warning: mentions of drugs, cancer, and thoughts of loss are a common theme in the below narrative. please don’t read this if any of those might trigger you!
perhaps, if you try hard enough, you can think back to the very first christmas that you remember. maybe you even recall a gift you were given - a train set, a doll, a now favorite book. when you think of that day, there are likely other people involved. the same people who flood memories of other holidays, of birthdays, of graduations. often, they fill the bad memories too. ones of pain and anguish, ones of loss, and of moments you wish you’d never have to remember again in your life.
finding out your mother has cancer is a newly established memory, imprinted into miles’s brain forever, he’s sure of it. most of his time has been spent in his room, googling too much, watching too many sad movies, and sending texts or making phone calls in search of the light. but tonight, tonight his feet move against the familiar pavement of the streets that have carried him through life.
cobblestones of the inner circle lake wisteria is settled around are a firm setting in miles hollis’s young mind. town festivals filled his childhood memories with cotton candy floss, balloon animals, and distinct traditions like the annual christmas tree lighting. his earliest memory of his mother blinks green and red, the frigid new england air washing over them. snow settled onto evergreens. four year old miles had discarded his gloves at the hot cocoa booth, running to his parents to show them how amazing the mini marshmallows are. boots a bit too big and he fell over himself, hot chocolate washes down the front of his body, palms skinned against the pavement. immediate tears and delilah, in all of her calm, scooped him up. a kiss to each hand, a few words of encouragement, her sweet nature, big smile - miles was healed. never left her side the rest of the night. safety, warmth, calm.
sneakers pad heavily onto the hardened tar, eyes clear, soft smile on his lips at the memories of being a kid. body stays light, hanging a right onto the road that passes by holiday house. eyes scan the large building he’d spent so much time in - with rebe, with friends, recently, back in high school. back in high school. fuck.
the end result of one buchanan party in particular vibrates as it comes into view. hardly memorable to him - the dancing, the lines of cocaine, the shots, the laughter of sharing stories, the lines of cocaine, rebe with some guy, more lines, dante with charlie, another, cj daring someone to jump in the pool - it’s cold - one more line won’t hurt. then, waking up in the hospital, delilah is bent over the edge of his bed. the strain in her voice evident as she begs miles to open his eyes. begs him to come back to her. heavy lids struggle to lift, struggle to give into her pleas. hand squeezes hers and that very strain turns to disbelief. to celebration. still distraught, she sits up, speaking directly to her son. “ it’s okay, miles, honey, it’s okay. please open your eyes, let us help you. dear god, let us help you. ” ardent, persistent, hopeful.
heart racing, tears fill his eyes. hang a left down a street on the ‘rougher’ side of lake wisteria. a familiar apartment building jogs his mind as his feet continue the same.
there’s balloons, party hats, laughter. tables filled with more food than even a gaggle of four and five year olds can consume. miles and theo sit side by side as he opens the gift he’d gotten for the birthday boy. delilah told miles that it wasn’t a gift you get for a friend turning five, it’s a gift you get for someone you might marry, someone who meant more to you than that. but miles didn’t care. the heart shaped box of candies and the teddybear with love in its hands was what had spoken to him. hours of delilah and miles scouring children’s toys for him to simply pluck his favorite things from the valentines day section a few aisles down. hours he’d spent with his mother deciding on something for a boy who would become his brother. a boy he’d have to share every memory of his mother with from here on out. patient, wise, sweet.
tears stream down his face now, no stopping them as he picks up the pace, the sound of his feet on the pavement charging him toward the jones’. a palace of all things pure and kind and young.
except, a few weeks back, when miles had been running this very same route - eyes trained on the window of cj’s room. figure of his saddened little brother in view, eyes rimming with tears. if only they’d known then why they were both in lake wisteria after all. if only they’d known that being so fucking hard on each other all of these years would end them right here. he’s reminded, too, of the soft wave they’d shared just moments before he’d left for boston. nothing but torn shreds of a heart in his chest and somehow it vibrated between his ears as it beat. the same feeling when the news was first shared. delilah, all of these years, had wanted but one thing. for the hollis brothers to get along. and they’d failed her. miles had failed her. disappointment, anger, sadness.
his feet can’t take him farther - at the edge of the lake that holds every mystery unknown to this damn town, hiding is no longer an option. sobs shake his ribs open, knees cave in, hands digging into the dirt he’s now pressed into. why couldn’t he be like her? why couldn’t he give her all of the things she’d always given him? there’s no air he can breathe, no memory to recall, nothing that will stop the anguish that is now fully unleashed in his being. a loud scream leaves his lungs, echoing across the lake’s glassy surface.
what the hell is he supposed to do if there’s no more memories to be made?
Date: Centuries ago
Location: Faerielands
Word Count: 2475
Triggers: Death, Violence,
Summary: A peek behind the curtain. The loss of a team; the betrayal of a lover.
