#<- shortened title. will be using this tag

[rendside]

[heyimkana]

Untitled

Pairing: Yuuta Okkotsu x Female Reader

Word Count: 5K (I feel like I should apologize but if you’ve seen my other works, this is considered super short I’m being fr rn)

Summary: Yuuta is your new neighbor, and everyone loves him because of his sweet and kind personality. He has a crush on you, but you’re a married woman, so you can’t reciprocate his feelings the same way. But when your husband starts cheating on you, you can’t help but turn to him for comfort.

Content Warnings: alcohol, swearing, adultery/cheating, age gap (Yuuta is in his early twenties, reader is almost in her thirties), unprotected sex, also Yuuta going down the yandere route at the end I'm not playing so if it's not your cup of tea don't read

A/N: wrote this in one sitting after aleks @yuutito said something about yuuta and older woman that rewired my brain (how dare she went to sleep after casually telling me this like I wasn't going to just just sit there thinking about *redacted*-ing this ver of him in 124352 different positions). i was supposed to be watching my kids playing in my backyard but i wrote this instead. pls don't call child support. this is also supposed to be a drabble 🤡 🔫 i was going to send it to her on discord but a few people were asking if i was dead (girl, only on the inside lol) cause i haven't posted in a while so hi everyone guess who came back from the war (i'll go through my inbox asap i promise ily)

P.S: don't use your brain when you read this cause i certainly didn't use mine when i wrote this only my dick

Yuuta Okkotsu is your new neighbor. 

He lives across the street, and you’re not close to him, not yet. He’s younger than you, much younger than you—a fresh graduate from a reputable university who’s lucky enough to be able to work from home. He doesn’t go out much, but he’s friendly, always leaving good impressions around the neighborhood. Everyone knows Yuuta. Everyone loves Yuuta. 

The first time you asked about him, purely out of curiosity, was when you greeted your neighbor next door, an older woman living alone ever since her late husband passed. She just got home from, what you assumed, another trip to the clinic. You saw him stepping down from her porch after making sure she was okay and bidding her with a polite bow. You traded smiles with him, but he didn’t stop for a conversation. You just saw his face turn scarlet at the sight of you, and he dropped a quick “Hello” before he bolted.

“Who was that?” you asked.

“Oh, he’s our sweet neighbor Yuuta.”

“Sweet neighbor Yuuta,” you laughed a little. “He just moved here like three days ago, and everyone calls him that.”

“Because it’s true!”

“Uh-huh, and what did he do that was so sweet to you?”

“He’s helped me with my chores—washing the dishes, bathing my cat, mowing my backyard. He saw me having trouble crossing the street yesterday, so he offered to take me to the clinic today. Such a sweet boy, that man. Very handsome, too.”

That last part you could agree with. Instantly. 

You see Yuuta occasionally, always by coincidence, like maybe in the morning when you leave the house to put out your trash or grab a newspaper. He always seems like he’s eager to strike up a conversation but gives up before he can, simply because his heart can’t take it. You know he has a crush on you; it’s clear as day. He’s young, and he’s in love. It’s cute. But you’re married and committed, so that’s that. 

You meet him more frequently when he starts going to the same local supermarket. You bumped into him in one of the aisles, with him approaching you first because he saw you struggling to get that ketchup bottle on the top shelf. He’s so polite, and he’s, indeed, very sweet, especially to the elderly, always taking his time to humor them when nobody else seems to pay them any attention. He grabbed the bottle for you, and you ended up chatting with him while waiting in line. He offered to help carry your groceries, and you were thankful because you weren’t sure you could bring everything alone. He walked you to your car, bade you good night, and told you to take care. 

He’s your sweet neighbor Yuuta. 

Things haven’t been going well with your husband. It’s fight after fight after fight.  At first, your relationship became so strained because you couldn’t conceive even after two years of marriage. The truth is, you don’t want to have a baby, not too soon, not when you still want to focus on living your life, but he wants it terribly, and if you want your marriage to work out, there’s no other choice but to try. You’re somehow glad that the universe seemed to work in your favor, at least for now.

You’re unsure if it’s your fault or his—you don’t have the money or time to get yourself tested. Nevertheless, he kept trying, turning your sex life into a string of dull experiments, one after another. It didn’t come as a surprise that after a while, he gave up. What did come as a surprise was when he started cheating. 

You have reasons to back your assumptions from all the evidence you’ve found along the way. The lipstick stain on his shirt, the hint of female perfume in his car, the way he never left his phone out of reach, terrified of you looking into it. It’s enough. 

It’s Friday night. Your husband won’t be home until late. Still got a bunch of stuff to do at work, he said, which is another way of saying, I got my secretary sucking my dick since you barely even bother anymore. Which is true.

You’re tired of him. You’re tired of having sex with him where he only cares about him cumming inside you and nothing more. You’re so tired of fighting. And now that he's cheating on you, you grow too tired to care. About him. About your marriage. About everything.

So, you head down to a bar one night just to distract yourself. And there he is again. Yuuta. Sitting by himself, watching a football game on the big screen with a beer bottle in hand. He looks rather… lonely, a new face that makes your heart twitch a bit. His solemn look makes him more gorgeous in a way, more mature, more mysterious, and girls love that, don’t they? A slightly dangerous aura to a very sweet face, unapproachable yet inviting.

But that doesn’t last too long because the moment he sees you, his face brightens entirely. He smiles, standing up from his seat to greet you, and you meet him halfway. You end up chatting all night. He’s a fantastic listener, and he’s so kind and thoughtful with each word, comforting you the way you need the most. It’s embarrassing that you nag about your husband like this, but he seems genuinely interested in helping you convey your emotions, and you just can’t stop. It feels so liberating.

Yuuta buys you your favorite drink but also reminds you not to get too much alcohol in your system. You begin to trust him, knowing for certain he won’t take any advantage of you. He walks you home right after. It’s true that he lives right across your house, but he makes sure you get inside safely. He leaves only after he sees you close and lock the door behind you. You spy on him from the window, wanting to see what he does after you’re gone. You see him rubbing a hand over his face, flushed from ears to neck, looking extremely happy that he got to spend time with you. 

He’s so cute, you think to yourself. Like a high school lovesick boy, kind of cute.

Yuuta then notices your husband’s missing car, meaning that you’re alone in the house. He looks sad on your behalf, which is so kind of him to think about your feelings that much. Then he turns upset, as if he was thinking, how dare he stay out so late, leaving her without protection like this. Looking visibly worried, he then texts you, “Let me know if you need anything, okay? My door is open for you anytime.” You smile and promptly reply to him with, “That’s so kind of you, thank you.” 

He’s your sweet neighbor Yuuta.

These friendly sorts of private meetings between you and him go on for a while. Your husband often arrives late, usually drunk out of his mind or too tired to stay for a chat, and he heads straight to bed without even giving you a goodnight kiss. It hurts, but it’s fine. The more your husband breaks your heart, the harder Yuuta will try to mend it and make it whole again. And he did. Every night, when you’re lucky enough to see him, you’ll feel like a heavy weight is lifted from your chest. You feel… happy, even in this terrible situation, and it’s all because of him. 

You usually hang out with him at the bar, but sometimes you don’t feel like going for a ten-minute drive, and you choose to just cross the road and knock your fist against his door. No matter what hour you visit, day or night, for a morning latte or evening tea, he always greets you with the prettiest smile.

He’s your sweet neighbor Yuuta.

Weeks passed by, and now you spend most of your free time chatting with him, sitting on the couch in his living room, and talking about yourself more than you ever did with your husband. He likes listening to you talk about yourself, and he tells you that you shine so brightly when you talk about the things you’re passionate about. He always stammers out his praises, looking like he’s seconds away from combusting into flames just from calling you beautiful or something. He’s so young, so inexperienced yet passionate when it comes to love and romance, and it shows.

You ask questions about himself, too, and you can understand why it’s addicting for him to watch you speak, because the second he does that, he’s breathtaking. 

You find out that he likes the things you like, he’s watched the movies you’ve seen, and he’s read your favorite books. It’s not just a coincidence, is it? Maybe you’re a match made in heaven. But even so, nothing happens. He’s too respectful, and he makes you respect yourself. You’re married, and he’s a close friend of yours. That’s it.

He’s just your sweet neighbor Yuuta.

One morning, you find a bouquet sitting on your porch. Oh, right, today’s our anniversary. Your husband has this habit of sending you your favorite flowers on your anniversary. He does this every year, which is nice of him, but you really didn’t think he’d send you one this year, seeing how he barely exchanged more than three sentences with you. So now that you receive his flowers, you’re beginning to think, oh, maybe he’s trying to fix things between us. You’re not sure if you want that, though, not anymore. Most of your heart already belongs to someone else, which is terrible since you’re married, but you can’t help it. 

You pick up the flowers anyway; too pretty to be thrown away. You open the card attached to it. I will love you forever, it says, written in his handwriting. The way he wrote the letter f is a little different. Looks like he wrote in a rush, you presume. Either that, or he just didn't care enough. And it’s whatever; you didn’t expect much anyway. You appreciate the thought until your eyes land on the name he wrote.

That’s not my fucking name.

He must have sent flowers to his secretary at the same time and had his card switched. That fucking cheater.

You thought you didn’t care about him anymore, but God, now you’re livid.

Yuuta shows up at the perfect place and at the perfect time. He invites you over to have dinner together at his place. “J-just, you know, as friends,” he says, unconsciously giving you the confirmation that he does not think of you as a friend. Not at all.

So you come over in a beautiful red dress later that evening, and he stares at you, completely in awe, for a good three seconds. “You, umm—” He blushes madly, his head so full of steam he could barely think. “You look like… like a goddess.”

“Thank you,” you simper. That was so corny for him to say, but he meant every word, which makes it endearing. “You look amazing, too.” And he is. God, he looks so handsome in his black buttoned-down shirt, and his parted hair, and his sweet, sweet smile.

I want to fuck the shit out of him.

It’s the monster inside you who speaks it. The part of you that’s been neglected for so long, that’s never been touched in the way you wanted to. And it’s screaming, begging for Yuuta to love you.

But no. We’re friends. We’re just friends, aren’t we, Yuuta?

Yuuta cooks, too, apparently. Every dish looks fucking delicious, and everything else is perfect. The table setting decorated with your favorite flowers. The scented candles with your favorite fragrance set up romantically on top of the cozy fireplace. The soft music playing in the background, a piano instrumental of your favorite song. It’s like a date. A celebration. Like something you should’ve had with your husband today.

“You did all of this on purpose, didn’t you?”

“Hmm?”

You gesture to your surroundings. “We’ve read the same books and watched the same movies. Okay, fine, maybe we have the same taste. But this song, those flowers, everything you’ve set up in this room, you did all of these for me, didn’t you?”

He pauses before he tucks his chin, avoiding your gaze. “I just… wanted to make you happy,” he confesses bashfully. “Is it… Is it too much? Do you not like it?”

“Yuuta, of course, I love it.” You stroke his arm, washing his worry away. “I just… I’ve never had someone care about me this much before…”

He melts under your touch, and there’s so much he wants to say, but his lips form nothing but a sad smile. He caresses your face with tender hand, his fingertips quivering slightly when they land on your cheek. His heart must be beating like crazy right now, you smile to yourself, leaning further into his touch to soothe him.

