#outlaste

he’s earned them, she thinks — every ridge and cavern, every paling crater and sun - kissed freckle that’d darkened since he’d escaped that arena. these signs of aging, these imperfections as the capitol so dreadly refer to, are relics of survival so few ever have the privilege to experience.     “when’d you grow up?”   it’s hushed, despite knowing the whisper catches at the tail end of each word; finnick has never failed to understand her. “i’m,”     emotion swells, a tide rising in throat, making tongue heavy as her eyes gloss — anticipating the cap of a wave against cheeks. “i’m so proud of you.” … @outlaste

" I EXPECTED A BETTER PERFORMANCE COMING FROM THE SEASIDE KINGDOMS KING. SHALL I START FINDING NEW SUITORS, @outlaste? "

* .℧° ▌▌ ﹠CARLEY. autumn leaves crunch beneath her feet as a promise of a new day glimmers on the horizon line. it sure looks pretty, but the ashes of the fallen still coats the back of their throats thick enough to choke on something as pure as air. then again, she knows, oh — CARLEY KNOWS ... death is far kinder than becoming a walker. what doesn't change in the rawness of morning light is the strain of knowing how such a revelation shakes hands with the truth all while someone else's blood stains cement crimson. what of that calamity has etched into her bones? ( all of it, i answer ) and she sees the same answer reflected in lee's eyes too. heavy is the head that wears the crown. to be good and wholesome yet cruel and alive. ❝   you don't have to punish yourself y'know.   ❞ carley softens considerably so in his presence. don't mistake her northbound traveling lips for pleasure. the contradictory worry lives in the creases by her eyes. her movement comes to a stop in the dead of the forest. a few birds ascend into the sky from the treetops. in the distance, a squirrel replaces with the crunchy echo of its own. MUCH LIGHTER, UNBOTHERED ... and if jealousy is a green eyed monster maybe there's a little one living inside of her. ❝   you just worked the night shift. let me take over the morning. you'll run yourself ragged out here, lee.   ❞ words come warm and sincere, like a fire in the crispness of fools weather. she follows up with a lighthearted jest: ❝   and hey, if you're a real glutton for punishment .. i'll go with you to scavenge the depot tomorrow. i promise to not shut up the whole way.   ❞

‘you, um,’    her voice comes out breathy and small initially, because of course it does.  [she chalks it up to nerves — definitely not the two people she just pushed out of her way moments ago.  or storm’s overall attractiveness.]  clearing her throat, emma tries once again to get her words out.    ‘that was just really good!  the presentation, i mean.  not that you don’t know that!  i’m sure you’ve probably heard that, like, a thousand times, right?’    she grimaces at herself mid-sentence, beginning to wonder where the nearest window is to jump out.  classic emma.    ‘sorry, it’s just — you talk about helping people like it’s … not about the power or who’s number one on hero rankings.  i don’t think i’ve ever heard anyone talk about it like that before.’

SOMETHING   ABOUT   HIS   GAZE   HAUNTS   HER.     this is not the sleeping child she had left in winterfell,   but he is not quite a man either.     fingers ache with the memory of the grasp of his sticky palms,   and the warm,   gentle,   sleeping breath that had filled the crook of her neck.          “   bran -   ”          his name feels thick leaving her tongue,   choking on the weight it carries.     he was your special boy.     for every time she had spoken it out loud since she rode from the gates of winterfell,   it had been in mourning.     in past tense,   in fear,   in memory,   in hope,   and now she doesn’t know how to say it without feeling her knees wobble beneath the crushing agony of a child lost.

“–And do you know how many times i have prayed to the Gods that you were not?  that i could unleash you from myself and free us both from further torment?”    repentance burns within the soft features of your face,   sharp only now with shadows of fireplace licking flesh.    you hadn’t meant to snap,  hadn’t meant the unforgiving nature of your comment.   in fact,  it contradicted the truth,  proof found in nights filled with worship,  holding each other like a prayer unspoken.    that was a line that could not be uncrossed,  and now left to suffer the consequences.      “ser criston,  i–”    your voice is different now,   raw and vulnerable in the way it shakes,  translating anger to anticipatory grief,  stripped bare,  language returns to that of a stranger but it is not enough to drown out the truth.   your outburst was not intended to inflame self-pity but a want–a cry–to feel witnessed in your despair.     “i apologise for tonight and the undue stress it may have caused.   it was not my intent.”