“Oh yeah? And who’s going to stop me?” Pulling herself forward by the straps of Embric’s armour, she placed a quick kiss on his nose before dancing away, a wild grin on her face. It had been months since something had even sniffed at the border and she was itching for a fight.
“Get a room you two,” Clara called out as Aerin pretended to gag.
Alyssum tightened the straps around her waist and winked at Clara. “That’s the plan – we just have to take care of one small problem.” Motioning to the rest of the fae lounging around the tree, Alyssum straightened her back and adopted a more serious tone before beginning the briefing.
***
“Okay, next time you say you’ve got it, remind me to stand twenty feet away.” Wiping at her cheek, Alyssum grimaced as her hand came away dark and bloody. The smell of charred corpses clung to her skin like an obnoxious perfume and all she wanted to do was go home and scrub until her skin matched Embric’s red shine.
Embric reached forward and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, unable to hide his smile as he stared down into her annoyed yellow eyes. “But you look so beautiful covered in blood. Brings out the gold in your eyes.” Leaning forward, he kissed her hard and instinctively, Alyssum reached up to twine her fingers through his short hair. Heat pooled in lower abdomen and she pulled him in closer, pressing every inch of herself against him.
Alyssum was the first to pull away, small gasps escaping her mouth as she tried to regain her breath. Whenever they were together, it always felt like she was being overwhelmed with an inferno that wanted to devour her whole. Leaning up on her tip-toes, Alyssum pressed a soft kiss to his lips before gently pulling away, and grimaced at the loud squelch that echoed around the valley as their blood and gunk covered bodies separated.
“Gross.”
He laughed and tapped her crinkled up nose with a finger. “C’mon Allie, let’s go get cleaned up. And then…” Trailing off, he leaned in for one last kiss, pulling a low moan from Alyssum as he deepened it, her hands coming up to curl around his waist. Their home was only a twenty minute walk away. They didn’t make it.
***
“Mauvie look out!” Shoving off the shambling corpse that was attempting to bite her neck, Alyssum reached out with one hand and wrenched it up, the earth under the water fae’s feet rising ten feet in the air. The three corpses that had been coming up from behind looked up at the sudden hill, all of them sharing a confused expression.
With a wave of her hands, Mauvie directed the flow of water she was controlling and washed them away. “Thanks Allie!”
When Alyssum was sure the area was clear, she carefully lowered the raised earth and brought Mauvie down to her level. The area seemed clear for now – they could still hear the sounds of the others fighting a way off and both fae took off at a run to join them.
“These attacks are getting stranger and stranger,” Mauvie observed as Alyssum cleared their path through the forest. “This is – what? The eight time we’ve been dispatched to this area? Something’s gotta be going on.”
Biting her lower lip, Alyssum didn’t say anything. She’d thought the same thing and had brought it up to Embric one night, the moonlight casting half his face in shadow. He had laughed, and squeezing her shoulder, reassured her that it wasn’t weird. “I’m sure it’s just a cycle thing. You know some times of year are worse than others. Besides, the Court would have notified us if there was something weird going on.” Pressing a quick kiss against the top of her head, he grinned. “Now come here and let’s see if I can get you to forget all about this.”
Before she could bring up any of her concerns to Mauvie, the two fae had entered the battle area and immediately jumped into the fray. Alyssum never had another chance to bring it up again.
***
She wished she had some inkling, wished she could say that she suspected something was wrong. The truth was she’d woken up to sweet kisses from Embric and her favourite breakfast waiting for her at the table. The day started off perfectly and even as she strapped on her armour, dark green hands deftly tying knots, she had no idea what the day held.
Her team was sent out to the same area of the Outerlands that they’d been sent so many times already. It was familiar terrain and Alyssum had stopped trying to put the bush back and instead, simply left the paths for easy access. Embric was brimming with energy, joking and laughing more than he usually did on these expeditions. Leading the way, she smiled as her adopted family traded barbs and stories on the route up to the wall.
“Stop!” Their joviality was cut short by Alyssum’s harsh whisper. Creeping ahead, she had the few trees there were give her cover, their branches hiding her auburn hair. Just in the valley below had gathered close to one hundred of the shambling corpses they’d so often fought.
Pointing down, Alyssum motioned for everyone to spread out. They would attack all at once, while surprise was still on their side. With a sharp snap, the six fae descended on the horde and began their assault.
The fight ran long as, with each corpse they knocked down, another two would come to take it’s place. Mauvie was the first to go down, overwhelmed by the sheer numbers and, Alyssum fought to reach her, she heard a low cry from Treant as his face went grey and he stumbled to his knees. She couldn’t see Aerin or Clara but she could see the paths they were clearing as they acted as an improvised flamethrower. And Embric…where was he? Glancing around, she scanned the field but he wasn’t anywhere.
Something shattered in her chest and Alyssum gave a feral cry before thorny vines began to rise from the ground and sweep away large groups of the corpses. Her team was dying and she refused to let that happen. Pouring more and more power into the greenery that surrounded them, her skin glowed an emerald green and her yellow eyes sparked wildly.