“I would do this every day for you if you let me,” he whispers, promise behind each word. “I would make you happy, so happy you’d forget what sadness feels like. What loneliness feels like.”

That stirs something inside your chest. “And what do you want in return for that?” You slide up a hand, testing his limit.

He stops your hand by covering it with his own. For a second, just for a brief second, he emits a different feeling. There’s intensity behind his gaze that burns you as if he wanted you all to himself. And that’s understandable. No man, especially one who’s so desperately in love like him, would want to share his woman with someone else, but he knows the situation they’re in, doesn’t he? It’s just not possible for you to be together, not now, not completely. Maybe that’s why he switches back in a blink, smiling until his eyes crinkle adorably. “Nothing,” he answers. “As long as we can be friends like this, it’s more than enough for me.”

He’s a terrible liar, you think, slightly amused. It’s cute how he tries so hard to conceal his feelings and you still can read him like an open book.

The food tastes as amazing as it looks, even down to the last bite. You don’t talk about the bouquet, afraid that you’ll ruin the mood, but Yuuta is always so attentive when it comes to you. He asks you what happened, and he hugs you the second he sees tears brimming in your eyes. You’re not sad. You’re fucking angry. And thank God Yuuta is there to let you vent your frustrations. You go as far as telling him almost every little shitty thing your husband did to you behind your back, as well as the slutty secretary that’s been sleeping with him for money. It feels relieving to finally say their names out loud, with so much hatred, so much rage, and to have Yuuta respond with, “No matter how pretty she is, she’s nothing compared to you. Your husband doesn’t deserve you. If I were him, I would’ve—” he stops himself, just in time, flustered and mortified under your gaze.

You’re older. You’re older than him by eight, no, nine years even. You know what’s going to happen if you encourage him to say the words he’s been dying to say. You know what it’s going to do to your relationship. But fuck that. If there were one man in this world who knew how to treat you like you deserve…

It’s your sweet neighbor Yuuta.

So, by the time the two of you move to the couch with some wine in your system, you lean forward, letting your fingers trace the protruding vein on the back of his hand. His eyes widen at the way your dress does very little to hide your cleavage, but he averts his gaze right away, being the gentleman that he is. But tonight, you want him to be the opposite of that. You don’t want him to be sweet; you want him to let his desire win. There’s a monster hiding inside him, something much more terrible than your own. You sometimes caught its glimpse when he thought you weren’t looking his way. The amount of obsession that fogged his eyes, his fixation over you, turning his sapphire blue eyes so dark, so deep, so intense, like he wanted to have you locked up in his room, tied up and used and thoroughly fucked until you found no strength to stand and no will to escape. It should’ve been a scary thought, but it wasn’t. It was… exciting.

“I want to hear it, Yuu…” Seduction lays thickly in your voice as you lay a gentle hand on his cheek, guiding his eyes back to you. You stare up at him from underneath your lashes with this look in your eyes that makes his breath hitch in his throat. “If you were my husband…” You wet your lip, your tongue a sinful dance to his eyes. “What would you do to make me feel…” You purposely drop your gaze to his lips, letting him catch your message. “…loved?”

You watch him gulp, goosebumps breaking on his skin. You watch his eyes fall to see the way you rub your thumb over the bumps on his knuckles. You watch them turn half-lidded as they linger a second too long on your lips. And you watch him break all control he has over himself, and you let him devour you the way you’ve been wanting him to.

He’s your sweet neighbor Yuuta.

And he tastes even sweeter with your cum on his tongue.

It’s happening too fast, yet it feels like it’s not going fast enough. He starts by holding you by the face, slotting his lips against yours, passionate and gentle at the same time. He pulls away for a moment to see your reaction, and when you kiss him back, he lets out this sinful moan that causes your stomach to churn.

He’s so fucking sexy. Even without trying, he is. 

In the next second, he’s eating you out on the couch, spreading your legs, and kneeling on the floor with his head trapped between your thighs, wanting to get as much of you as you can give him. When his tongue circles your clit, and he’s moaning against your heat, it feels so good you almost run away, not used to experiencing this much pleasure. It’s scary how easily he plays with your body. How fast he can tell which part of yours likes to be licked, which ones want to be sucked, and which ones want to be fucked. He moves agonizingly slow, but each touch feels so right that you find no reason to complain. He’s sure to take his time with you, to make you feel loved in the way a wife should be when her husband makes love to her.

He takes hold of your thighs, holding you tight, but you want it even tighter to the point of leaving bruises all over your skin so you can show them to your husband later. His gaze is intense, constantly keeping his eyes on you. Your expression turns him on, making him ache so bad within the constraints of his pants that his eyes turn watery, desperate for release. He’s too ashamed to ask you to touch him, and maybe he doesn’t want to be touched, not yet, he just wants to focus on pleasuring you for now. So he keeps sucking your clit into his mouth, and he slides one hand into his own jeans to grip his cock tightly. He fucks his fist as fast as he fucks your hole with his tongue, groaning, whining, whimpering against your cunt. He’s pathetic. You love it.

You push him down to the carpeted floor after you drench his mouth and chin with your juice, and you push his fingers, coated with his own cum, into your mouth. He curses once at the sight, and it’s so sexy when he does it. After all this time hearing him talk so softly, so innocently, hearing a low, “Fuck, you're making me lose my mind,” tumbling off his lips is such a fucking turn-on. 

You tear yourself away from your dress before you rip open the buttons of his shirt, not caring if the two of you are in the middle of his living room, visible for anyone to see if they dare take a peek through the window. You wish the light in the room were brighter. It would’ve been a lovely show for your husband if he came home to see you riding another man’s cock, using Yuuta to your own satisfaction, and watching him make you cum the way he couldn’t. 

Yuuta, oblivious to your thoughts, is gasping out your name, one arm hiding his beet-red face while his other one is gripping your thigh. “W-wait,” he flinches, his breathing tattered. “You’re going—too fast—”

You know you are, but it’s so good that you can’t stop. His cock rubs your walls so deliciously as if it was made solely for this purpose. You cum so fast, so hard, and he follows almost right away, unable to hold it even longer when he sees you looking like that when you cummed. 

Your body is still trembling when he suddenly lifts you off his cock and guides you to his face. “Ride me again,” he says, begging. “Please, Angel, I want to taste you again.” And you do, sitting on his face and letting him lick, suck, and lap at everything that seeps out of you.

He’s staring at your swollen clit, licking his lips and seemingly dazed as he rubs his thumb softly over it. “I’m sorry I came inside you,” he says, genuinely feeling guilty about it despite you giving him permission to.

You shiver, still feeling so sensitive for receiving so much stimulation at once. “It’s okay. I can’t get pregnant anyway,” you laugh it off. “I haven’t gotten myself checked yet, but we’ve been trying for two years, and nothing has happened yet, so…”

His gaze darkens. “I see,” is the only thing he utters before he scoops you in his arms, carrying you to the bedroom. You’re surprised; you really thought that was it. Both of you came twice already in, like, fifteen minutes. That’s enough, isn’t it? But he’s still young, and he has a lot of energy that leaves him insatiable. If you let him, he’ll have you for the entire night.

It’s not a bad thing, not at all.

So you kneel in front of him on the bed, bite the corner of your lip to drive him even more insane, and stroke him slowly with your hand. “You still want to fuck me?”

“Yes,” he breathes out, the muscles in his abdomens tautening. “Yes, Ma’am, please…”

Ma’am? You almost laugh. How does he keep getting cuter and cuter?

“Okay.” You reward him with a little kiss on the head of his cock, robbing a soft whimper out of his mouth. Lying down on the bed, you spread your legs, sliding two fingers down your body to do the same to your cunt. “Come here and love me again, Yuu.”

He obliges in a split second. Yuuta has so much love to give, and he lets his mouth, his tongue, and his cock paint a perfect picture on your body.

Everything feels like heaven until he suddenly stops in the middle of thrusting his hips, earning himself an impatient whine. His blue eyes have lost their warm, pretty light. They’re as dark as the night, but lust and greed are the perfect colors for him. He sits on his knees, resting your ankles on his shoulders, breathing heavily. 

“Yuuta?”

He’s not listening, too captivated by the way his tip slides in and out so easily. You’re so fucking wet for him; it’s embarrassing, but Yuuta would take a picture of you like this in a heartbeat, with your wedding ring still wrapped around your finger and his cock sheathed deep inside you, should you allow him to.

He splays his hand over your stomach, giving a little pressure to your womb. You squirm, suddenly feeling like you no longer have control over anything, over him, not like the way you did before. It’s frightening and thrilling at the same time. “Yuuta, what are you—” Your jaw turns slack at the sensation when he thrusts inside, just once, just to see how far it goes within your walls. He’s so hard and thick and throbbing that you could practically feel him poking from inside of your stomach. And perhaps he’s thinking the same thing, his eyes glistening when he feels a bulge forming under his palm. He swallows. He looks… hungry.

“You said you couldn’t get pregnant,” he says, running a tongue across his lower lip, his eyes still fixated on the way you’re taking him so well, all stretched out and tight around him. “You know what I think?” He pulls himself out completely, shivers in his breath. “I think you’re wrong.” He slams his hips forward so abruptly, and with so much force, you have one hand shooting past your head to keep a safe distance away from the headboard. 

“Yuuta—” You gasp out, struggling to match his rhythm. “Wait—”

He only smiles a little, chuckles a little. He’s so far gone. He leans forward until you’re pressed chest to chest, folding you in half before he laces his fingers together with yours. “I think you can get pregnant.” He moves closer to your ear, whispering with his lips caressing your lobe, “And I’m going to show you how.”

He fucks the breaths out of you, swallowing each cry with his mouth, embracing you so tightly you can feel his heart beating against yours. “I’m sorry,” he pants, “It hurts, doesn’t it? I—” He’s interrupted with a low groan, feeling you clenching around him.“—really am sorry—” He smashes his lips against yours, smothering you with his kisses, too. “I know I’m being too rough, but I can't—”  He has one hand gripping the top of his headboard, giving him more support to drive his hips even deeper. “I can’t—stop—” He fucks you again, and again, harder each time until you find yourself unable to make sounds. “You’re so good... You feel so good around me... My angel…” You’re being folded, handled, trapped, and he fucks you until you’re drained, until you’re filled, until he’s spent. "I'm sorry... I'm sorry... Just a little bit more..." He kisses your forehead and your cheek to soothe you down, cradling your head as he buries his face in the crook of your neck. His hips start to move erratically. “Don’t ever leave me… I will love you forever, so—ah, God—” He chokes out a sob when he feels you spasming around him again, reeling in another wave of orgasm that hit you so intensely, you see white.

It takes him a little over an hour until he finally lets you go. For now, at least.

But once he gives you a chance to breathe, he cleans you up so gently, dabbing a warm towel over your skin, peppering kisses as soft as butterfly wings down your back, your thighs, your chest, before ending his journey at your stomach. He rubs the supple flesh of your belly and smiles, completely satisfied after giving you his everything. And it scares you a little bit because… You might really end up getting pregnant this time.

