#acarnificibusvenari

[goldendichotomy]

bloody ( helaine )

No one is supposed to be out late.  Some would argue that even what Alec does is against the current adjustment to laws, the birth of curfew.  That sitting upon his front porch is the same as being in public view -- ergo a danger.  To himself or others depends on who would be chastising him.  Garrett?  Himself.  That cop worries far too much about everyone instead of his own life, fumbling with anything he sees a citizen do that could cause them risk and then herding them away from it, adjusting their habits like a mother hen.  But Alec’s neighbors, well.  That would be selfishness.  If someone killed him, why wouldn’t they want to kill his fellow neighbors as well?  

Funny sort of mental state.  It doesn’t cause any ill will in him, but it does lure Alec out later and later, keeps him on the porch longer as he sits upon his chair.  Leans on the railing.  Or like this evening, half sprawled across the swinging bench installed into the roof over his porch with thin chains and delicate hooks.  

It’s peaceful, to be alone outside in the dark.  No silhouettes or sound beyond the thrumming of bugs and the faint motion of leaves in near silent wind.  Alec drinks it in.  Half dozing as he swings.  Leans onto his arm, eyes barely slits that close and struggle to open once again under the constant, soothing motion.  He thinks he could truly sleep there.  And yet --

Pressure.  Not on his body but in the air.

And yet --

Motion.  Body shaped, sudden enough to jerk Alec out of his half sleep state and upright as he squeezes his eyes with his fingers.  Blinks rapidly to take in the wavering figure at the edge of his property, a small slender thing that seems to notice his movement for it stumbles closer.  Clean steps that become less steady over the rock path that leads to his porch, where the light bathes over it -- her, her -- splattered and damp with red fluid that Alec recognizes distinctly as blood.  A sound breaks out of his throat.  Horrified.  Unsteady.  No nightmare, not with the cold ripping through him at the sight of her being so strong and pure.

     “Christ,” Alec chokes out.  Takes a single step closer before he stills himself, raises an open palm towards her in silent begging that she stays steady as well.  “Okay, you’re going to be okay.  Just stay there for a second, okay?  I’m going to go grab my phone so I can call the cops, and then we’ll get you inside and clean.  Is-- is that your blood, or...”  

The other option is unspeakable.  Alec swallows it down.

     “Are you alright?”

ONE WORD PROMPTS.

[noospherica-blog]

‘ don’t get your knickers in a twist! ‘ ( helaine )

FOR: @carafuror

of course she would, the words are a perfect insult to injury that blisters underneath noah’s skin as she wavers in place, sat on her butt with both legs bent at the knee in front of her in a splayed language that screams of her exhaustion.  she leans her arms on her knees and stares up towards helaine in a bitter silence.  what is there to say?  noah’s not a goddamn fool, she knows the skill level that she maintains compared to that of her fellow hunter is like a pill bug to a hawk.  natural skill with a gun is shitty compared to taking someone down hand to hand.  sinking a knife into a weyrewolf’s neck is massive.  hanging a wytch?  incredible.  

shit, she hasn’t even been encouraged to go after vaympires yet, let alone the angels and demons that curl through south dakota like the wicked vines of a particularly cunning ivy plant.  deep enough, he told her, and these things would tear the world asunder.  there are enough legends that noah has studied to prove it, aren’t there?  ten thousand stories and dozens of religions all focused on how the gods themselves would cause horrific destruction if given the chance.  that’s what noah’s supposed to be there for, in the end.  someday that would be her specialty, her expertise, and yet right now?

noah feels nothing like the hunter that he somehow saw in her.  just a lonely professor playing at something she could never do, all for the sake of belonging somewhere with people her age.  how fucking pathetic is that?  how cheap is she as a person, when every sparring match, every training day against anyone from helaine to the others who pass through the state ends with noah dripping sweat and blood onto the concrete ground.  barely able to move.  no spirit to kick her into gear, get her up when her body feels like it’s failed.  

it’s right, after all – she’s utterly failed.  

