light of the moon — stella & nico.

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🌱 kaitlin.
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aspiring beam of light

light of the moon — stella & nico. May 5, 2019 14:45:55 GMT -5

Post by 🌱 kaitlin. on May 5, 2019 14:45:55 GMT -5

n i c o t h o r n e.

The mirror is a liar.

His reflection is someone that he doesn't recognize, a boy turned man turned back into a boy with no scars to mark him as his own. Nico clutches at the edge of his sink so tightly that he's almost afraid the pretty alabaster white of it will crumble into dust, that at any moment his robotic arm will glitch and bring his entire world tumbling down around him. He stares hard at the person he sees in the mirror, then grabs the already too familiar bottle of brown liquor from where he'd sat it on the sink. He keeps eye contact with the boy he doesn't recognize as he takes one long swig, a breath, and then another, barely feeling the burn anymore.

He is a fake.

One day he'll prove it.

He turns away this time, and aloud to himself he can't think of anything else to say but "You're a coward." And maybe it's true. Maybe he's no longer himself, no longer the boy he was and no longer the man that he became, but some horrible and empty version that had all of their memories and none of their clarity. Fight for yourself, he hears Francis's voice say to him in the back of his mind. Fight this ghost.

But he can't.

Instead, he runs.

As he walks towards his front door, the bottle still in hand, he thinks about running beyond the fence again, maybe staying among the wild for the rest of his days, but he's tired. He is bone-deep tired, with a cavern of darkness where his heart belongs, and he can't find the motivation to run far, no matter how desperately he cannot stay where he is. He sits on his front step for a bit, takes another long drink and knows there's a chance he might not be able to get up, that he'll just sit on this step and die on this step and join the breeze on this step if he takes another long sip like that, but he's not sure that he minds. At least, not until he looks to the sky and sees the clouds among that deep blue of an endless sky, and maybe he can't fight the boy he's becoming for Francis, but he can fight the stillness. It takes only a glance down the street to make his decision, and Nico pushes up from his front stoop quickly as he can.

He sways slightly, and a drop of brown liquid sloshes out the top of his bottle, catches on the olive of his new arm, and for a second Nico still waits for it to short circuit, for this to be the final straw before giving out on him, but it's not enough, and it doesn't, and so Nico walks down the street until he's directly in front of his mentors door and does the only thing he can think.

"Stella," he calls, rapping on the front door a few quick times before stepping forwards and leaning his forehead against it. "Stell, please," he says against the wood, heartbeat slow but heartbreak throbbing. "I need a buddy." He swallows. "A drinking buddy."

Last Edit: May 5, 2019 14:58:51 GMT -5 by 🌱 kaitlin.

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alex 🐺
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light of the moon — stella & nico. May 5, 2019 17:04:23 GMT -5

Post by alex 🐺 on May 5, 2019 17:04:23 GMT -5

s t e l l a b l a k e s l e y.

The boy who hungered for the world like a starving wolf, a wounded animal lashing out at all but the prince of flowers, had done the unthinkable. Stella had watched with bated breath as he faced off with Diana Sayers, a worthy opponent who carried herself with a level of poise and clarity that would no doubt be the envy of the Capitol for years to come.

Against all odds, he had prevailed. The Finale was the fastest in recent memory and Stella was instantly taken back to her final dance with Raven. The parallels were blatant clear to anyone with a pair of eyes and if Ex didn’t have a firm hand at the base of Stella’s back, she was sure she would have fallen over with memories.

A kiss to her temple and a whisper of words that she was safe - it was always the Capitolite grounding Stella - and her anchor kept her rooted once again. The snow was traded for a western wasteland. The blood red flowers swapped for yellow flowers of gold, but the story was the same. Boy versus girl dying (literally) to get home.

Mackenzie was at her side as well - they had spent much of last night in silence, Teddy hovering around the edges as they waited for the inevitable fall of either Nico or Diana.

Blood, sweat, money, favors, all exchanged in order to bring someone home safely and Stella was tired. The drama played out on repeat year after year and she wasn’t sure that she could bear it again.

The betrayal ran deep this year, the Gamemakers with their fucked up sense of humor. Nico had killed Carter’s sister and her duty to him was no less just because she was determined to bring Nico home. They were all her family - Ex, Carter, Nico, Teddy, Mackenzie, Hell. A broken family, but a family nonetheless. Bound in blood, spilled, saved, wasted, mourned.

Nico had been standing when the hovercraft had lowered, his head tilted back towards the sky and Stella could remember, could feel, could smell everything about her finale as deep and pure as the red snow that curled around Raven’s body. The burns marking her body faded, but she felt her skin burn during the nights that the dreams plagued her. He looked lost in prayer but she knew that his mind was in overdrive. Thankful, damaged.