“I have to go before he comes home,” you say, feeling your body ache terribly when you try to raise yourself off the bed. They’re not shown vividly yet, but there will be bruises in the morning in places you’re not sure you can cover. 

Yuuta hugs you from the side when you barely have one foot on the floor, whispering against the bare skin of your hip, “I’m not letting you go.”

It makes you happy. You feel so wanted, so loved, even after all the affection he gave you all night. The truth is, you don’t want to leave. Ever. To walk into your own home after experiencing what heaven feels like… It would be torturous.

“I wish I could stay with you, too.”

“You do?” He looks up with big, round eyes, hope residing in each one of them. “Would you stay with me forever?”

“If I could,” you reply and it’s true. God, if only you could stay forever with him, let him love you this way, forever. That would be perfect, wouldn't it?

“That makes me happy…” He takes both of your hands, kissing you on each wrist before he does the same to your palms. “That makes me so happy…” 

It tickles, so you laugh a little. He makes the same sweet sound, the sound of a boy in love. 

“I really need to go, though…” You whisper, hypnotized when he starts pushing your digit past his lips. It’s warm and wet inside his mouth, waking up the butterflies in your stomach. He keeps his eyes on you, looking so sensual as he sucks around your finger, enveloping it from base to tip. “Yuuta…”

“I understand.” He pulls away, ending it with a kiss. He seems disheartened, his smile doesn't shine as bright anymore and it hurts you. "I guess you left me with no choice."

"I'm sorry."

"It's okay." He returns your embrace, just one more time before you have to let him go. “Can you turn around for me, please? I want to give you something,” he softly smiles. “A present. It will be quick, I promise.” 

You do as he says, excited at the thought of it. What will he give you? Knowing him and how he went through so much effort to prepare a dinner for two friends, you just know it would be something incredibly romantic. Yuuta kisses your nape, open-mouthed and lingering. You nibble on your lip to suppress your moan as he trails his lips from between your shoulder blades down to your spine. 

“Yuuta,” you sigh, squeezing your thighs together. You’re aching for him again, and it’s dangerous. Your husband can come anytime soon. “I know what you want, and really, I wish I could stay,” you say from the bottom of your heart, looking over your shoulder to see him, and you’re immediately answered by a kiss. He presses his chest to your spine, one hand cupping half of your neck and your jaw to keep you in place so he can deepen the kiss. His mouth moves with fervor, filling you up with desire, and if it weren’t for the sound of your husband’s car moving into your driveway, you would’ve let him take you there for another hour or two.

“I need to leave. Now.” You break away to gather your clothes quickly. Except you can’t.

You can’t move your hands.

Robbed out of your balance, you fall face-first to the floor. Your breath catches, your heart plummeting to your stomach when you realize you have your hands tied behind your back. You feel something rough grazing against your skin. There’s a rope ensnaring your wrists together, and it’s digging painfully into your flesh every time you struggle to break free. 

Panic rises quickly to your chest. You look up, your body froze with terror at the sight of him smiling at you. 

He’s not your sweet neighbor Yuuta. Not anymore.

This is the monster you caught a glimpse of before, in full form. His handsome features suddenly feel unrecognizable, not when you can no longer witness the warmth in his eyes.

What is happening? You breathe fast, frightened beyond your mind. Why is he doing this?

“I told you I’m not letting you go,” he says, walking slowly toward you. With every step he takes, your urge to escape grows bigger.

The second the dread sinks in, you part your lips to scream for help, but he clasps a hand over your mouth just in time. “Sshh shhh shhh,” he whispers, bringing you back to your feet. “We wouldn’t want your husband to find out, would we?” 

You try to kick and toss your body around, but he’s strong, much stronger than you could ever imagine him to be. From your peripheral vision, you see him taking out a syringe from a drawer behind him, fitted with a hollow needle to inject the clear liquid into your skin. You feel your heart pounding in your throat, your scream muffled as he sinks it into your skin. “There, there. Off you go, honey,” he whispers in your ear, as you begin to lose your will to fight. Your consciousness slowly wanes away with each second passing by. “I’m so sorry, Sweetheart. It’s only scary at the beginning, I promise.” He tosses the syringe away, now empty. “Oh, I almost forgot to ask. Did you like the card I gave you?”

The card? What card?

Oh.

Oh, no.

“I’m sorry for tricking you like that,” he says with a little pout. “Truly, I am. I didn’t want to lie to you, but I had to do something to push you over the edge. I knew you liked me too from the start, but you wouldn’t make the first move. You kept staying faithful even when your husband was cheating on you like that. I admire you for that,” he sighs, utterly smitten by you, but only for a second before his tone drops. “But I was getting impatient, you see. And I knew you were, too. I watched your favorite movies. I read your favorite books. I learned everything about you and did everything you liked, but you still wouldn’t leave your husband for me. So you left me with no choice. I have to make you understand,” he slides his hand up your stomach, passing the valley between your breasts before he chooses to linger there, squeezing, teasing, pleasing. “That no one can touch you like I do. No one can love you like I do.”

You can feel him kissing your neck, licking a stripe up from your collarbone to the spot below your ear. “It was quite tricky copying his handwriting like that. There’s one letter I still can’t do very well even now. But it was enough to trick you, so I think everything’s fine in the end,” he chuckles, the sound filling your chest with horror, though you could barely register it now, not with the drug flowing in your system.

“You asked me what I would do to make you feel loved if I were your husband.” He carries you closer to the window, letting you see, with all the little power you have left, your husband closing the door of his car. Yuuta embraces you from behind, his hands tangled around your waist as he lets you rest your head on his shoulder. “I’m gonna show it to you.” You watch your husband make his way to your porch, oblivious to what’s happening in the dark room across the street. “I’m gonna love you, Angel. I will love you forever. With all my heart. And I’m gonna take my time. I’ll be so thorough with you that once I’m done, you won’t be able to spend a second of your life without me.” 

Your husband closes his front door, and with it goes your last chance of escaping, if there was even one.

You start losing strength in your legs, in your arms, but you’re still able to cry, and so you do just that. It won’t help you, nothing will help you, no one will help you, and no one will know what he’s doing to you, not when everyone thinks so fondly of him. 

“Oh, Sweetheart, don’t cry.” He kisses your tears away, landing an even softer one on your temple. “Don’t be afraid of me, my love. After all, it’s just me.” He meets your eyes in the reflection of his window, smiling with his hand holding the front of your neck.

“Your sweet neighbor Yuuta.”

***

[belfrygargoyles]

unfortunately in the process of trying to eliminate all instances of gacha game posting being blasted at me 24/7 in increasingly annoying and intrusive definitely-not-targeted-based-on-farmed-data-and-keywords, i have inadvertently also purged most instances of homestar runner from my dashboard by way of unfortunately shared abbreviations. sometimes brave soldiers are caught in the crossfire

[shadowtraveled]

also hi kabru anon i love you kabru anon thank you for the greatest honor and compliment i have ever received. kabru is actually a fairly confusing character for me to try to dissect, but i have actually been wanting to try and figure him out for my own sake, so as i reread i'll collect some screenshots and spin him around and try and puzzle him out in a coherent way

[moltengoldveins]

ok but I have Thoughts about the way Minecraft usernames translate to actual names, both irl and in fanfic. They’re definitely ‘obsessed with structure and grumpy at inconsistency flavor autism’ thoughts but still. I find it weird how we cut and paste the media we’re given to fit what we view as functional worldbuilding, and how that gets screwy when translating online names.

like, you’re working with several categories here. The person’s actual real name, their irl nickname, their gamer tag, a name possibly contained by or possibly the entirety of that gamer tag, and any extra pieces or symbols in the gamer tag. And you have the weird situation where those categories might not easily translate to a ‘First Name Last Name’ structure. For an example, we’ve got Phil Watson, who’s gamer tag is ‘Ph1LzA,’ and is called Philza Minecraft or Philza. The ‘Minecraft last name’ is a…. Bit? A joke? A reference to a bit of lore? It’s unclear. The ‘Za’ bit was put there for flair and is now an integral part of his name. Sometimes it’s his last name. Sometimes his real last name is chucked in there. the 1 in his actual username is literally never referenced in nicknames or fic it’s like it’s not even there. But that’s a simple one. What about Tubbo_? because we call him Tubbo Underscore. Like. We say the ‘_’ aloud. Why do we do that. What has possessed us to make that decision? What about FitMC? I’ve usually heard it said ‘Fit Emsee.’ Why say that, and not say ‘Minecraft? That’s not even really a last name, it’s just like…. His full first name. Fit is used more like a shortened nickname. BadBoyHalo. Like. ‘Bad boy’ is a slang term, not a name. It would make the most sense to call him Halo, that’s the distinct noun in the name, the term the ‘bad boy’ bit is referring to. Like ‘GoodTimesWithScar’ but noooo. Bad. Halo is usually a last name, if it’s there at all. Skeppy on the other hand is… just his name. No last name ever. Technoblade is also weird. Technoblade is his full name. We call him that. We ALSO call him ‘Techno,’ and use Blade as a last name. We also use Blade as a title. What the heck. GeminiTay. We call her Gem. We use Tay as a last name sometimes. Her name is a Zodiac constellation. Literally nowhere I’m have I seen that affect her naming conventions. IJevin. We just… remove the I. For everything. This wouldn’t bother me except we don’t do it with everyone and I’m starting to get annoyed by the inconsistency. GoodTimesWithScar. Ok. This one also bugs me. Like, most fics call him Scar Goodtimes when they need a name. I’m not gonna dig into it but that’s…. Why? Why that? Grian never gets a last name. Ranboo sometimes gets chopped into Ran and Boo but usually he’s an Underscore or he’s last nameless. Wilbur Soot functions wonderfully (until the get involved shhhh) but it’s too close to his real name it gets very confusing.

anyway, all of this sucks, I hate it all, we’re a terrible fandom /hj

all that nonsense aside, yknow who has a functional Firstname Lastname username? It’s even got a space, and proper capitals: Mumbo Jumbo. That’s who. Look at that. It’s perfect. Everyone should be more like Mumbo Jumbo. Thank you and good night.

.

Edit: I know about Ranboo Beloved and Grian Dreamslayer and the various other characters whose names I didn’t mention perfectly in this post. This was no piece of journalism, this was an old man shouts at cloud meme personified. I was very overstimulated and this was what happened to catch my autistic ire. I’m not upset, just figured I’d clarify, a lot of people seem distressed at my not mentioning Beloved. Hope y’all are having a lovely day 💜

[alltimefail]

Why doesn't Edwin call Charles, "Charlie?"

I shared the isolated audio of Charles' death scene where his "friends" taunted him as they killed him, and in that video, they called him "Charlie." This confirmed what many people in fandom already believed: Charles, a sporty teenage boy in the 80s, would not have gone by his proper first name and likely went by a nickname/shortened version of his name instead.

Now that we know that to be true, it does beg the question: why does Edwin call him Charles? I told you all not to get me started on this in the tags, but you stinkers want me to yap, so let's get into it! 😜

This is a very uninteresting answer, but I think Edwin does not call Charles "Charlie" simply because Charles did not introduce himself as such. Had he introduced himself as Charlie, I don't think Edwin would call him anything else.

This actually brings us to the "meat" of this analysis, and the more important question we need to ask: why would Charles choose not to introduce himself as "Charlie" if that's what people seemed to call him?

