#affectum

oh,  your  baby.  your  little  nona.  sometimes  you  think  she  might  be  your  favourite  person  in  the  universe.  favourite  person  on  this  planet,  at  least.  definitely  your  favourite  person  in  this  room,  considering  it's  just  the  two  of  you  in  here.

and  you  went  and  got  yourself  STABBED,  even  though  palamedes  asked  you  to  keep  your  head  down  and  camilla  told  you  to  not  to  do  anything  stupid.  but  that  shit  gets  hard  when  you're  coming  up  on  your  11th  millenium,  and  sometimes  a  little  light  stabbing  is  just  what  you  need  to  keep  things  interesting.

you  didn't  really  want  @affectum  to  see  you  like  this,  but  better  to  bleed  in  here  than  OUT  THERE.  you're  healing  up  by  the  time  you  stumble  back  into  the  apartment  —  from  the  inside  out:  parenchyma  first,  then  nervous  system,  musculature,  and  finally  the  dermis  —  but  right  now,  you're  still  bleeding.  it  takes  a  lot  to  KILL  this  body  you're  in,  but  you  are  essentially  joyriding  a  vintage  muscle  car  running  on  fumes  that  you  hot-wired  with  blunt  wire  cutters,  so  you  need  all  the  help  you  can  get.

HELP  entails  of  strong  liquor,  your  bed,  and  rags  to  mop  up  the  blood.  and  NONA.  your  sweet  nona.  babiest  of  babies,  clutching  your  blood-slick  hand  and  not  even  caring  that  she's  got  some  in  her  hair.

'  well,  shit,  nums,  i  can't  turn  down  an  offer  like  that.  '  you  think  one  of  your  lungs  is  punctured,  and  your  voice  comes  out  a  little  wheezy.  there's  nothing  you  can  really  do  now  except  let  your  tissues  knit  themselves  back  together  —  a  sensation  you  never  really  got  used  to  —  and  wait.  

she  is  so  SWEET.  @affectum  will  spend  hours  at  your  bedside  when  you  are  at  your  lowest,  though  you  know  she  has  better  things  to  do.  she  asks  if  there  is  anything  she  can  do  to  help  you,  though  sadly  there  is  very  little.  but  still,  she  holds  your  hair  back  when  you  retch;  she  wipes  your  sweaty  forehead  and  chest  with  a  cool,  damp  washcloth;  she  doesn't  get  IMPATIENT  when  you  cough  for  minutes  at  a  time.  she  holds  your  hand.

it  must  be  painful,  falling  for  a  dying  woman.  certainly  more  painful  than  dying  itself,  which  you  have  grown  used  to  and  are  very  GOOD  at.  a  kind  and  unselfish  person  would  make  this  easy  on  gideon.  you  could  set  her  free  to  find  someone  better,  and  you  could  be  simply  her  friend  who  died  when  she  was  young,  forever  a  footnote  in  the  long  and  heroic  story  of  her  life.

but  you're  feeling  good  today  —  at  the  very  least,  you  haven't  vomited  today,  which  is  an  excellent  sign.  you  like  gideon.  you  WANT  gideon.  and  dying  has  made  you  SELFISH.

you  smile  at  her,  watching  her  own  smile  get  more  shy  and  more  sweet  at  the  sight  of  your  DIMPLES,  which  are  a  weapon  you  should  use  sparingly.  instead  you  show  them  to  her  every  chance  that  you  get.  you  raise  the  sunglasses  above  your  head,  as  if  she  couldn't  easily  snatch  them  from  your  grip  if  she  tried.

this  is  jinx  &  vi,  the  reunion.  take  two.  ACTION.

you've  planned  it  out  a  lot  better,  this  time  around.  there  are  no  props,  no  audience,  no  side  characters.  it's  just  you  and  your  sister,  as  it  should  be,  as  it  always  has  been  and  always  WILL  be.