She was lucky this time around - her nights had been spent in the company of Mackenzie and Teddy. Shared memories of lives that they had lived, lives that they had taken, weaved together in a tapestry of blood and ceremony. Memories of their allies burned on their souls like the memories of their kills and Stella knew that every single one of them, even Nico, would do it all again to come home at the end of the day. Self-preservation and all, you know.

They were solemn and quiet as the numbers dwindled, each mentor hoping that their charge, that their tribute would make it out alive. She had deprived Mackenzie of a mentor in Raven, even though he had found that and more with Jacinta. She had robbed Teddy of a victor when she bested Aeson, cursing his dark heart and soul as she dropped to the snow next to him. She had deprived Mackenzie of relief when Nico had emerged from the battle, broken, barely standing, but alive.

Almost like a knife in the back of one of her closest friends, she felt as if she had wielded the spear herself. She would never be over it.

It ends as quickly as it begins - the foreplay enough for the final act to bring it swiftly and Stella prayed that Diana felt no pain as she fell. Her eyes welled and Stella couldn’t even bring herself to look at Mackenzie. Betrayal in her mouth dulling the taste of the expensive champagne and caviar. Her dress was too tight and it was far too hot in here, but Stella knew that she had to keep her cool under watchful eyes.

Victory comes costly here, blood like gold, counted by the ounce. Its over. Its done. At least for now.

She collapses on a chair behind her, breath returning to normal, the leather welcoming and cold to the touch as Nico is lifted to safety. An Avox approaches with a tray and Stella smiles, grabbing for a champagne flute. She tosses it back and rises, smoothing her dress as the television goes to commercial before the replays start. They would be playing for days at any rate. Analyzing each detail down to the blood pattern and the temperature of the flames. The red fading to black. The final act finished.

Ex kisses her cheek, wrapping herself around her, the drama always the best aphrodisiac for the Capitolite, a smile that could launch a thousand ships, a smile that Stella would fight wars over, on her face.

"Good. Now the press can finally stop talking about Mackenzie's dynasty and start talking about yours. And with another young victor in the district to mentor, maybe we can sneak away for a night or two next year? There's a pretty little lake on the far side of downtown..."

“You already know my answer to that, love,” Stella whispers back at her, heart rate climbing and she is itching to leave.

She needs to see Nico now. Not later, not after they have remade him. Now. She glances around and too many eyes are on her. There is too much celebration to be had, even as the star of the party is being remade in the image of the Capitol mere miles from them. An absent honorable guest at one thousand galas across the Capitol as their brand is burned on his skin. He would be stuck there for days due to his injuries. He would emerge remade. Stitched together but never whole.

The party around Stella reaches a crescendo and the moment to escape is lost.

Stella finds her way to his bedside by the next morning. Teddy and Mackenzie have both visited. Have both offered their hearts in this destroyed souls club that Nico was now a part of. A lifetime membership for the small price of murder.

She speaks to him in low tones, her jaw clenching as he tries to make sense of what happened. Her words do nothing to soothe his spirit and why should they? They all mourn in different ways and he was certainly entitled to his pain. The world he carried on his shoulders a separate world than the one Stella carried. His memories his own. She was there for him - a presence, but he mourned alone. They all did.

The knocking shakes her out of her daze as she sits on the couch, red wine in hand and a book in her lap.

They would be leaving the Capitol soon for Nico’s tour and Ex was gone for the night. The blonde rises, a white robe falling off her shoulders and around her elbows, moving to where the bee is settled in for the night. She shushes him kindly. He might be comfortable with her and Ex’s presence but everyone else was seen as a threat. Stella blamed Euley for that, but even the thought of the girl always brought a smile to the blonde’s face.

"Stella," she hears through the door, and she turns, glancing at the clock and nodding to herself. No doubt the nightmares had already begun for him.

"Stell, please, I need a buddy. A drinking buddy." He certainly seemed well on his way to being well and truly drunk, if his demeanor and hunched-over frame was any indication as she pulled open the penthouse door. She rests her head on the door frame, observing him before angling it to welcome him in before turning.

”What's the occasion tonight?" she asks as she pulls down the scotch that she knew was his favorite. She grabs two tumblers, two cubes of ice and pours, mind whirling back to the train and to Carter. Moments lost in time but repeating themselves over and over.

"Ex would kill me for giving you her best stock, but you look like you need it. She also wants the exclusive, but you don't have to think about that right now."

"Do you want to talk about it?"

the smell of night, inhaling stars.