I have a couple of theories:

The first one: when Charles meets Edwin he's in a fragile state. A boy he's never seen in all his time at school approaches him, seeming to come out of thin air, just to bring him a lantern without any strings attached (even though Charles cannot give him anything in return). Charles has never experienced that kind of unconditional kindness in his life, and I'm sure that alone was enough to be a bit earth-shaking, mind-scrambling, and intimidating.

But it doesn't end there! The boy who brings the lantern is also claiming to be dead. Delerium/hallucinations are a common symptom of hypothermia so Charles could have though that Edwin was not real or was maybe even some kind of angel-like figure coming to keep him company in his final moments. I mean, the boy's wearing a dated school uniform, enters in a halo glow of golden light, and can walk through walls...it's not the wildest conclusion to jump to.

I think either of thos things individually or a combination of having your guard up, being a bit frazzled from the whole "dying" thing, and believing you're in the presence of an ethereal deity (combined with the fact that you're a people pleaser at your core) is enough to feel compelled to introduce yourself not in formal manner. Not to mention if Edwin introduced himself first, hand outstretched in a formal matter and proper posh accent on full display (something I can totally see him doing), Charles might have felt a bit silly calling himself by such a casual title.

While I think all of this can be varying degrees of true, however, my biggest personal headcanon is that Charles might not have introduced himself as Charlie because who's to say he LIKED that nickname? My circumstances were similar to Charles' growing up, I also had many nicknames from friends and family that I didn't ask for but was given anyway against my will... and I always hated it. Still cringe at some of them to this day, actually! So I think it's possible that Charlie Rowland met Edwin Payne, with all his formal stature and proper professional-sounding name, and took the opportunity to choose what he'd like to go by, without the influence of family or friends. In that way, his chosen identity that would kick off the rest of his existence moving forward (unknown to him at the moment, but true from a narrative standpoint nonetheless) serves as a "Taking your power back" moment for Charles who literally just heard the name "Charlie" being hurled at him as he begged for mercy from people who were supposed to be his friends. Even if he tolerated the nickname "Charlie" before, it certainly wouldn't have fond associations following the event that ended his life (if it had any positive associations to begin with).

Again, speaking from experience, Charlie also sounds like the kind of nickname that could be sugar-sweet on some tongues, innocent even, (his mother cooing over a young Charles), but terrifying from an abusive figure... a scathing kind of mockery. I've always imagined that Charles' dad more than likely called him Charlie, for example, and not in a fond, loving way (in the same way his so-called "friends" were not doing so in a loving way).

So yeah, why would Charles WANT to go by Charlie?

Now that we've established that, we can go back to Edwin...what you came here for!

All that in mind, I still don't see Edwin as the nickname type at all. From a romance standpoint I could maybe see him using a few dated, sappy endearments, but we don't ever hear him use a casual name toward anyone. In his lifetime Charlie would have been a perfectly normal name, but the kind of "fond" nicknaming practices and casual male friendships that happened in 1989 were not common practices in 1916, the Edwardian era. Even with his infinite fondness of Charles, I could never see Edwin uttering "Charlie." It doesn't feel right.

Plus, let's be honest: Edwin says Charles' name with enough love and reverence that he doesn't need to use an endearment. His tone says it all (lol).

Beyond that though, like I said above, I can't see Edwin feeling to impulse to call him "Charlie" because that's not how Charles introduced himself. Edwin strikes me as the kind of person that would be like, "If he wanted to be called Charlie, he surely would have said as much" and left it at that. But a name like Charlie also conveys a sort of youthfulness, and while he and Charles are 16 forever, technically, they have been detached from their lives for a long time and they're MUCH older than 16 in experience and in their professional life.

The only question I was left with, and one I've seen several people ponder, is why Charles would suggest they call The Night Nurse Charlie, (like from Charlie's Angels), as it seems a bit strange if his own name is Charlie/he went by Charlie. My answer/interpretation isn't that exciting, but it's one I feel makes the most sense: I honestly think this can easily be explained away by the fact that Charles is so far removed from that identity and so dissociated from his life that he no longer associates the name "Charlie" with himself in any way. Like it literally didn't even occur to him, in that moment, that Charlie/Charles are so similar because he has built a barrier in his mind between himself and that nickname; they're two entirely different identifiers to him. Whether that be a coping mechanism, or simply just something he wasn't thinking so deeply about (it has been 30 years since anyone called him that, except for Brad and Hunter in Port Townsend), we can't say for sure. However, it's clear Charles does not want to go by Charlie, and at least now we can safely assume why.

Let me know your thoughts! Do you agree with my interpretation? Do you have your own opinion that I didn't cover? Feel free to share with me!

Keep streaming Dead Boy Detectives & screaming about it ! Hugs to each and every one of you! 💜

[dannychai1617]

ao3 skin that i made!! (copy code under "keep reading")

it's a messy combination of pieces of code from other people's skins and my own changes

the header image is NOT MINE! it is "Pattern Galaxy Space Planets Vibrant Linear Universe" by Arncil on Redbubble, which i just used as an example for an image you could use!

here are some of the skins that i can remember using as part of this, but i've been building it for years so forgive me if i forget some:

Shortening long tag fields by Xparrot (on ao3)

Slim Shaded by AO3 (on ao3)

Lily Garden by tealtiam (on Tumblr)

AO3 Tag category coloring! by ao3css (on Tumblr)

come back here to my tips or leave a comment if you need some help customizing the code!

Background color: #26303C

Text color: #CBC6C3

Header color: #46626D

Accent color: #993F33

steps to create a new skin using this code:

log into ao3 account

go to dashboard >> skins

click "create site skin"

make sure TYPE is "site skin"

add a unique title

copy all code below

paste into field 'CSS'

click on "use wizard" at the top

copy and paste the four colors written above into their corresponding boxes

click SUBMIT

click USE

how to customize this skin:

FONT SIZE: at the very top of the code, change the "90%" to be bigger or smaller to change the font size within a fic

MAIN COLORS: to change the main colors, select "use wizard" when editing the skin and replace any of the four hex codes under "Background color:", "Text color:", "Header color:", and "Accent color:"

SECONDARY COLORS: find all hex codes within the code and change those numbers as you like! i changed all colors to match with the color palette of the header photo that i chose to make it feel cohesive

TAG COLORS: towards the end, the "relationship", "character", and "freeform" tags alternate three colors to make them easy to separate. in this skin they are all very similar, so you can change those to be whatever colors you like!

HEADER PHOTO: find the link towards the end of the code right before the warning tags and replace it with a link to any photo you like! it loops, so you don't have to worry about sizing or anything

FONT: i'm unsure how exactly to do this, but the in-fic font is currently set to Georgia Serif, so i suppose just go find that and replace it with your preferred font!

BORDER STYLES: wherever you see the code "border-style:", replace the word that comes after it with one of these options: none, solid, dashed, dotted, double, groove, ridge, inset, outset, or hidden

WARNING TAGS: at the very end of the code is a list of words or phrases that, when they appear in the tags of a fic, are highlighted in a contrasting color so that they are easy to avoid if necessary. you can add or remove those tags however you like, or change the warning color!

COPY AND PASTE ALL CODE BELOW

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[copiiialover]

ৎ୭ — Uncertain Future – ৎ୭

Title: Uncertain Future

Pairing: Park Gyeong Seok / Cho Hyun Ju Synopsis: With Young-mi's death haunting her and an uncertain future ahead, Hyun-ju and Gyeong-seok allow themselves to comfort each other. Tags/Possible Warnings: Canon Divergence, One-Shot, Trans Character, Slight Transphobia, Grief/Mourning, Hurt/Comfort, Developing Relationship, First Kiss, Holding Hands.

⸻ ⸻ ⸻ ⸻ ✧ ⸻ ⸻ ⸻ ⸻

“Round and round. Round and round.

Let’s go around in circle and dance.

We will clap our hands and sing.

We will clap our hands and sing.

Let’s have fun dancing!”

The music echoes through the huge room and the carousel spins again and again as its center lights up before returning to the dim darkness.

“We will go hand in hand

and have fun jumping around.”

Hyun-ju opens the green door and looks at the clock inside. The countdown has almost reached zero, there is no time to waste.

“Young-mi, over here!” she shouts, waving her hand to get her attention, but there is no response from the girl. She just keeps standing there, spinning by the carousel, still and staring blankly. Why doesn't she run to her? Time is about to run out… “Young-mi!” she insists, opting this time to leave the tiny room to go look for her, but the carousel has stopped and a soldier is walking in her direction. The distance seems to shorten, or so she thinks, until a twinge of pain in her chest makes her stop.

“Young-mi!” she sobs in a whisper as she wakes up from that horrible dream, before the pink soldier snatched her life away. The darkness welcomes her and a lump tightens her throat. It was all a dream. “Young-mi…”

Hyun-ju waits for the owner of that name to answer, but there is no response from the empty bed of the shy girl.

Tears slide down her cheeks and she brings her hands to her face, realizing she is covered in a cold sweat. Behind her eyelids she visualizes Young-mi on the floor, begging with a muffled cry for help that never came.

A sob shakes Hyun-ju's body and guilt and helplessness flood her head again, at least until Geum-ja's voice catches her attention. Hyun-ju removes her hands from her face and guides her gaze to the old lady and the pregnant girl standing in front of Gi-hun.

Leaving the fort made to protect them from danger is almost a suicide mission in the hostile environment created by the players, but how can they be deprived of something as necessary as going to the restroom?

“Gi-hun” she calls the player, attracting the attention of the three of them to her. Their silence in her presence reminds her of her face covered in tears. She doesn't want anyone to see her like that. With that in mind she wipes away her tears with the back of her hand. “I can go with them..” she suggests and can almost swear she has felt the relief of both women, who look at Gi-hun for approval.

Gi-hun looks around, then at Hyun-ju. Without objection, the former winner nods. It's no secret to anyone that Gi-hun trusts her blindly after risking her life to save that unfortunate man in the first game.

Geum-ja leads the way to the bathroom, walking fearfully and looking back and forth beside Jun-hee, almost like a pair of deers in a vast forest full of hunters. Hyun-ju follows in their footsteps, aware of the division between the players and how it has turned the place into a battlefield where war could break out in an instant. However, she no longer seems to care.

Is it because of that steely character that led her to her position in the army? She chooses to attribute it to that even though, deep down, she knows that her lack of concern stems from the emptiness that Young-mi's death has left in her. She is no longer afraid of dying. She's known that ever since the carousel stopped for the last time, when instead of running to find another player to survive, she simply stood still. If it weren't for Gyeong-seok, she would already be dead.

“Please, let us go to the bathroom!” Geum-ja pleads, snapping her out of her thoughts and drawing her attention to the door in front of them. A pink soldier stares quietly at them through the window. “I'm an old woman, I can't control my bladder, please!” the old lady insists and Jun-hee seconds her request.

Hyun-ju thinks about pleading along with them, but that's not necessary when the pink soldier opens the door. Hyun-ju watches the two women enter the hallway, but when it's her turn her steps are interrupted by the pink soldier, obstructing her passage with his gun. Hyun-ju expects to hear some stupid rule about the number of people allowed to go to the bathroom, but there is no objection from the soldier.