It still wasn’t enough. Letting the vines sink back into the earth, Alyssum sent her power downwards, reaching as deep into the earth’s core as she could before pulling up. Muscle’s straining, she methodically swallowed the corpses with earth, sending them even further into the ground where they belonged.
She wasn’t sure if she stood there for minutes or hours, arms trembling as she over-exerted herself. It was only when familiar warm hands placed themselves on her shoulder’s that she looked up.
“They’re gone Allie. You did it. Come back to me.” Embric’s low tone wormed it’s way through her panic and slowly, she let the earth fall.
“Treant? Mauvie?” She asked, her voice deceptively calm.
A pained look crossed his face and he averted his eyes, staring down instead at her still trembling hands. “They didn’t make it,” he said, his voice thick with unshed tears. “No one did. It’s – it’s only us now.”
No. No. That couldn’t be right. They were all…they were all right there. No. She loved Embric but he had to be wrong. They were probably just unconscious. As long as they got them back in time…she could fasten vines to create a carry harness.
“Show me.”
“I don’t think that’s a good idea Alyssum.” His voice was low but she ignored the warning in his words. It wasn’t up to him to decide. She was their leader.
“Show. Me.”
Silently, he led her around the field where four bodies were laid out in a row. A scream caught in her throat and she made a low keening sound as she fell next to their still forms. Frantically pressing her fingers against their throats, Alyssum searched for a pulse or a spark of life but they were all too far gone. White hot anger began to build in her chest as she stared down at their faces, pale and grey and sickly looking.
Wait.
What?
Pushing down the anger (there would be time for that later) Alyssum peered closer at the fallen bodies of her family. They had no outward wounds, no chunks of missing flesh or missing limbs that would indicate they’d been killed by the corpses. She placed one hand against Clara’s pale face and gasped as her palm began to burn. Ignoring the pain, Alyssum opened their eyes one by one, the white hot anger returning as she took in the silver-grey tint they all shared.
“We have to find out who did this,” Alyssum said through gritted teeth, her hands digging into the earth as nettles and thorns quickly grew from underneath her fingers. “Embric, did you see –“
Embric wasn’t standing over her anymore. Instead, he was several feet away and conferring with what looked like an unharmed corpse. He looked over as she spoke, his face disturbingly calm. “Good, you’re done. We’ll have to move fast. They’ve converged on the outside of the wall, we just need you to bury deep and attacked the wall where it’s weaker.”
She stared up at him in shock, the loud roaring in her ears blocking out his words. He did this…he did all of this. Her hands began to shake and more plants began to spring up around her: deadly and poisonous, with bright colours and sharp thorns. He killed them. All of them. She was standing before she realised it, anger bubbling in her stomach, a boiling hot rage that clouded her vision.
One second she was on the ground and the next, she was swinging at Embric, her fist colliding with his jaw as a sickening snap rang out through the area. “You bastard,” she growled, going in for another hit. “How could you? You killed them all!” Screaming, she punched wildly again and again.
He was able to dodge most of them, although she did feel bone break under her fists at one point. Finally he had enough and raising both hands, Embric threw up a large wall between them.
“Alyssum, stop it. You’re not seeing the big picture.” His words were muffled slightly by the flames and Alyssum stalked back and forth, trying to find a way around it.
“You killed them. You’re going to kill everyone. Please, tell me. What’s the bigger picture? Because I can’t see how it can be good when you’ve killed our entire family.” Her voice was heavy with pain but she stayed focused. The time for mourning would come later.
His hands still raised, Embric shook his head. “Allie, love, you don’t get it. There’s so much out there, beyond the walls. Things that are trying to break in. It’s only a matter of time.” She darted for an opening between the flames and Embric quickly moved his hands, cutting off her path in. “I’m doing this for us. If we align ourselves with them, then we’ll be safe. They’ll protect us.” Chest heaving from the exertion of keeping such a large amount of power going, he lowered his voice. “Please Allie. I love you. Don’t make me do this. We were meant to be forever.”
A sharp pang rang through her chest. This was Embric. He wasn’t this person. She loved him, more than she had ever loved anyone before. Lowering her arms, the anger left her face and was replaced by a broken expression. She let her power seep deep into the earth as she stepped right up to the wall, holding her hand inches away from the heat. “Let me in Embric.”
The moment she dropped her guard, he lowered the wall and rushed forward. Gathering her in his arms, he peppered her face with kisses. “I knew you’d see it my way. Allie, this is the start of our new lives.” And then, one hand on her shoulder and the other wrapped tight around her waist, he leaned in for a deep kiss.
Tears began to fall silently down her cheeks as she brought her arms around him, clutching Embric as if to memorize his body. And then, reaching deep into the earth where her power had been stewing, she pulled up with every fibre of her being.
The ground rumbled beneath their feet and Embric violently broke the kiss, glaring down into her golden eyes. “Liar,” he hissed as his hands began to glow white-hot.