🌱 kaitlin.
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light of the moon — stella & nico. May 22, 2019 12:36:36 GMT -5

Post by 🌱 kaitlin. on May 22, 2019 12:36:36 GMT -5

n i c o t h o r n e.

She pulls the door open, and already Nico can feel his resolve crumbling, can feel the hollow places in his chest where the pain is starting to creep in, the jagged and broken edges of his heart starting to catch on every emotion that he's been trying to deny himself for the past nights.

He'd drowned them all, poured liquor down his throat and tried to convince himself that he was anyone else.

He wasn't a boy who had felt Hisidrio di Angelo slice a blade across his cheek and leave irreversible scars in its path. He wasn't a boy who had watched as his friend took a horseshoe to her skull, was not a boy who hadn't cried out for her, was not a boy who had tried to forget the sight of her blood seeping into her blonde hair and was never quite able to. He wasn't a boy who had lost limbs and been grateful for it, felt like they were the parts of himself that needed to be cut away to turn into the victor Francis needed him to be.

With every droplet of liquor that he poured, he tried to drown out another demon, and then another and another and another, but there are too many of them, too many things that Nico is ashamed of and proud of in the same breath, too many things that he doesn't know how to feel, doesn't know how to explain. And his demons are starting to learn how to swim, how to break through the fog of drink and remind him of one single thing.

You are ruined.

The sight of Stella there, clad in her bathrobe, clearly disturbed from his sleep, it sends the demons rattling in their cages. He's bringing this all back to her, knows that she has experienced the same loss, the same pain, killed and been killed and come back to this world swinging. She had made herself whole, made herself happy, found a life and love to bury her heart in—and here Nico was, bringing ruin and decay right to her doorstep, ready to take what he needs from her without a single care for what it might actually leave her with. You'll ruin her, too.

But she steps aside, and he crosses the threshold, and he doesn't look back.

The demons fly free.

"What's the occasion tonight?" she asks, and Nico doesn't even know where to begin, just knows that one moment he was staring at his reflection in the mirror and the next that he had to see her. Maybe that's not fair, but it had felt like he was staring down a long road to nowhere, like he had nowhere to go and no one to turn to and that he couldn't even turn to himself, that the man staring back at him in the mirror wasn't even someone that he could find comfort in.

"Just wanted to see you," he half-grumbles in reply, chest heavy.

Even his reflection is a stranger.

"Ex would kill me for giving you her best stock, but you look like you need it," she jokes, and Nico swallows thickly, reminded once again that Stella has found herself a life, that she recovered from her games and all he wants to do is steal that away from her, wants for tonight to not be alone, to just have someone understand, above all else, what it is to feel so desperately, completely alone. "She also wants the exclusive, but you don't have to think about that right now. Do you want to talk about it?"

In his old life, there'd have been a million things on the tip of his tongue, something about how he doesn't need to talk about it, about how he's never needed to talk about it, about how he's always been stronger than anyone else he knew and that he had gone through everything in this life all on his own before. He could do it then, and he will do it now. But that's not true, and the lie tastes like ash on his tongue before he has even gotten the chance to say any of it, and instead what comes out is a weak laugh as he watches her pour the drinks. He stumbles past her, heavy on his feet—his feet, even his fucking feet make him angry, make him remember that he is as much not himself as he is the same as he was before he entered the games. He drops his own nearly empty bottle on a random side table, leaving it behind with little care as he sits on Stella's floor, slumping down until he's leaning against the wall.

"No," he replies instinctively, almost pouting, feeling the sharp prick of anger behind his eyes. You'll ruin her, too, he thinks again and takes a deep breath.

He stares at the pair of his hands, looks hard at the lines of his palms and wonders if the ones on his right are the same as they were before or if the Capitol simply made up the pattern in the lines there.

"Did you want to talk about it?" he asks after a moment, looking up at her. "When you first got back, I mean—what did you do? How did you..." he struggles with the words, tries to figure out exactly what is it that he wants to be able to do. After a moment, he realizes. "How did you breathe?"

what are men to rocks and mountains?

a haunted house.

alex 🐺
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light of the moon — stella & nico. Aug 2, 2019 17:32:09 GMT -5

Post by alex 🐺 on Aug 2, 2019 17:32:09 GMT -5

s t e l l a b l a k e s l e y.

Stella would laugh in his face if she knew that Nico thought her whole. Unbroken and put back together in the right way, not a hair out of place. She would laugh and laugh until tears streamed down her cheek, the laughs turning into sobs. Soul-piercing sobs threatening to rid her of her breath.

