nothing else made sense. "I'll see this for myself," Theon said.
Maester Luwin trailed after him. By the time they reached the battlements, dead men and dying horses were strewn about the market square outside the gates. He saw no battle lines, only a swirling chaos of banners and blades. Shouts and screams rang through the cold autumn air. Ser Rodrik seemed to have the numbers, but the Dreadfort men were better led, and had taken the others unawares. Theon watched them charge and wheel and charge again, chopping the larger force to bloody pieces every time they tried to form up between the houses. He could hear the crash of iron axeheads on oaken shields over the terrified trumpeting of a maimed horse. The inn was burning, he saw.
Black Lorren appeared beside him and stood silently for a time. The sun was low in the west, painting the fields and houses all a glowing red. A thin wavering cry of pain drifted over the walls, and a warhorn sounded off beyond the burning houses. Theon watched a wounded man drag himself painfully across the ground, smearing his life's blood in the dirt as he struggled to reach the well that stood at the center of the market square. He died before he got there. He wore a leather jerkin and conical halfhelm, but no badge to tell which side he'd fought on.
The crows came in the blue dust, with the evening stars. "The Dothraki believe the stars are spirits of the valiant dead," Theon said. Maester Luwin had told him that, a long time ago.
"Dothraki?"
"The horselords across the narrow sea."
"Oh. Them." Black Lorren frowned through his beard. "Savages believe all manner of foolish things."
As the night grew darker and the smoke spread it was harder to make out what was happening below, but the din of steel gradually diminished to nothing, and the shouts and warhorns gave way to moans and piteous wailing. Finally a column of mounted men rode out of the drifting smoke. At their head was a knight in dark armor. His rounded helm gleamed a sullen red, and a pale pink cloak streamed from his shoulders. Outside the main gate he reined up, and one of his men shouted for the castle to open.
"Are you friend or foe?" Black Lorren bellowed down.
"Would a foe bring such fine gifts?" Red Helm waved a hand, and three corpses were dumped in front of the gates. A torch was waved above the bodies, so the defenders upon the walls might see the faces of the dead.
"The old castellan," said Black Lorren.
"With Leobald Tallhart and Cley Cerwyn." The boy lord had taken an arrow in the eye, and Ser Rodrik had lost his left arm at the elbow. Maester Luwin gave a wordless cry of dismay, turned away from the battlements, and fell to his knees sick.
"The great pig Manderly was too craven to leave White Harbor, or we would have brought him as well," shouted Red Helm.
I am saved, Theon thought. So why did he feel so empty? This was victory, sweet victory, the deliverance he had prayed for. He glanced at Maester Luwin. To think how close I came to yielding, and taking the black . . .
"Open the gates for our friends." Perhaps tonight Theon would sleep without fear of what his dreams might bring.
The Dreadfort men made their way across the moat and through the inner gates. Theon descended with Black Lorren and Maester Luwin to meet them in the yard. Pale red pennons trailed from the ends of a few lances, but many more carried battle-axes and greatswords and shields hacked half to splinters. "How many men did you lose?" Theon asked Red Helm as he dismounted.
"Twenty or thirty." The torchlight glittered off the chipped enamel of his visor. His helm and gorget were wrought in the shape of a man's face and shoulders, skinless and bloody, mouth open in a silent howl of anguish.
"Ser Rodrik had you five-to-one."
"Aye, but he thought us friends. A common mistake. When the old fool gave me his hand, I took half his arm instead. Then I let him see my face." The man put both hands to his helm and lifted it off his head, holding it in the crook of his arm.
"Reek," Theon said, disquieted. How did a serving man get such fine armor?
The man laughed. "The wretch is dead." He stepped closer. "The girl's fault. If she had not run so far, his horse would not have lamed, and we might have been able to flee. I gave him mine when I saw the riders from the ridge. I was done with her by then, and he liked to take his turn while they were still warm. I had to pull him off her and shove my clothes into his hands—calfskin boots and velvet doublet, silver-chased swordbelt, even my sable cloak. Ride for the Dreadfort, I told him, bring all the help you can. Take my horse, he's swifter, and here, wear the ring my father gave me, so they'll know you came from me. He'd learned better than to question me. By the time they put that arrow through his back, I'd smeared myself with the girl's filth and dressed in his rags. They might have hanged me anyway, but it was the only chance I saw." He rubbed the back of his hand across his mouth. "And now, my sweet prince, there was a woman promised me, if I brought two hundred men. Well, I brought three times as many, and no green boys nor fieldhands neither, but my father's own garrison."
Theon had given his word. This was not the time to flinch. Pay him his pound of flesh and deal with him later. "Harrag," he said, "go to the kennels and bring Palla out for . . . ?"
"Ramsay." There was a smile on his plump lips, but none in those pale pale eyes. "Snow, my wife called me before she ate her fingers, but I say Bolton." His smile curdled. "So you'd offer me a kennel girl for my good service, is that the way of it?"
There was a tone in his voice Theon did not like, no more than he liked the insolent way the Dreadfort men were looking at him. "She was what was promised."
"She smells of dogshit. I've had enough of bad smells, as it happens. I think I'll have your bedwarmer instead. What do you call her? Kyra?"
"Are you mad?" Theon said angrily. "I'll have you—"
The Bastard's backhand caught him square, and his cheekbone shattered with a sickening crunch beneath the lobstered steel. The world vanished in a red roar of pain.
Sometime later, Theon found himself on the ground. He rolled onto his stomach and swallowed a mouthful of blood. Close the gates! he tried to shout, but it was too late. The Dreadfort men had cut down Red Rolfe and Kenned, and more were pouring through, a river of mail and sharp swords. There was a ringing in his ears, and horror all around him. Black Lorren had his sword out, but there were already four of them pressing in on him. He saw Ulf go down with a crossbow bolt through the belly as he ran for the Great Hall. Maester Luwin was trying to reach him when a knight on a warhorse planted a spear between his shoulders, then swung back to ride over him. Another man whipped a torch round and round his head and then lofted it toward the thatched roof of the stables. "Save me the Freys," the Bastard was shouting as the flames roared upward, "and burn the rest. Burn it, burn it all."
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