“Hey, what are you doing?” Geum-ja calls out to the pink soldier, but he doesn't even flinch. “Let her in, she's with us!” The soldier remains still and Hyun-ju finally understands the situation. At what point has she forgotten that only a couple of people in that place see her as the woman she is? A tired sigh leaves her lips.

“It’s okay, don't worry” she asks the old lady, forcing herself to smile in an attempt to convince the woman that it doesn't affect her, although deep down she relives again the pain she felt when she was called a pervert the first time she tried to enter a women's restroom. At least the soldier is forced to remain silent. “Please go. I'll be here when you get back, okay?”

Geum-ja looks at her sadly, almost as if she really understands the pain that simple action can cause to someone like her. Hyun-ju just thinks about what it would be like to have a mother like her and be loved in the same way that woman loves her son.

When Geum-ja and Jun-hee disappear from her sight, Hyun-ju has no choice but to start her way to the men's room. She thinks about going back to bed since she doesn't really feel like going to the bathroom, but she knows she can't leave Geum-ja and Jun-hee alone. The possibility of being alone for at least a moment is the only incentive to go on her way.

As she opens the door and looks inside, she can't help but wish for the first time in her life that those horrible urinals were the only thing welcoming her instead of that pair of jerks.

“Hey, what are you looking at, huh? Do you miss yours?” Thanos asks her, grabbing his dick over his sweatpants. Nam-gyu laughs, shoving Min-su between them with his shoulder as an invitation to join in their glee. The poor boy is shaking from head to toe.

Hyun-ju is repulsed by them for making her remember her time in the army and the cruelty of some of her fellow soldiers to those they considered weaker or inferior. She knows that confronting them is not a problem, but she doesn't want to do it. They are not worth it and she is so tired. To her good fortune and relief, from one of the cubicles emerges Hwang In-ho, who needs only one look and a stony silence to force Thanos and his lapdog to abandon Min-su and leave, but not before passing by Hyun-ju and trying to intimidate her without any success.

Hyun-ju and In-ho look at each other for a moment, but there is no exchange of words between them, just a brief nod from Hyun-ju as some kind of silent pact between them. Not that she's really grateful to him, but any help in a place like that is welcome. A moment later, just as he appears, In-ho leaves without a word.

Silence fills the air and Hyun-ju feels a knot in her stomach as the music of that hellish game begins to echo in her head again. Will she ever forget it? Not having an answer makes the crying threaten to return, but she doesn't let it. In an attempt to distract her mind, she lets the water flow into the sink and cradles some in her hands to wash her face. She looks in the mirror and a frazzled reflection stares back at her; it is as if she has aged ten years in a single night. No, not one night; barely a couple of hours after....

“Unnie...”

Her lips tremble and the cry bursts out of her, forcing her to back up against the wall of one of the cubicles as her legs threaten to give way and make her fall. She slides against the wall to the floor and folds her legs against her chest, hugging herself in an attempt to gain some comfort. Her body shakes with each sob and once again she wishes she had been the one to die in that game, but even the greatest of wishes won't bring Young-mi back.

She hides her face against her knees and allows herself to cry, until a warm hand rests on her shoulder. All the alarms in her go off and she reflexively grabs the wrist of the one in front of her.

“G-Gyeong-seok?” she asks, staring at him. The man looks back at her in surprise, but makes no attempt to break free from her grip. “I'm sorry...” she mumbles, releasing him and feeling embarrassed by her reaction when Gyeong-seok rubs his wrist.

“I didn't mean to scare you, I'm sorry…” he apologizes. How could he blame her for a reaction like that in a place where you're just another number piling up to a big prize. “Are you okay?” he asks with genuine concern.

Hyun-ju nods and is grateful that Gyeong-seok keeps enough distance to make her feel safe and comforted at the same time. Though his presence has never really felt like a possible threat.

“What are you doing here?” she asks, though the question seems silly being in a bathroom.

“I went to look for you in your bed, but you weren't there…” he reveals, sitting down next to her against the wall. “Gi-hun told me you were here.”

Hyun-ju just nods even though that doesn't quite answer her question.

“Why were you looking for me?” she asks, looking at the man's profile and that soft but noticeable smile as he tilts his head, as if he's suddenly embarrassed for some reason.

“I wanted to make sure you're okay, and…” he pauses, then looks at Hyun-ju. “...I guess I thought you'd like to have someone to talk to.”

For the first time since they returned to the dorm, Hyun-ju allows herself to smile softly.

“Thank you, but I'm afraid I don't really have much to say right now…” she admits even though she's lying, but what's the point of reliving that nightmare over and over again.

Gyeong-seok nods and remains silent, leaning back against the wall. Hyun-ju wishes she could stay there, enjoying the company of someone else who isn't looking to end her life, but maybe Geum-ja and Jun-hee are already waiting for her to return.

“Hyun-ju…” Gyeong-seok's voice breaks the peaceful silence, attracting her attention. “I know we hardly know each other but... can I ask you a favor?”

Hyun-ju looks at him in bewilderment. It's true that all they know about each other are their respective names, but he has saved her life twice. It's only fair to reciprocate in some way.

“Of course…”

“I have a little girl who is waiting for me out there,” Gyeong-seok murmurs, but pauses again, as if wondering whether he should continue or not. “She has leukemia and… She will die if I don't pay for her treatment...” His voice breaks as he says it and Hyun-ju feels his pain in every word.

At first she hesitates to do so. She doesn't know Gyeong-seok well enough, but at that moment there are no words that can offer any comfort. Therefore, with the present fear of the rejection she has received on so many occasions, Hyun-ju rests her hand on his and squeezes it gently.

To the former military woman's surprise, Gyeong-seok looks at her hand and holds it tightly. He looks into her eyes and Hyun-ju can see the gratitude in his gaze.

“I know I won't get out of here alive...” he murmurs and this time his eyes fill with tears. “But I know you will. I know you will…”

“Gyeong-seok...” she interrupts him, feeling her heart constrict. “I don't…”

“Please, just…” he takes her hand in his and pleads: “Just visit her and tell her... Tell her that I love her and that she's been the best thing that ever happened to me…”

Hyun-ju can't help but bring her hand to his face and brush away his tears.

“I'll do what I can... I... I'll do what I can…” she promises, caressing his cheek and allowing herself to enjoy the mutual comfort they give each other when he places his hand over hers on his cheek.

“She's going to be so happy when she sees you,” he murmurs, puzzling Hyun-ju. “She always asked me when I would marry a beautiful woman to walk together in the park like everyone else....”

Hyun-ju feels the heat rise in her cheeks even though she knows it's just a kind comment from him. After all, Geum-ja didn't lie when she said he's like a prince. However, that gesture of kindness takes on a new meaning when Hyun-ju feels a warm caress on the back of her hand.

They stare into each other's eyes for a moment, until Gyeong-seok leans closer carefully, giving her a chance to pull away if that's what she wants. Hyun-ju remains in place, closing her eyes only when the distance between them is null and Gyeong-seok's lips meet hers.

It's a chaste kiss, almost a simple brush of lips, but it's enough to make her feel a shiver run through her body. They look at each other and this time there is no hesitation. Their lips meet once more in a slow kiss that escalates to a needy kiss in an instant, with both of them seeking that warm contact they both seem to desire so much.

Hyun-ju slips her fingers through Gyeong-seok's hair and he grabs her waist, pulling her closer to him and seeping his hand underneath her shirt. His warm, gentle touch on Hyun-ju's skin makes her moan softly against his lips and she wishes she had more; she wants to feel Gyeong-seok's hands all over her body, but the loud banging against the door forces them apart.

“Players one hundred and twenty and two hundred and forty-six, go back to the dormitory!” exclaims the pink soldier on the other side of the door.

Hyun-ju and Gyeong-seok look at each other as they are dragged back to that reality of an uncertain future. Their hearts pound against each other's chests and they regret having met in that place.

Against their mutual desire, they both stand up and walk towards the door, but Hyun-ju grabs his hand to stop him. He looks at the union of their hands, then at her.

“Gyeong-seok, don't die out there, please...” she begs. He looks into her eyes and a fleeting sadness shadows his face. They both know that a promise is useless in a place like that.

“Then let's stay together and survive...” Gyeong-seok replies, allowing himself to kiss her one last time. “I want to draw your beautiful face when we get out of here, Hyun-ju.

She blushes and nods, and with that last promise they leave the bathroom. Geum-ja and Jun-hee greet them in the hallway and Hyun-ju can't help but smile when the older woman betrays her excitement by hugging them.

“Oh, you two look so cute together! Don't you think so, Jun-hee?” she exclaims, to which the girl only nods.

Hyun-ju blushes even more and, to her surprise, Gyeong-seok takes her hand to start the walk back to the dorm.

One more day of life is uncertain and they know it, but at that moment, with both of them lying on the same bed and holding hands, they allow themselves to believe in the possibility of surviving and getting out of there together.

⸻ ⸻ ⸻ ⸻ ✧ ⸻ ⸻ ⸻ ⸻

English is not my native language, so please excuse any mistakes.

Please consider leaving a comment here or on the original fanfic posted on AO3:

[pro-sipper]

"Dead Dove: Do Not Eat"

About the tag, the origin, and why I think no one on either side of the fandom divide knows how to use it

First of all, I'm crosstagging because I think it's a general issue, not just something for pro or anti shippers. I see the tag get misused on both sides and I just wanted to throw my two cents in

So, where did the term originate? Like all culturally significant things online, it started as a meme. More specifically, a meme from the television show Arrested Development. Character A has put a dead dove into a brown paper bag to store in the family's fridge. On the bag, he has taped a sign that reads, in big bold letters, "DEAD DOVE. Do Not Eat!"

Character B comes across the bag, reads the warning, and opens it anyway. When he's met with, you guessed it, a dead dove, he proclaims "I don't know what I expected".

This is an example of (and has since basically become the spiritual successor to) the "Exactly What It Says On The Tin" trope.

If you want to check out the full history and countless examples of the trope, please check out the page on tvtropes. But for a slightly shorter history - it originated in a British commercial for Ronseal's Quick Drying Woodstain, which the tin claimed "dried quickly". And in the commercial they told you "It does exactly what it says on the tin!" So, the tin says what the product does, then the product does it. You get the idea.

In fandom spaces, the trope just means that the title of Thing (be it movie, show, fanfic, etc) tells you exactly what happens IN Thing. If a show is called "Buffy The Vampire Slayer", you already know it's about a girl named Buffy who slays vampires. If the movie is called "Cocaine Bear", you can bet a bear will get into some cocaine at some point. If there's a fanfic called "Fluttershy Has Tea With Jesus"... you get the idea.

While both tags started out with the same intentions and meaning, I don't think it's any wonder that "dead dove do not eat" has been so easy to misinterpret. For one, "exactly what it says on the tin" sounds more straightforward. You don't have to understand the specific reference to infer it means to check the label (in this case, tags) before purchasing (opening) the product (fanfic)

But dead dove is harder to understand if you don't know the reference. And at a glance, it sounds much darker. Doves have symbolism in multiple religions, and are seen as a symbol of peace. A dead dove evokes images of gore, violence, general unpleasantness. It must only apply to something sinister, right?