Alyssum screamed, a harsh animal sound that was ripped from her very core as he seared her skin, smoke rising from under his hands. Her concentration faltered for a moment and, at Embric’s triumphant grin, she gritted her teeth and brought the earth up between them.
The few corpses that had emerged took off running, leaving only the two fae left. Well, the one fae and the small mountain of tightly packed dirt. The field was silent, save for Alyssum’s heavy breathing and the crackling of her skin as it continued to cook from the lingering heat.
And that’s how she appeared to the Faerie Court. Wild hair and smoking skin, with tear tracks down her cheeks and a deep anger in her eyes. Alyssum refused treatment, refused to go to ground to heal, until they had brought back her teams broken bodies and had Embric locked up. The court assured her that he would be under constant watch and that his punishment would be swift and harsh. Her job now, they told her, was to rest. They would take her statement tomorrow.
Another earth fae had carved out a shallow grave in Alyssum’s yard, a necessity as she couldn’t even grow a blade of grass without every part of her body screaming in pain. The energy it had taken to pull up so much of the earth was well beyond anything she had every tried before.
As she laid down in the earth, Alyssum watched the stars pass overheard, their lights twinkling above the same as the night before, before her whole world had been turned upside down. Her body still smoldered but her chest felt numb. She didn’t realise she was crying until the dirt began to stick to her cheeks and neck. And then she couldn’t stop.
Deep, wracking sobs shook her body as she was gently covered with fresh dirt, sealing her off from the world the same way she had trapped Embric. His eyes, full of hurt and betrayal were the last thing Alyssum saw before the sweet oblivion of unconsciousness stole over her.
“ Last thing I remember, I was
Running for the door
I had to find the passage back
To the place I was before ”
— Hotel California
Alone.
Alone.
Alone.
Isaiah’s eyes were wide, trying to see through the darkness — impenetrable and dark and terrifying. His breathing was erratic. Panic sat hot and burning in his throat like acid — he was going to be ill.
His hand shook, them burning from where Grace had been held in them a few moments — how long? — ago; her signature perfume still lingering, still burning, still stinging.
Gracey was gone.
Adele was gone.
Eli was gone.
They were all gone. No one would come for him, no one could save him, he was alone. No one cared why would they now?
Why would they?
why would they?
why would they?
“No, no, no,” Isaiah said, repeating the word over and over, it shaking and tight and high.
This couldn’t be real. They had to be safe. Adele, and Eli, and Gracey — they had to be safe.
— But that’s not what happened, that’s not what happened.
Isaiah’s hands were shaking, tears were falling down his cheeks, his mouth was hanging open in a desperate attempt to get more air in his lungs. He felt like he was going to pass out, heart leaping every time he heard — thought he heard? — the monster shift in the unending darkness.
—No one is coming for you, Isaiah, why would anyone come for you?
Jerking to the side, hearing a cross between a snarl and a laugh — was this happening? Was this just Isaiah’s imagination? Did the thing make that noise? — Isaiah’s throat felt like it was closing.
“Fuck,” he managed to squeeze out, it sounding small and scared; weak; pathetic.
He swallowed. The darkness closing in ever closer; the creature no doubt prowling — waiting for Isaiah.
A second of silence. Tendrils of darkness creeping closer and closer.
—I’m not dying like this.
His breathing jumped as he sucked in air. Jaw trembled as it was set. Another hard swallow. He pulled his phone out of his back pocket, the screen seeming dim — like it was reacting to the room as well. He opened Grace’s and his conversation.
[text]: Gracey I don’t know if you’ll even get this but I’m sorry
[text]: I love you and I’m sorry
Fingers trembled as he hit send. It was in God’s hands now if anything happened.
—Wasn’t there a verse in scripture about walking in Death Valley or something? Valley of death or something?
The stray thought was welcome to Isaiah as he stepped into the darkness. Fear mades his shoulders shake, his breathing erratic, made the first step off of safety and into the unknown, into the danger, a hesitant one, but a step nonetheless.
He made his feet take him as fast as he could through the darkness.
Because… didn’t fortune favour the brave? Isn’t it better to face fears head on rather than running from them?
He ran through the unknown — god, did he hate not knowing, not being prepared. It was something that had always motivated him — find out the truth, figure out the unknown, shed light on the darker parts of the world and make sense of it all.
He was scared.
The darkness seemed to heighten his hearing; seemed to heighten his fear. The churning of the limbs of the monster, the dull thuds of it hitting the uneven — uneven? Isn’t this supposed to be carpet? — flooring as Isaiah himself stumbled over the things he couldn’t see.
He hoped he wouldn’t run into the bodies of his friends, of his closest connections. Almost hoping that the teeth he could hear gnashing in the void-like darkness, could hear dripping with what he hoped was spittle and not blood, had absorbed them whole.
Not eaten them.
Not rendered their flesh from bone, not made their viscera get cold in air that seemed hot and suffocating.
The images his mind was giving was making his heart bang in his ears. It made his feet take more hurried steps. He didn’t want—
He didn’t want to know.