it  was  surprisingly  easy  to  kidnap  @affectum.  she  has  always  had  her  guard  up  —  except  with  powder,  poor  powder,  too  bad  she's  gone  —  and  it  never  occurred  to  you  that  she  would  let  it  down.  but,  of  course,  at  CUPCAKE'S  house  vi  doesn't  even  check  the  lock  on  the  bathroom  door  while  her  girlfriend  sleeps  in  the  next  room.  when  you  kidnapped  cupcake  from  that  very  same  room,  you  dried  her  off  and  dressed  her  up  all  FANCY  for  your  tea  party  —  with  vi,  you  didn't  bother.  after  all,  it's  JUST  THE  TWO  OF  YOU.

you  take  your  time  tying  her  up,  taking  in  every  inch  of  her.  once,  she  was  so  familiar  to  you  —  but  now  so  much  is  different  it's  hard  to  see  the  vi  you  knew  beneath.  under  the  tattoos  and  the  scars  that  you  trace  with  one  finger,  careful,  gentle,  not  wanting  to  wake  her.  her  hair  is  shorter  in  the  back,  falling  over  her  eyes  in  the  front.  you  run  your  fingers  through  it,  tugging  it  back  so  you  can  see  her  face.  you  trace  a  line  between  her  eyebrow  and  her  lip,  joining  the  two  in  a  slash  that  cuts  right  through  her  tattoo.  VI.  she  is  so  peaceful  when  she  sleeps.  how  many  hours  did  you  spend  looking  at  that  face  as  a  child,  when  you  were  lucky  enough  to  share  a  bunk  with  her,  when  you  should  have  been  sleeping  ?

she  is  tied  secure  &  tight  to  her  chair,  calves  to  the  chair-legs,  torso  to  the  chair-back,  arms  to  the  armrests.  you  drape  yourself  over  her  lap,  legs  over  the  armrests  and  hooking  around  the  back  of  the  chair,  as  close  as  you  can  pull  yourself  against  her  body.  she  mumbles  and  flinches  when  you  slap  her  cheek  —  not  hard,  no,  not  hard  at  all,  just  enough  to  wake  her  —  and  her  eyelids  flicker.  when  her  gaze  meets  yours,  your  heart  swells  until  your  ribcage  bursts  and  viscera  &  bone  &  arterial  blood  splatters  outward  like  a  GRENADE.  or,  wait.  no  one  can  see  that  but  you.

you  wish  you  could  say  that  you  feel  BAD  about  driving  your  beloved  @affectum  to  the  point  of  madness,  but  you're  not  in  the  habit  of  deluding  yourself.  to  her,  you  are  willing  to  LIE,  though.

'  sweetheart  ...  darling  corona  ...  what  could  i  have  possibly  done  to  anger  you  ?  '  you  move  closer,  raising  your  hand  to  her  bowed  head  to  caress  her  abundant  golden  hair.  other  than  becoming  a  genocidal-adjacent  tyrant,  outranked  only  by  the  emperor  and  his  daughter  (  who,  by  the  way,  is  entirely  unfit  for  the  role  of  crown  prince  —  but  that's  another  story  )  yes,  aside  from  that  you're  not  sure  what  corona  could  be  so  upset  about.

'  is  it  kiri  and  i  ?  '  perhaps  if  corona  hadn't  kept  her  distance  from  you  for  so  long,  you  might  feel  bad  about  that.  about  finding  someone  to  fill  the  VOID  that  coronabeth  left.  but  she  was  the  one  who  left  you  :  running,  hiding,  keeping  her  distance  —  only  to  show  up  at  the  worst  moment  and  RUIN  your  plans.  '  you  know  that's  not  serious.  alright,  yes,  we  made  friendship  bracelets,  and  yes  i  had  a  portrait  commissioned  —  but  that's  just  business.  '