The thing about "exactly what it says on the tin" is that the tin needs to say something. You can't point at a blank label and say "here's what you can expect". People would be much less likely to engage with your product if that were the case

In the same vein, slapping "dead dove do not eat" on a fic with no other tags can lead to confusion. In this tag's case, it's a warning. But what are you warning about if you don't also put it in the tags? It leaves people's minds to conjure up only grim and upsetting images of what might be in your fic. Especially when, as it's also common to do, the tag gets shortened to simply "dead dove".

And while, yes, the tag is most likely to get slapped onto fics with dark or upsetting subject matter, that means something different for everyone who comes across it.

Most people seem to think it only applies to inappropriate relationships (age gap, incest, etc). But I've seen it applied to a variety of things, from potentially triggering material (like suicide) to things that simply may not be everyone's cup of tea (like excessive gross-out toilet humor).

In the end, "dead dove do not eat" is a tag that, in my opinion, should not be used as a descriptor as to what type of content your story contains. But rather, a gentle warning to say "hey, I'm specifically telling you what you're about to encounter, so whatever happens next is up to you".

After all, if you read the warning and still open the bag to find something you don't like...

I don't know what you were expecting.

[pneuma-themes]

Theme #07: Clio by @pneuma-themes

Where you walk, my dearest friend, fate shall surely follow.

Live Preview (Temporary) / Static Preview: [Index] [Permalink] / Get the code: [pastebin] [github]

This is intended to be a fansite! I am finally happy with how this turned out after a few iterations. This theme features Emet-Selch from Final Fantasy XIV. Be warned going into the live preview as this theme heavily features content that can be found on various points of Shadowbringers and Endwalker, which may or may not be a spoiler!

Features:

Customizable post widths and font sizes. The live preview uses 650px post width and 13px font size. Enter the desired post width on the post width field and the desired font size on the font size field on the Customization page.

One accent color, 7 color options

Option for title alignment (centered/lefthand side/righthand side) to accommodate for the chosen header image.

Option to display or hide the blog title.

Built-in dual sidebar layout. All the boxes on the sidebar (members, events, updates, and site info) and the footer (disclaimer, about, and search box) can be edited from the code directly.

5 custom links at the topbar with additional 8 links on the navigation box.

Customizable photoset gutter. The live preview uses 10px gutter.

A header image. The size of the header (w x h) is the width of your screen x 350px. So if your screen width is 1900px, then the size of your header should be 1900 x 350px.

Notes:

This theme uses @eggdesign's NPF reverse-compatible template. Everything should be working as expected, except for some things noted below.

As we slowly transition into the new editor, posts made by the legacy editor will eventually break. This is particularly evident in a quote post reblogged via the new editor, in which the post will be rendered as a text post with blockquote and cannot be styled similarly to a legacy quote post. This is a Tumblr bug as far as I am concerned and from what other people have told me, so unfortunately there is nothing I can do about it.

I've written a short guide on how to set up this theme here. Everything else is annotated in the code, so do read through them before shooting me an ask!

Credits:

NPF reverse-compatible template: @eggdesign

Header: ユズリコ❂ (yuzuriko_red @ Twitter)

Icon font: Phosphor Icons

Icons (affiliates, members) and toggle tags on click: @alydae

Fonts: Nunito, Merriweather @ Google Fonts

customAudio.js: @annasthms

photoset.css with lightbox: @annasthms and @eggdesign

Search box, minified spotify player: @glenthemes

Toggle-able tumblr controls: @seyche

Shorten note count: @shythemes

Responsive video script: @nouvae

Please like and reblog if you like this theme or are using it!

[whoiwanttoday]

Hey guys, it is @wildflagsure birthday today and last night she demanded I make a "really good" post for her for her birthday. She can't help it, she's from Greece but lives in the UK and what I have heard is immigrants there are always coming in and demanding things, it's why as a country they decided to set their economy on fire, because if you make your little island completely unlivable then no one will want to move there. Not that tactic I would have taken but then I try not be a hateful bigot, so who am I to talk? Anyway, besides blaming @wildflagsure for all of England's problems (and like… where was she when they lost the Empire? She can't account for her whereabouts) I do want to celebrate her birthday. By talking about myself. I mean, it is my blog, I tagged her twice, I am not sure how much more giving a person can be. I'll drive literally tens of people to her dead blog. Anyway, my favorite thought about Andi, which I will call her from here out because first I am tired of tagging and second I think it looks cooler with the E not on it but also it's short for Antigone and I can change a T to a D for a friend but I'll be dead and buried before I leave off the apostrophe if you insist on shortening Antigone to Anti'e. Anyway, my favorite thought is when she was doing a small radio show live (and doing it wrong, rather than use the service that paid for the songs rights they just played shit off of spotify because literally no one cared) I used to listen every week cause it was fun to support her but also she likes good music. There was a listener request form and I used to submit requests. I did this for a few reasons. One, I learned on tumblr every single person in the world wants more asks. It is exciting and makes them feel special. Also, by sending multiple requests or messages a show it meant they would seem very popular to other listeners and you know, fake it till you make it, that way everyone else would go, "Wow, these guys must be more famous than I realized. I should tell my friends to listen and also send in requests". And then, obviously, I like to control women and tell them what to do, so it was a real rush to send in a song title and then make her do it. Anyway, there was a time when the person she did it with referred to me as, "Our fan". And that got a snap back of, "Actually, is MY friend". It was very defensive and I appreciated that in part it came from the fact that her cohost was trying to diminish me in a way that person liked to do and Andi was willing to stand up and protect me even though honestly, I didn't care. She did, that mattered. I mean, there was a lot going on there because her cohost was one of those lowkey monsters you meet in your late teens and early 20's who you find compelling because you are too young to know better but also because you are insecure and the fact that they have absolutely no moral center is appealing because it sure must be nice to not be insecure and upset and worried about things all the time. Andi eventually moved on, don't worry. Actually, it's really cool to see that she has matured into just a totally cool as fuck lesbian bad ass. I mean, she was always those things but now she has the confidence and a really cool life that she always was going to have but I bet she was unaware of. Like, she has her own place, she has a hot girlfriend, she eats cool meals, and she can get you any drugs you want. It's pretty cool.

Anyway, today I am posting Georgia Ellenwood because in my experience Andi loves Olympic Athletes. She always goes on that she's glad someone is honoring Zeus properly. Now, sadly, Georgia Ellenwood is not going to the Olympics this year because she is still recovering from an injury. That kind of thing is always sad, athletes only have so many chances but I think she has a good future ahead of her even outside of sports because she is charming and friendly and well… looks like she does. It's not hard to imagine her being successful doing other things. And even if she felt like a good pick today because even if she isn't going to the Olympics I am willing to bet @wildflagsure would be willing to burn down a second island nation to sleep with her. Today I want to fuck Georgia Ellenwood.

[ladyofthenoodle]

i’ve a little more energy now and want to revisit some of the Discourse™️ i received via ask that i wasn’t going to engage with. but now i am engaging with the very specific take of “the show is misleading about ladybug and chat noir being equals because of the title!”

i (and others) have already made the point that chat noir was probably added to the title in a desperate attempt to convince little boys to watch. now, one could argue that it’s still a misleading title choice, regardless of their motivations, and that holds some weight. but you know what’s not misleading?

the fact that no one calls it that. i don’t see anyone tagging their posts as “miraculous: the tales of ladybug and chat noir.” it’s always shortened, somehow, and the shortened versions? don’t mention chat noir. ml, mlb, miraculous ladybug, even just miraculous. as of season 4, most of the official promotional material has dropped the “tales of ladybug and chat noir” in favor of “zag heroez: miraculous” which yes, may be mostly about zag’s ego, but it’s also the show very clearly telling us what they’re focusing on. and, of course, when we take out the subtitle and keep only the word “miraculous,” we are left with this:

pretty unambiguous who the main character is here. nothing about this implies chat noir is going to get equal attention from the narrative. of course, in season 4, we also have this version:

which features the yin yang symbol, yes, but the ladybug and chat noir symbols are nowhere to be seen on it. it’s representing the whole miracle box, which marinette has responsibility of, and is once again saying (maybe slightly more ambiguously): this is marinette’s story. it’s the story of guardian marinette instead of ladybug marinette, but it’s still marinette’s story through and through.

so why are we getting so hung up on a subtitle?

[heywriters]

how to make a tumblr post (and get notes!)

Have never seen any post discuss these exact things, so i'm sharing my insights with y'all*

Use images. They don't have to be good or spectacular like this extremely coherent thing I just made. They just need to catch the eye break up dashboard monotony.

The gif search feature is an unreliable wild card at best and a NSFW eye gouge at worst, but it gives credit to the op of the gif

If you're an artist your whole post is your images, so skip to the links and tags section of this post because the rest won't help much.

-> Image Descriptions

When making a post that contains images, hover over an image and click the meatballs icon in the lower right corner of the image. Click "update description" to add a description. It isn't always necessary, but it is very courteous for a variety of accessibility reasons.

-> Text

Break up your text. Run-on sentences are standard here, lack of punctuation too, you can really do whatever you want, but avoid massive blocks of text. unless you've got a really incendiary opening line and the entire center of that granite chunk of text is actually comedy gold, hard-hitting tumblr journalism, or one of those zany confessional posts that can be followed up by the drive thru meme

break up

your text.

and go light on the ALL CAPS. save it for emphasis or when you're feeling very unhinged or saRcAStiC y'know how that goes, i don't need to explain it. this site has a very dry tone to its posts so caps are rare. also periods

Bullet points and numbered posts are good and fine. The "Chat" post option is used less often these days, but different groups found uses for it so it sticks around.

Titles Matter

they help break up text and put people at ease. they are best for informative, mature posts but can make you look like a square in more relaxed conversations. sometimes they are also great for emphasis in a comedic sh*tpost (censorship is entirely up to you, btw. you don't have to censor much on tumblr except titties and genitals).

Tumblr automatically shortens long posts now, but etiquette asks that you tag #long post if you want to avoid clogging up someone's dash. It don't matter too much though, this is the "color of the sky" site, so get used to posts being too long

That being said "READ MORE" is a fantastic feature. Use it when you want some level of privacy like "hey, only click below if you want to hear about my problems" or "click below to read my 18+ fanfic." Read more is also great in case you want to delete something forever. If a reblogged post has a read more, but op deleted the og post, that content is gone (readmore has to be on the og post at time of posting for this to work, btw; edits to og post do not span all reblogs)

the other bells and whistles like colored font or italics are helpful in improving text, but we don't really rely on them. every mode of looking at this site alters those aspects somehow so we often ignore them

-> Links

Hint: People don't want to click links. We don't know where they're taking us. Most of us are on our phone and don't want to open another tab or leave the app to go on the browser. We're cozy here on Tumblr and do not wish to be whisked away (unless it's a rickroll)

Don't leave the link thumbnail to do all the work, like so

add a little sneak peak info, maybe your favorite line from the article or a reason why it's important for people to know the info on the other side of that link. Sell it!

When you're adding a link into a list, i.e. no large thumbnail just a line of text leading you to another site, try not to copy/paste the link as is

"https://......"