His hand hit the wall before his body did.
The monster shifted behind him, every movement like a grinding of rusty gears in Isaiah’s ears.
— Door, door, door, door.
The thought, though repeated, was surprisingly even-toned. Fear still squeezing his throat; his chest, but not paralyzing him. Eyes wide, flicking back at the small — safe? — space that was still illuminated against the darkness (though it was nothing more than a pinprick now), Isaiah let out a stuttering breath.
His hands ran along the wall, trying to ignore the creature stalking him in the darkness.
—If this is how I die… fuck it. This is how it goes. I tried.
His fingers hooked on the door handle, a shot of ‘shit did I lock it?’ going through his mind, before he pulled the door open.
A look shot back into the darkness; the gleam of eyes ( too many, too many ) and a jolt of energy sprung Isaiah out of the room.
He slammed the door shut, ignoring the pounding on the other side ( or was that his heart in his ears? ) and slid down the door. Eyes still red and glossy with tears, heart still pounding, hands still trembling.
The tower window was a dark square, but he knew she was there. Jasmina never missed a departure. He could see her in his head now — standing beside the balcony, hands folded, pretending she wasn't afraid of what every princess feared. For a split second, Iulian closed his eyes, imagining her veil, her laugh, and said a silent prayer that God keep her safe.
A captain rode up beside him. “My Prince — the men await your command.”
Iulian nodded. His voice was steady.
“For Wallachia!" He cried out. "For our people!"
The bannerman echoed his words, drowning out the final dedication. It was mainly for Iulian, anyway: "For my love, my princess."
As Iulian rode into battle, he thought of Mina again. She'd placed a small icon of the Virgin in his hand, whispering prayers for her prince in Old Church Slavonic, as if God might listen more closely if she spoke in an ancient tongue.
Come back to me, she pleaded.
I'll always come back to you, he replied. They made love one more time before the dawn broke.
The horses tore into a gallop. The world around blurred into steel, blood, and conquest.
Some called him the Wolf of the Danube.
Iulian had never seen a wolf in battle, aside from the ones on his crimson banners, but understood why men invented the story. A prince was too human for the things Iulian had done.
Iulian stood at the edge of a field, stained with red. Bodies littered the grass, some Ottoman, some Wallachian. He did not look away.
His armor was covered in blood.
Behind him, his captains waited in silence. No one dared to approach until he was ready. They couldn't tell that Iulian was exhausted; they couldn't tell that beneath the thick inches of metal plating, he was bruised, swollen, cut. He never showed it.
“Gather the prisoners,” Iulian announced.
The captives were brought before him—soldiers, messengers, a handful of local boyars who had sworn fealty to the Turks rather than him.
There was nothing worse than treachery — not even defeat.
One of the traitors spat at his feet.
“You are a boy playing at wolves,” the man sneered, frantic, desperate to hurt Iulian in his final moments. “The Ottomans will break you. And your whore princess."
Iulian studied him quietly. Silence frightened men more than action, he'd learned. He stared, long and hard. The traitor pissed himself.
“Impale them,” he told his captain.
The captain's eye twitched. "All of them, my prince?"
“All of them. But this one last. Find me when it's time.”
The traitor screamed then.
Later, rumors would spread across the lands that Iulian watched the stakes being raised with a calm, eerie sort of devotion — something akin to praying. Later, the rumors would say that he smiled. Later, they'd say that he walked among the dead and whispered blessings in an old tongue, turning cruelty and punishment into sacrament.
They even said he feasted on the flesh of his enemies; it was the only logical explanation for the size of him.
The Wolf of the Danube.
The truth was far less poetic and far more horrifying. Iulian felt nothing. He felt only necessity. These were the things required to protect his kingdom, his father, his love.
When the last scream faded, he mounted his horse and rode the line of his army.
“Tell them,” he said to his herald. “Tell them what happens to traitors. Tell them what happens to those who insult their princess.”
Men told stories around the fire: that the prince ran with wolves, that he could see in darkness, that his eyes glowed when blood was shed. They said he had been born during an eclipse, and his mother had died screaming, that he drank from the skulls of his enemies. They said that Iulian had made a sacrament with the devil and could not be killed.
He never corrected them; fear was his most useful weapon.
And when the long days of battle ended, when Iulian knelt by a stream and washed his hands, he thought of his Mina again, and how very human he was for her.
That night, when he rested in his tent, he imagined that he was back at the castle with her, lying atop the finest silk and pillows, with her in his arms. It was the only thing that helped him sleep. That, and the letters that she wrote for him.