     “look,” noah says hoarsely, “i don’t really know what you want from me when we do this.  i’m not on your level – we’re nowhere near the same skills and i’m not gonna get better.  pretty sure i would’ve by now, at least in some way.  maybe i’d be able to block some of your punches, but look at me, helaine.”  with an aborted motion towards her chest noah feels silly, flushes, knows most of the bruises are hidden beneath her clothes or haven’t even formed fully yet.  even the ones that ache on her arms are more swollen beneath than colored above.

wiping sweat from her face, noah lets her legs give out and falls backwards.  spine to ground, hair like a messy and tangled halo splaying out around her skull.  the final cherry on this sundae of feeling shitty, she thinks.  just laying there with the urge to give up dripping out of every pore, mixing with the blood from the corner of her mouth and the edge of her nose.  “let me get my knickers in a twist if i want to, because clearly nothing’s happening that should be.  i’m the broken piece in all of this.”

HOCUS POCUS MEMES

[badgestay]

❝ you’re no stranger to sacrifice. ❞

it’s weird, to hear that from someone. garrett sort of blinks a little owlishly about the whole thing, as if this has somehow reached in and flipped switches in his brain. shutdown, and then restart. it’s hard to say why. he doesn’t really think of his life in terms of sacrifice. he thinks of it as the necessary thing to do, and he does it. he has to get up every morning and make sure the boys are the first priority. he has to spend all this time working because there’s no other option, because it’s what he signed up for. if he asked for it then it isn’t sacrifice, right?

but at the same time, it’s been wearing on him. being deadwood’s sheriff isn’t a job that most people would take on willingly. in fact, even being a deputy is pretty rare around here. most people view it as something dangerous, as something to be avoided. you become a deputy because you don’t know what else to do, or because your family has a history with deadwood’s sheriff’s department, or because you just moved here and you don’t know how things work yet. it isn’t something you volunteer for.

it’s hard to say why he chose this, besides the fact that it’s just always been this way. his dad was a deputy for most of his life, and their relationship was contentious, but it was the responsibility that mattered. garrett has always wanted, in the end, to do the right thing. it seemed simpler in college, taking criminal justice courses and knowing that would get him ahead back at home with the sheriff’s department. a degree meant something - meant more, even - all those years ago. now the world’s different and probably worse.

to hear it from someone so young, no less - that almost brings him up short. he watches her for a moment warily, as if expecting something bad to happen. that’s deadwood instinct, through and through - something bad will inevitably happen, or something bad is happening now. but he marks it down as the irrational paranoia it is, and finally laughs a little.

“i mean. i guess so.” the department. his sons. the town. all of it, building on top of each other, things chipping away at his time and energy until he is worn down to the bone. but that’s most people in their own jobs and their own lives. jobs are like that. parenthood is like that. life is like that. “i don’t really think of it like that. like sacrifice. that makes it sound so much worse than it deserves. it’s just... doing what’s necessary. doing what anyone does.” garrett sounds almost embarrassed about it. “nothing special.”

[goldendichotomy]

“ in case any of you needed a reminder this place is a twisting nightmare ”

     “that’s the job of newspapers, to make everything seem awful.”  

alec pushes the paper away from him, polite enough to gain some space but not seem as dismissive as he’s sure he could.  that’s the sort of game beautiful people play.  and she is beautiful, stunning even, a shining thing that stands out in the darkness of shade that alec has found from a local cafe’s interior.  sitting across from him as though they were old friends and presenting the headline that details those grisly murders like common gossip.  

makes him nauseous to consider it.  but then, maybe that’s what she wants to see.  she’s familiar and yet, not.  at least not in the way that daylight would remind alec of and that’s something to make all the difference.  so for a moment, he simply considers her.  reading the body language she offers, the small smile playing at her face.

then returns that smile as though it were a common thing to share murders like this.  

     “it could be much worse.  new york city would make this look pathetic in... a day.”

BUZZFEED UNSOLVED MEMES