No one wants to click on that it's gross and scary. It's screams "meh, i'll click later if i feel like it." If the build up to the link is too good to resist ("if you want to save the orphaned puppies here's the link") then that http mess is sufficient.

Otherwise, dress your links up a little by including the title or a description of what the link goes to:

Or, if it's an informal post where you're just popping info in to back up whatever insane thing you just said, just write something like "link here" or "(x)" and hyperlink it.

-> Tags

artists, writers, and other creators: leave a tag on your creative content that makes it easy for blog visitors to see it all at once. e.g. "My work" and we click on that while on your blog and see only your works

You can have up to thirty tags on any post. All will make your post show up in searches and followed tags (it used to be only the first five tags that got you traction). However,

Please. Do not tag everything you can possibly imagine being relevant to your post because

It's called tag spam and it's against TOS

Everyone here hates that

No one is going to check all those tags ever. Someone might search one five years from now and accidentally find your post hanging out in the ether and they'll still ignore it.

Your imagination is wicked tiny because I guarantee the perfect tag is going to be something indecipherable and seemingly niche.

Follow popular tags (or at least be aware of them)

If yours is an off-the-cuff post and you don't have time to find out what a niche group is into then wing it, sure, idc. this is also the shitposting site do whatever you want

Don't put your hate in the fan tags. This is the unapologetically-like-dumb-things site and your negativity is not wanted. You can still complain, just avoid tagging to get the attention of the fans of whatever you're complaining about. That enables pvp and even nonfans will know you deserve the backlash

-> Audio & Video

clickable by nature because we all love noise and moving images so there's no special way to share posts like this. just post them with good tags and maybe a one-liner, and they'll sell themselves

Tip: it's nice to add descriptions to these too but it isn't common

Protip: if the audio is the best part of the video (e.g. a baby burps REALLY loudly and it's hilarious) please caption or tag "Unmute!"

-> mkay bye

that's all i can think of right now. will update later if i remember something

---

*this is year eleven of my time on tumbles and i studied marketing in college for like six of those years and have been applying that bupkis to tumblr ever since. every post i see that gets no traction and every lovely artist that goes nowhere on here bothers me so deeply and i sincerely want y'all to succeed <3 <3

+ If you find this helpful and want to support my blog, I have a ko-fi!

+ If you're concerned about my mental health from being on Tumblr so long and want to contribute to my "get better" fund, I have a ko-fi!

[lu-lus-dicks]

Idk what to call this so you make up the title

@huskers-bar x @nunalastor

Tags: enemies to lovers, angst?, eventual fluff, yearning?, soft huskers-bar, both mods are separate people, no beta we die like i do in this fic (not yet though), minor character death, ooc, au: hellaverse (hazbin hotel), nunalastor is head of the marketing department of the hazbin hotel (lucifer grabbed them randomly), jealousy?, huskers-bar is an employee at voxtek, lulu and angie as villains, lulu is a dog

chapter: 1/? Word count: 1,431

Featuring: babygirl anon and (eventually) @xxx-angie . I may add more along the way depending on who wants to be added. I can probably shoe-horn-in a few more characters

For the sake of not tagging people a million times, I will call nunalastor as a single entity nunalastor, traumatized mod dickmaster and cursed mod nun. and huskers-bar just husk. babygirl anon will be babygirl anon. i will be shortened to lulu but I don't appear in this fic yet. Angie doesn't appear yet, but he will be angie.

A/N: anyway this is 100% going to be a huskers-bar harem fic because i can write whatever i want. This first chapter kinda boring but it gets better (source: trust me bro). Lemme know if you'd like to see any changes. Anyway, goodbye for now. I have uni to get to so less frequent posting (sorry dickmaster, you'll have to live without any of my horrid art for a little while)

"Did you know that Alastor made a happy deer squeak during this scene?"

Ah, yes, the words that twist people's dreams into nightmares. Innocent innitially, and maybe even amusing for a good while, but the longer one lingered, the more their skin would crawl with irritation and burn their insides. Especially when one knew the context surrounding this particular phrase. And boy, did Nunalastor know the context.

~

"Another day, another inbox to slay, another heavenly lord to betray" Dickmaster accessed their and Nun's shared blog, unsurprisingly to hundreds if not thousands of asks invading their inbox, all of which were echoes of different variations of *thumps* and *squeaks*. If Nunalastor hadn't already grown accustomed to such deviancy, they would be horrified. Still, the depraved ideas these people came up with never failed to send shivers down their spine, and not the pleasant kind.

And why do they subject themselves to this? you may ask. It was simple. In exchange for free housing, food and supplies, Lucifer Morningstar, the devil himself and father of Charlie Morningstar had requested their help. You see, originally their blog was not this unfortunate cesspool of deranged demons who wanted to see the devil, overlords and sinners squirm under immense sexual pleasure. It used to be a simple marketing tool for the Hazbin hotel, but as all things in hell, it never goes smoothly. It wasn't like they had a choice in the matter anyway, refusing the king of hell's requests was not an option! His commands were absolute.

Dickmaster took one deep breath, running both hands through their hair and clearing their mind, preparing for probably several hours of torture that was going to be their asks. They poured themselves a drink, setting down in front of their screen. Taking a few moments to relish the silence, they closed their eyes and listened to the soft hum of their beaten up 1950's style computer, courtesy of Alastor's ban on Voxtek products at the hotel. Clicking on their inbox tab, they mentally braced themselves. even if they knew, they could never truly predict the horrors hell had to offer.

"time for #housekeeping" They declared, stretching their fingers, getting their reaction images on the ready and sifting through their own version of digital hell. It would only get worse from here.

~

As Nunalastor started to clean their digital home, erasing one cursed ask after another, responding to one alastor circus theory after another, One ask in particular caught their attention. It was definitely a surprise, and a welcome one at that. It stood out like a sore thumb, simple yet elegant, divine and a blessing among heaps of cursed messages that would have asmodeus and satan themselves shaking in fear.

"hi dickmaster" - anon

Nunalastor couldn't explain it. They don't know what came over them, but they felt a strange sense of attraction to this one particular anon. They were sweet, they gave them a place of solace from the dread that was piss kink headcanons and cursed deer facts, equivelent of the clogged up plumming disasters alastor had to fix with his bare hands at the Hazbin hotel. It was the piece of gold nugget hidden in a swamp full of moss and dog urine.

Dickmaster stared at the message for a good few seconds, really taking in the plainness and beauty of the two words before their eyes, appriciating all that message was as a small smile made its way up their face. This called for a special occasion. Dickmaster gripped their keyboard, nearly smashing it with the force. Their fingers danced along the keys and crafted a response like no other, one worthy of this random anon that managed to make their day a bit brighter.

"Hi babygirl" - Nunalastor

~

On the other side of the pentagram, a kind, sweet and not at all deranged huskers was scrolling through hells version of tumblr. Voxtek devices had proven to be quite useful in the underworld. It served as the main source of entertainment and escape for the lonely, not only for husk, but other sinners alike. Besides, being an employee meant he had extra privileges with Voxtek. Regardless, it introduced husk to the nunalastor blog, which was the best moment of their life (or lack thereof, considering they're dead).

They'd quickly grown accustomed to the undeserved hate thrown their way upon their first ever interractioin. Though they didn't understand, they could play along. They found strange comfort in the twisted logic that any form of attention was better than none. After all, being singled out meant they were special in the eyes of Nunalastor, right? that's how husk comforted themselves anyway. And they haven't seen Nunalastor actually reply to anyone with actual love before.

That is... until it happened. Someone who would later reveal themselves as babygirl anon, husks worst adversary and the unfortunate victim of lulu's slander showed up on their feed.

"hi dickmaster" - anon

"Hi babygirl" - Nunalastor

Husk stared at the screen in shock, their eyes widening and heart growing heavy. Countless questions and conflicting emotions swirled within them, each clutching their hold for attention. 'Is nunalastor serious? Do I not want them to be serious? Why can't I be treated the same? What did I do?' And amidst the chaos, one thought rose to the surface, crystal clear in Husk's mind.

'I want to be loved like that'

The frustration of being at the end of every one of Nunalastors verbal spears finally caught up to husk. Every small jab they'd written off as jokes suddenly felt like small pin needles scraping their skin. Unable to deal with the whirlwind of emotions and the confusion of it all, Husk sought solace in the one place they could always trust, the bottom of a bottle.

So they took a swig. And another. And another. Intil there wasn't a shred of emotion left to feel. Not a single thread of frustration left in them, not a nerve of anguish, not a line of confusing verbal spewage...

And not even a speck of self-restraint

~

"THEY JUST KEEP COMING" Dickmaster exclaimed, more like yelled as their inbox was flooded with more cursed asks at a rate faster than they could answer. At this pace, they'll be there all day, answering these asks like a poor overworked minimum wage employee at a call center.

"They'll run out of ideas eventually" Nun responded, nonchalantly, leaning against a nearby wall, sipping on a drink of their own. Nun watched as dickmaster struggled to find another reaction image fast enough so they could call it quits and leave the rest of the struggles for future Nunalastor to handle, or more accurately when it would be nun's turn to answer all the unhinged people in their inbox.

The hurried clicking of the keys on a keyboard could be heard throughout the entire room, bouncing off the walls, reflecting exactly how much infestation was actually happening in nunalastors inbox by the minute. "it would be great if you could answer a few you know, my fingers are dyin-"

And then it suddenly went quiet. The clicking died down and the unbelievably loud buzzing of their computer, along with the hitched breathing of Dickmaster was the only sound bouncing around the room. Nun of course raised a brow at this. "what's the holdup? we can't afford to take a break you know" they said, as if they were the one answering all of the asks in the first place.

nun walked over, curious as to what exactly had stopped dickmaster in his endless pursuit of emptying their inbox, considering they were always the more enthusiastic one of the two. "are you okay?" nun asked, half sarcastically. Their eyes landed over the current ask in their inbox.

"I wish you'd love me" huskers-bar

and suddenly the silence made sense. the pause had been a justified one.

dickmaster inhaled, followed by a deep and saddened exhale. they didn't want to take their eyes off of those five words. they could stare in awe and amazement at them for hours. it wasn't even the fact that it was just another ask that wasn't cursed, but because it was huskers-bar that sent-

a hand on dickmasters shoulder snaps them out of their daze, being brought back to reality, the pitiful reality. they were in hell for a reason, they reminded themselves.

"you remember our deal, don't you, dickmaster?" nuns voice cut through the buzzing, sounding deep, gruff, threatening and slightly saddened.

"yes of course" dickmaster turned back to the monitor, giving one last look at the ask before typing out what nunalastor has agreed would be the appropriate response.

"you'll get over it. #we are a huskers-bar hate blog"

[cherrsnut]

Hostage - Chapter 6

Finnick Odair x Healer!Reader

Summary: Up until now, your life has been a solitary one. Being the sole owner of an herbal shop, and apothecary to many fishermen who have been injured. Just when your life seemed to follow the routine you were so used to, your life turns a 360 when you’re suddenly taken away for the 67th Annual Hunger Games. This turn of events forces you to accept the idea the Grim Reaper is stalking close behind you, faster than you had hoped for. 

Tags: Extremely Slow Burn, Eventual Smut, Angst, Typical THG Violence, Forced Prostitution, Forced Lab Rat, Injury, Mental Health Deterioration, Psychological/Physical Torture, Death, Alcohol/Drug Consumption, Medical Malpractice, Fluff (bc they deserve it).