Everything was fine, he’d fallen asleep like it was nothing with Lysander in his arms. He didn’t know what time that dream started but he was fairly certain there’d never been one quite like it. Tristan found himself back in the halls of Azkaban, people shouting as he moved through the prison. Faces of Death Eaters he had befriended when he was a member watching him, his mark back on his arm, moving ever so slightly as he moved further into the prison. Evangeline’s voice filled his head. “Who’s going to die for you today, Flint?” A quick giggle and the smallest glimpse of her before she was apparating away. He pulled his wand out, trying to shoot something at her to slow her down. Nothing. In one cell, he heard a cry all too familiar. As he looked inside, Eliza and was crying over both their parents’ bodies. “How could you do this, Tristan? They’re our parents.” He felt himself step backward, his back slamming into the wall as his breathing quickened. His father had been necessary to save his family his mother...his mother had done it to herself. That wasn’t his fault. It couldn’t be.
His feet carried him as fast as he could down the hall until he ran smack into Evangeline. The proud smirk on her face was hard to miss as she brought a hand to his face, gripping it tightly. “Now...Potter or Scamander? Let’s see who’s behind the next door, shall we?” She disapparted them into a room where Albus stood over James, on his knees as his brother gripped his dark hair, wand digging into his neck. “No! Let him go!” Tristan begged as he locked eyes with James. Evangeline laughed as she joined Albus, whispering something in his ear. Before he knew what was happening, James mouthed the words ‘I love you’ and a bright green light filled the room and he watched James fall to the ground and Evangeline rushed towards him, moving him to the next cell before his scream could even leave his body.
He wanted it to end, have that be the worst of it but there was Evander, towering over Lysander. “You know you were always his second choice, Flint.” Evander said as he looked over to Tristan. “Sure, you got him but what did it take? Me being gone. Look at him,” He placed his fingers under Lysander’s chin who was looking up at Evander as if he was his whole world, that look he swore Lysander had given him more times than he could count. “It was always me. One step ahead and so much more worthy of him. You? You don’t even deserve him remembering your name.” Evander glanced at his twin, smiling as he pulled her in for a kiss. “What would destroy him more? Killing him or erasing him from his memory?” Evangeline pulled back and looked between Evander, Lysander, and Tristan. “Hmm. As much as him forgetting him would hurt, I have a feeling making him watch you kill him would be so much worse.” Evander gave a pleased smile as he apparated right in front of Tristan, pushing the other against the wall, choking him with one hand and his wand pointed at Lysander with the other. “You were supposed to be my best friend, my second in command, and then you went behind my back. I should’ve killed you from the start, get you out of our lives forever.” Tristan swallowed, trying desperately to get words out. “Then do it.” He spat and it only caused Evander to smirk. “In a moment.” And then the cursed left his lips and Lysander toppled down to the ground. Tears poured down his face and the moment his legs hit the floor, Evander’s wand focused back on him. “I win...again.”
He remembered seeing green before waking up, screaming, sweat covering his body. Tristan felt as if he was hyperventilating and he didn’t say anything before he apparated to his chair and tried to get out of the room and into some fresh air as fast as he could. Nightmares were something he’d experienced since the war ended but he never wanted to experience that again. All his worries, thoughts, anxieties flooding him in one fucked up dream. Too many people had been hurt or killed because of him and there was nothing he could do about it. The Carrows may be dead but just like that dream, he knew they’d haunt him for the rest of his fucking life. Always there. Always ready to remind him of the things that he’d caused.
you woke up feeling good, but that feeling doesn’t last long as you enter your bedroom and see it on your bed. a fired bullet, golden and distorted from its fire. you know for a fact that you are looking at a bullet linked to the investigation of daisey rutherford. accompanying the bullet is a note written with a typewriter, stating: “ if you throw me away, i’ll know about it. and trust me, you’d regret it. ): love always, nathaniel ballantne.”
November’s chill 39 degrees would never dissipate from the recesses of Oz’s mind. Amongst long lost memories, suppressed under sheets of isolation, the dysphoria of a child who didn’t -- couldn’t -- understand what was happing to him lay a filmy, grey beginning of winter. Shoes he would soon outgrow. Mittens. Because he had been young enough then to find joy in the pure pleasure that was green and blue crochet or a lucky marble tucked away in a pocket for safekeeping.
He had been so excited. So excited. That his father had a surprise for him.
Oz never went anywhere with his father alone -- he was ignored until something he did or said (or more often nothing he did or said) angered Langston Oscar Lamar, Sr. who sentenced his son to an existence of opting to hide in the small out of service dumbwaiter, knowing the inevitability of one day it would give out under his growing body, rather than be unaccompanied by his mother in his father’s presence.
As if she had ever protected him from her husband.
And yet.
Dad had a surprise for him.
He was so much more gracious as a child. So much more willing -- eager -- to forgive.
It was hunting season.
Once again Oz had been reduced to a low where waking up and feeling literally anything at all at was an improvement from the numbness of the night before. He had visited his mother today. They talked about school. They only ever spoke about school. She made no mention of Daisey. No ‘how are you?’s. He had expected as much. He was less merciful with his mother now, sitting across from him by the fireplace, the mantle of which homed one of the late Langston Lamar’s vintage game rifles. When possible, he refused to look at it.