She would laugh and call him crazy if she knew that he thought that he - a mosaic patchwork mess of a boy - was less she - a mosaic patchwork mess of a girl. They were both less than the sum of their parts. They were both more than the sum of their parts. They were exactly the same, both broken, both breaking.

They had been stitched back together with the blood and sinew, skin and bones of those that they had killed in the name of the Games, in the name of the Capitol, in the name of sport for one man who smelled of roses and death and cheap cologne. If Nico's demons had learned to swim, then Stella’s demons had wings. Her demons could fly, could march throughout snow and sleet, through fire and rain, through arid deserts and oases to find her wherever she sought refuge from their faces, from their cries, from their stings.

She wasn't whole. She wasn't the same girl that had woken on the morning of the Reaping and prayed that it would go quickly so she could return to the one move that never felt right. Her heart beat blood and oxygen but she was poison, radioactive.

They all coped in different ways.

She could tell Nico of the nights where Ex found her curled on the balcony. She was in the corner, arms wrapped around her knees, shaking from the frostbite that had left her bones four years ago. The burns on her arms, her legs, her face - phantom pains on skin that had been remade, drenching her in a cold sweat. Ex had walked over to her without a word, her hands finding Stella’s face. Her thumbs rubbing circles on her cheeks and wiping away the tearstains. She could tell him how Ex feverishly whispering in her ears and kissing her forehead had been the only way to bring the younger blonde off of the snowy peak and back to reality.

She could tell him of the nightmares that stole her breath, the burning of the invisible flames that licked at her lungs and turned her already black soul to ash. She could tell him that her temper was tempestuous now. She was an unlit match even at the best of times, a simple spark enough to unleash her inner demons. She could tell him she was like gasoline when betrayed, burning all in her path.

She could tell him all of this if he needed to hear it. And he looked like he needed to hear it.

"Just wanted to see you," he replies to her question of the special occasion. Words were always harder at the beginning. They never got easier and they never stopped tasting of blood and death.

He forgoes the couch to sit on the floor, which was an interesting choice, but she couldn’t judge him for his choices. She couldn’t judge him for anything. They had both stolen lives - their allies, their enemies, their own. Nothing was theirs and everything was given to them now and they cracked smiles and thanked the Capitol while swallowing back vomit and vitriol. Judgment was reserved for those who weren’t murderers. Those who hadn't cut down their friends in the name of returning to a home that did not exist for them anymore.

He bites out a “no” to her question, but she knew he needed time. He needed to breathe. He needed a moment to himself to gather the mess of thoughts running through a brain that was on overload. She would give him all the time in the world.

She settles on the couch facing him, her legs crossed and the bee buzzing angrily in the corner. A sip of the scotch and she knew why Ex favored the brand so - it was like honey running down the back of your throat, the burn of dying embers as it fell into your stomach. It was delightful.

Nico’s question startles Stella out of her reverie - "Did you want to talk about it?" he asks, looking up at her. "When you first got back, I mean—what did you do? How did you...How did you breathe?"

Now that was a million-dollar question. How had she survived the days, weeks, months after the Games had ended? How had she returned home to an empty house and her father in an unmarked grave? How had things gone back to normal? What the fuck was even normal anymore, really?

A pause. A deep breath. Another sip of scotch.

“I didn’t breathe for months. Not until the Victory Tour was over. You relive everything that you did, what you said, every fucked up choice and every mistake and every death for weeks straight and then they send you home and you have to sit there and just...be."

But no, that answer wasn't good enough.

"I screamed. A lot. Into the woods and in the Victor’s Mansion.” Stella pauses because she hadn’t even mentioned any of this to Ex, let alone another person.

But that wasn’t true, was it?

“I talked to Teddy a lot in the beginning. No one can really get it unless they’ve been there before, you know? We all have our separate pains and our demons and it’s the design here that we all have to cope in our own ways because no arena, no experience, is a carbon copy of someone else’s. Teddy and the others….they come the closest.”

Stella shrugged, her hand shaking the ice in the tumbler as she took another drink. Her eyes had been unfocused while speaking, not looking at Nico, but she glances his way now.

“The night before the Victory Tour, before we left here, I couldn’t sleep and wandered onto the balcony and wondered what it would be like to throw myself off of it. The wind was whipping my hair around my face and I glanced down and saw a snowy peak and not the city. We never left our arenas, Nico. We just…” Stella sighs and her heart is breaking for him. Her heart breaks for all of them.

“We just carry ourselves and the bags of bones we collected and try to do better for the next group, and the next.”

Stella certainly was winning no awards for motivational speaker anytime soon, but he deserved to her the truth.