it’s  been  too  long  since  you  saw  @affectum​.  saw  her  soul  in  her  face,  conscious,  un-lobotomised,  and  not  attached  at  the  mouth  to  a  cave-dwelling  bimbo.  she  looks  ...  okay.  not  great,  which  is  understandable,  but  not  terrible,  either.  she  doesn’t  look  half  as  terrible  as  you  feel.  which  is  a  bad  sign  ;  you  feel  like  you’ve  been  ripped  into  pieces,  rolled  into  into  a  big  mushy  ball  of  suffering,  kicked  down  several  flights  of  stairs  and  locked  in  a  room,  forced  to  watch  the  most  important  person  in  your  life  through  thick  frosted  glass,  knowing  she  can’t  -  or  WON'T  -  see  you.  but  if  harrow  doesn’t  feel  the  same  way,  that’s  fine.

you  don’t  know  what  she’s  going  to  do.  is  she  going  to  tell  you  she  doesn’t  need  you  any  more  ?  make  your  break  a  PERMANENT  one,  sever  the  tenuous  ties  holding  you  together.  if  you  are  not  her  cavalier  and  she  is  not  your  adept,  what  else  could  you  be  to  one  another  ?

you  take  her  pointy  face  in  your  hands,  a  little  more  rough  with  desperation  than  you  intend.  she  sways,  probably  shocked  by  the  contact  :  your  hands  on  her,  what  are  you  thinking  ?  

god,  you  have  MISSED  her.  it  hasn't  even  been  that  long  since  you  last  saw  her  —  months,  you'd  say,  at  the  most  —  but  this  body  last  touched  her  far  more  recently  than  that.  you  were  so  boiling  mad  when  you  came  to  three  weeks  ago  and  realised  you  had  missed  her.  you  hadn't  even  been  close  to  the  surface;  you  had  no  chance  of  clawing  yourself  to  the  front  of  gideon's  consciousness  to  meet  her.

well.  you're  here  now.  and  what  a  way  for  @affectum  to  greet  you:  by  tying  you  to  a  chair  and  tucking  her  gun  neatly  under  your  jaw.  ONE  BULLET  would  end  it  all  —  until  your  necro's  healing  kicked  in  and  dragged  you  both  back  to  life.  you  smile.  you  just  can't  help  yourself.  it's  her,  the  sight  of  her.  she  makes  your  heart  kick,  gets  your  body  humming  with  energy.  who  knew  you'd  have  to  wait  nine  thousand,  nine  hundred,  and  ninety  years  for  your  SOULMATE  ?

don't  get  sappy,  dve.  this  is  a  hostage  situation.  you  are  the  hostage.  still,  the  smile  remains.

‘  go  ahead,  commander.  but  fair  warning,  i  probably  won't  be  able  to  get  it  up  for  you  while  i'm  bleeding  out.  ’

‘  is  that  any  way  to  talk  to  your  WIFE,  @affectum  ?  ’  you  really  need  to  swallow  your  grin  before  wake  makes  good  on  her  threat,  but  shit,  how  can  you  ?  a  chance  run-in  with  your  ex  of  two  decades  in  a  vegas  casino  has  turned  into  ...  this.  clearly  your  good  luck  didn't  end  at  the  blackjack  table.  you  reach  out  to  pull  wake  back  into  bed,  the  sharp  corners  of  her  ring  digging  into  your  palm.  you're  not  sure  whose  idea  that  was,  this  gaudy  and  overly  feminine  ring  covered  in  enormous  diamonds,  but  it's  about  a  million  miles  from  anything  you  or  she  would  ever  choose.  and  you  love  that,  you  really  do.  it's  the  kind  of  ring  that  no  one  would  miss;  the  kind  of  ring  that  screams  TAKEN.

restless fingers fiddle with the lapel of your jacket. you force them to still before gansey notices. 'about last night.' memories rush in, unbidden—your hands under his shirt, your tongue in his mouth, his soft moans slotted into the spaces between each kiss—and you try to force them back. 'we can both agree that it stays between us. my brother doesn't need to know.'