His first experience with death had been when he was six. At the time Oz had thought that maybe his father was taking him to a fair, or to city hall, or perhaps a movie. To the park? To feed the ducks? He remembers guessing until he couldn’t anymore, big brown eyes watching the woods get thicker and the house further away. He remembers the car stopping and asking where they were. He remembers that gun. He remembers seeing himself in the fine metal plating on its sides. He remembers waiting in silence. Remembers his fingers rolling over that small yellow marble. Yellow with orange stripes.
“Mom. You should really get rid of that.”
There were too many guns in this house.
He had expected Nate to be in when he got home, even offering a yawned, “Nate?” when tossing his keys into the bowl on the small table near the door. He glanced at his watch. It wasn’t nightfall, Nathaniel should be in. And though he expected to see his friend sitting in his armchair with a book that weighed as much as he did he assumed Nathaniel was preoccupied in his room, hunched over his desk. He’d leave him alone.
Oz was overtly perceptive to a fault, stepping into his own room and immediately straightening a pen on his desk. He took a moment to appreciate the correction, before turning his head towards his bed, a sharp chill running up his arms and down his spine. “What the fuck..” Long strides brought him to the bedside, glancing over his shoulder before carefully picking up the paper leaving the bullet alone.
“Nathaniel!” his call more urgent, fingers tightening around the note in one hand the other pushing open his best friend’s door. Empty. “Shit.”
His eyes found the corners of the walls, brow furrowed, fingers pushing aside books, scanning the mantle, examining every inch of wall space, pushing all of those pens out of their neat lines on his desk and onto the floor in search for something. “Where are you?” Anything. “Where are you mother fucker? WHERE ARE YOU?”
He looked at the note again. Tossing it onto his desk with gritted teeth. Fine.
He ran his hand over his mouth in thought.
Fine.
Then moved to his closet and pulled out his winter gloves, picking up the shell in one hand and holding it up to the light. You don’t forget the first time you see something die. And in the small reflection staring at him from behind the metal, he saw himself. He saw himself asking his father why? He saw confusion and pain and red, and he remembers his father’s answer.
“Sport.”
Some people killed for sport. For fun. He closed his eyes. Then with his free, ungloved hand slid his phone from his pocket.
[text >> @ofxcxdemics]: I need you to let me know you’re ok, Nate. Please.
[text >> Nathaniel, unsent]: Then I need you to come back.
She named Greyback, Crouch, and Rowle. We’re heading out in an hour to get them and bring them in. The clave won’t let them get away with this, Tris. Tristan sent a quick ‘thanks for the update’ reply to Lily before he glanced over at his father and the two others who were coming with them. He knew they couldn’t go after the rogue vampire with her still being held at the Clave but the other three? They could get to them before Lily and the team could. “We have an hour.” He said as he walked over to where Marcus and the others were. “I have the names, we go in, do what we came to do, get out before the clave shows up.” Marcus smiled, one hand moving to Tristan’s shoulder. “You heard my son. Kill the three, anyone else, just make sure they don’t get in the way.” He felt his body tense being referred to as Marcus’ son but wasn’t that what he was? The actual son to someone in charge, not some adopted kid they took in.
As they got into the hotel, doors opening, the confusion on the three vampire’s faces was obvious. Time was short and the moment a stake was handed to him, all that rage, need for revenge came rushing forward and Tristan threw the stake straight at Rowle, killing him in an instant. He’d never killed anyone but a demon before. There had never been a time where it was a necessary step so that feeling? It was shocking at first but, damn, it felt good to know he’d given them the proper punishment, not whatever it was the Clave would give them. The other two went after Crouch and Greyback while Marcus took care of a couple of vampires who were trying to fight back. They weren’t dead but they weren’t going to be a threat while they finished what they came to do. It was only a few minutes before the others came back, the job done and Marcus stood beside Tristan with a proud smile. “Good. Now, the Seelie queen is expecting us and will keep us for the evening. Good job, Tristan. You got your daughter’s revenge.” Marcus kissed his son’s head before the warlock with them opened a portal to the court. Tristan glanced around, the hotel was a mess, three vampires were dead, and two more knocked out...this was what had to be done.
Lily, Bella, and several other Shadowhunters stormed inside the hotel, ready to bring the vampires in for questioning and to get her niece’s killers off the streets and bring them to trial. As they stepped off the elevator, Lily felt the color drain from her face. Who had beaten them here? Who could have done this? They heard a groan and she moved swiftly beside the downworlder. “Who did this?” She asked, hoping this vampire didn’t get jumped from behind and saw something of the attack. “Flints. Marcus, Christian.” He said weakly but it only caused her brows to furrow. Christian wasn’t out, he was still being held in the Silent City. She quickly gave commands to try and find evidence before texting James. Tristan’s with Marcus. Attacked vampires. Greyback, Crouch, and Rowle are dead. This couldn’t be happening. This was just some horrible nightmare or maybe Christian attacked but they couldn’t risk guessing now. If it wasn’t Christian, it had to be Tristan,,,
As they made their way through the Seelie court, Tristan felt nothing but worry. He didn’t trust the seelies but he knew his dad and Christian had an established relationship with them. Even so, he couldn’t help but wish he could go home to Lysander. It wasn’t ideal and it would be the first place someone from the Clave would go looking for him but he wanted his husband. He’d give it the night, find a way to get to Lysander in the morning, and from there maybe they could run and take off together. Far away from New York, the clave... The Seelie Queen stepped forward, kissing Marcus on the cheek before eyeing Tristan as they stood there. “You look like your brother, certainly, but I don’t know if you’re anything like him.” One hand moved down Tristan’s arm, causing his eyes to follow the touch. “We’ll keep you safe tonight. We shall dine and then leave you all to rest.” Tristan didn’t trust it but followed along since he knew he was safer here than up on the streets of New York.
As everyone around him ate and drank, he didn’t dare touch the food yet. How many times had they gotten in trouble for doing so? Marcus glanced at his son before looking at one of the seelies who were there to serve them and the Queen. “You. Did you do anything to my son’s food?” He asked, knowing a seelie couldn’t lie. “No sir.” Marcus clapped his hands before looking at his son. “Eat, Tristan. You need the energy.” He hated that Marcus was right but he also knew this could bite him later. He hesitantly ate, only so he could have that nourishment to get him through whatever came next. He felt fine after, nothing of suspicion as they wrapped and everyone moved to their quarters the Queen provided.
Tristan laid on his bed, staring up at the ceiling, wishing he could go get his husband and bring him here, keep him with him. A knock brought him out of his thoughts and he sat up on the bed. “Yes?” A guard opened the door and there, like a miracle, was Lysander. “He asked for you, sir.” Tristan practically jumped from the bed, running over to embrace his husband. “Ly.” He breathed, taking every part of him in. The smell, everything was perfect and so needed. “I was just thinking I needed to come to get you.” He pulled back a hand cupping his husband’s face. “Your dad told me you were here and...I just needed to be with you, Tristan.” He let out a shaky breath before kissing his husband passionately, craving that anchor he always provided. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have left, I should’ve brought you with me.” He whispered as his forehead leaned against his. Lysander kissed him again, trying to ease his mind. “It’s fine, I’m here now.” He said quietly, causing his head to nod. “I need you, Tristan. In every way.” Lysander said as one hand slowly moved down his side, grazing his crotch for just a playful, teasing moment. A small, thankful smile appeared on his lips as he held him close. Leave it to Lysander to want sex right then. “We have all night. Whatever you want, love.” He assured him, leading his husband back to his bed, ready to take care of him however he wanted and needed. He’d gotten his daughter’s killers, he had his husband, this...this was everything and it was all because of his father. His true father.
Blaine Anderson (left) leaves a party followed by the rest of the Fab Five. By now he should’ve been used to reading headlines featuring his boyfriend. His boyfriend who was off doing his job in Kentucky or Kansas, wherever production moved them or going to events/parties. It wasn’t fair that things had changed. They were supposed to have a couple of months living together while they filmed the newest season. They had it planned out, had things they were going to do, and now it was all to shit. Facetime and texting were all they had until the next break. Harlow barked, trying to get Sebastian’s attention. When that didn’t work, she jumped against his leg. “Harlow! Come on!” He sighed in frustration as he tossed the magazine aside and reached down to pick her up. The two moved downstairs so he could let her run in the small yard. He leaned against the frame, watching his dog enjoy the fall weather. This was supposed to be a sight he could take in with Blaine, his arms wrapped around his boyfriend, just happy the other had finished filming or something. Blaine was probably in New York and living it up. Going out, having drinks with the guys or some other group of friends, and Sebastian was stuck in Atlanta...working, going to practice, and only going out when Nick asked him to join him and Jeff. While he kept up his grooming and everything else Kurt, Mike, and Jake had taught him, he felt like he was back where he’d been before Blaine. He was keeping to himself, but this time it was because he wanted to be home any time Blaine had a break. This...wasn’t the life he’d told him to live, but he was the reason he was in this rut. He felt torn and all he could think about was how much he hated it. If Blaine had been here, they would be living the life they were planning on having. Sebastian sighed, pulling out his phone and looking down at the screen for a few seconds before starting a text to his boyfriend.
Hope you’re having fun... Harlow and I miss you.
Big tournament next week. Would be pretty cool if you could make it.
But I get it if you can’t.
Looked like you had fun at that party the other night.
He closed his eyes as he took a deep breath. He never needed someone before, but without Blaine, he felt like he did. But if they couldn’t be together, then...wasn’t this holding him back? Making him wait around? This show wasn’t ending anytime soon. Blaine wasn’t going to move away from New York. So where did Sebastian really fall in his life? “Fuck.” He whispered to himself before calling Harlow back in. His fingers toyed with his phone as they got inside. He dialed Nick’s number quickly and leaned against his kitchen counter. “Can you come over? With some sort of alcohol?” This was his low all over again. The only difference this time? His boyfriend was part of his mental struggle.