Word Count: 11.7k

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Chapter 6

It was day nine on the training facility. Which only meant it was three days to go until your feet stood on the harsh grounds of the Arena. Every passing day was another needle piercing your lungs, as you noticed the countdown coming closer to its end, you realized it was made harder for you to breathe. It wasn’t the muscle memory your brain was taught, it was as if suddenly you had forgotten the simple act of breathing, and all you could think about was controlling the air currents that sucked in and out of your mouth. 

It was like your lungs were holding hostage the innocent air particles that were only out there to help you, and you felt like you coudn’t breathe now that the timer was close to its set. 

This past few days you’d started to lose faith in God. It’s not like you blindly believed in him to begin with, but with the pained breaths you were expulsing, you slowly felt any sort of belief from a greater force be spilled out along with it.

Whether it was God, destiny or whatever, you soon struggled to be able to believe in any of that, because right now your position was different. You weren’t in that privileged stance; then, you had a home, work, food and water, you had whatever you needed to live, and it was easier to believe in that then, because you didn’t think about your own survival.

But it was different now, all of that was over. And after the Reaping it was a hard reality check that, the world indeed didn’t owe you a cent. And so, your Deist idea slowly faded into nothing, you simply lost faith in any entity, and at this point even yourself. 

You didn’t know what you believed in, and it wasn’t like it mattered anyway. Whatever religion or personal truth was soon going to be vanished along your scattered body on the grounds of the Arena, and it felt very much like you were being executed for a crime you hadn’t committed. Punished for the wrongdoings of another person, and the wrong deeds of their fault had your life shorten, while the true perpetrator was out there enjoying their prolonged one, and they better understood their guilty freedom was in exchange of yours.

Yeah, you didn’t know what to believe in anymore, and it didn’t matter anyway. That’s why you abstained yourself from believing in anything, and if that meant you stopped looking at God’s metaphors in life, then so be it. Or to make it or poetic, you followed what Nietzsche once said “God is dead”. 

By day nine it was obvious the Career group was formed. From District 1, we had Ezra and Ava, both loving siblings to each other, but definitely with lethal intentions to the rest of the Tributes, possibly even to their team members when the chance arose. 

For District 2 we had the memorable Birch, and Nyla. You had found her curious for her preferred weapon choice to be a fishing spear, since it seemed it was expressly placed for the participants of District 4. But you wouldn’t judge her skills on her weapon, especially when you saw her expertise on handling that piece of weaponry, earning her the fitting title of hunter and it only  seemed natural she was welcomed by the Careers.

Then came District 4, with none other than Vito and his double blades. It seemed Birch along Ezra had been interested in him not only through the way he handled the blades. Finnick’s games were still influential, since it only had been two years ago since he came out victorious, and they found his rapid net making to be the deciding factor for their admiration for him. 

And lastly, were both Tributes of District 7, known for their lumberjack industry. It only took a quick look to realize as to why they were picked. Carter and Steph both had a muscular build, and they definitely exhuded strength and a feared determination of not backing down without a real fight. 

You sighed looking at the formed group. It was disheartening the very knowledge that the strongest were in a group to fight off the weaker ones, and it felt bitterly unfair and personally against against you. Even more when Vito was along them and not you, meaning they saw you just as weak and useless as the rest, deserving to be killed right off the bat. Because for them, you had no use, comparing you with dead weed of the Arena, and they still found more ways to  exploit the dry grass than yourself.  

Your eyes met the grey tones of the slightly pigmented green of his irises, maintaining contact and understanding of each other’s presence. Carter’s eyebrow ticked up in acknowledgement. The ghost of your eyes haunted his, as he could feel the hoplessness that you body emanated, even when being many feet apart from each other.

You saw his lips curl up into a small smile. He hoped your grasped his gesture, to let it embrace you in a warm hug, all so he wouldn't have to see your present frown and to envelop yourself into his reassurance. 

It wasn’t hard to comprehend the meaning behind his expression, he was just trying to make you feel better. But it seemed rather complicated to feel at ease when he already belonged to a deadly group, one of which had a participant that was a psycho and determined on pointing at you with the red dot of his invisible assault rifle. 

But you still understood he wanted express his sympathetic side to you. You could imagine, and hoped, his secret hobby or lingering daydream didn’t involve the exciting thought of killing other people, unlike the Tributes of District 1 and 2. But rather, he was like you and Vito, here against their will, and obligated you all to be in the survival game by the choice of an mere outsider. And tho whomever created the Hunger Games to begin with, you didn’t have the prettiest words or thoughts about that person. And of course, you would never say them outloud. By the way Scarlett had reacted each time you cursed, it was like an unforgiving blasphemy to even proclaim your deepest negative thoughts about the Games. 

You returned him the smile, unknown to him that your teeth greeted through your anxiety, to calm your scraping words of wanting to hide yourself to the world so no one could find you and, somehow be able to sneak your way out of having to be in the battling grounds. But that scenario was close to impossible, so you stopped yourself from thinking too much about it before you’d consider it.

”I get it, I’d smash. Although Finnick is more of my type though. But let’s get back to training, shall we?” The whispering words brushed past the side of your face, tickling lightly the crown of your ear with his warm breath. 

And you stopped, before looking up at him. Your mind blank as it tried to grab onto any reason that was slowly flying away out from your ears. But your brain seemed to be damaged from the from broken wires by Vito’s words, and the sparking of the electricity was dancing around your mind, a sign of the overworked brain from a rush of confusing curiosity over what he meant by those words, which you quickly understood un thus the short time span electrocution that jumbled your brain around.

You mind run miles, and yet you weren’t unable to utter the words. 

“With what I’ve seen so far, believe me, girlie. You’ll need it” he snickered at you. Your lips kept on closing and opening slightly, his extra piece of information meant to confuse you further, you knew that, and you still gave into his mind games. 

Vito coudn’t help but hung a playful smirk up his mouth, amused by the rush of thoughts flashing behind your eyes. He felt victorious of course, he had his desired outcome so you would come out of that concerned trance he noticed you were having on a regular basis at training. But he didn’t expect you to have come out in such a funnily manner, that he coudn’t help the light giggles. Even more so at the creased brows you formed as you tried to compute further his words.

You managed to say something. “I didn’t know?” you said clumsily with a joking smile. You huffed a smile out at the situation. He lifted his hand up to his lips and chuckled further at your comment. Your expression was priceless in his eyes, and he coudn’t help himself from leaving you stunned like that. Oh, how much he loved doing that to you.

Caesar Flickerman had just called your name, his infamous smile, known to the whole of Panem sat across his well-known face. The many cheers that rang through the stage, from clapping sounds to the impatient voices of the citizens of the Capitol, were awaiting your shining entrance.

A few hours ago, the examination went… not so great. Vito had done his best in teaching you the refined arts of the knives, and you could grasp the basic concept of attcak, slice, and stab… that was it. Two weeks to learn everything about hunting down an vicioius animal one on one seemed like a challenging feat, not say practically impossible. So when you were standing below your future sponsors, it felt very much silly of you to try and use that weapon to show off your non-existent high levels skills, especially considering Vito was next in line. You cringed at that  thought for the thousandth time today. It was embarrassing, you could say that much. So much so you didn’t even try to look up at them unless necessary. So when you did, you were met with the bored looks of the experienced viewers that had seen decades worth of fighters, and you wouldn’t be catalonged as one no matter how much you tried to disguise yourself as one. 

But it’s not like you could do anything else. If they had even bothered bringing in some herbs or chemicals, you could’ve shown your more scientific knowledge. You knew a hundred ways to elaborate toxic poisons, and a millions ways to create antidotes for each and every one of them, that would’ve definitely earned you a more prideful look on your end. But then again, you were sure the Sponsors weren’t quite interested for you to elaborate remedies for basically anything. Afterall, they only wanted to see people killing each other; they just wanted to see violent and gruesome deaths, they wanted to hear their screams of horror as a familiar face was draining the life away from them, like a vampire sucking every ounce of blood to ensure your dried death. And being a doctor kind of went directly against what they preached. You weren’t like a hidden gem to them, more like a pain in the ass if you were able to heal someone back to life. And in the circle of betting games, the randomized traps scattered across the Arena, had the same element of uncernaty as the Sponsors had now that your card was placed on the table. Because now it meant you could take care of the Tributes. Your extensive knowledge was like a direct threat aganst the chosen Tributes they laid their money on. It wasn't just who would be more likely to come out victorious from a logical perspective, because you were brought into the mix. It wasn’t just strength, ability, and speed what they had to analyze, but also an element of luck. And unfortunately for them, that was something that coudn’t be measured in a logical way. 

You sighed. The interview was your last chance to make people like you. If your skills wouldn't make them on your side, you hoped that maybe they would try to connect with you more personally. Perhaps if they felt bad about your death, you could win over their hearts. You needed to convince them you dying would only affect them negtively in the end.

You let another shaky breath, and stepped forward. The cling clang the heel needle resonated on the smooth and shining surface you were standing on, only to become completely soundless as you walked over, to none other than the famous blue haired waiting for you. You made sure your thighs turned to hard muscle, careful as to not be clumsy and fall infront of what seemed about five hundred people. Their eyes scanned you whole, so you coudn’t risk doing a mistake in front of all of them. You returned your gaze, shy and nervous as you wondered around the gigantic audience ahead of you. 

It looked like a painting from the Impressionist era. Your first description of what was reflecting back your eyes was “A lot of colour”. Many dots of vibrant shapes and colors, raging from the warm tones of yellow and orange, to cooler ones like purple and tale blue; all painted above a black canvas. 

The shining lights were flashing your eyes, needing a moment to readjust them to make better off the people of the Capitol. They were wearing odd and eccentric hats, an that was what you had previously confused to be expert brush strokes of an creative artist, was simply just the fashion designs of the Capitol.

Their eyes roamed over your every inch, awaiting what sort of good time you would give them. Whereas for you, they were on a dark canvas, they in turn they saw you against a white one, where your background scenery was filled with many sparkling glitter surrounded your promotional poster, with your face hanging there confidently. 

Mr. Flickerman led you to sit opposite him, sitting on a home-like modernized version of an armchair. With the same colour as your dress, the designer was right to add the pillow below you. It was big, for anyone to regain themselves in whichever position they wanted and still be comfortable at the cute armchair. It reminded you of the warm and cozy cafeteria down the street of the Herbal Shop. And if you werte to recommend it to someone, you’d sincerely tell them it was best served under the winter weather with a hot chocolate protecting you from viruses that threatened to infect everyone.

“So Ms. Doctor from Distrcit 4, I’ve heard of something peculiar the other day” he started looking at you intensely. The pause, of course, for dramatic effect. Now you understood where Scarlett was coming from with the way she expressed her emotions. “I heard-”

Another pause. This was starting to feel gut wrenching. The large amount of people weren’t helping either, and you’ve been stuck in a cycle of insecurity of wanting to come across as likeable to them, and you weren’t sure how you could accomplish that. The first impression was was the deciding factor for the initial building blocks of a friendship, and that level of anxiety of the what ifs had your insides flip five times. 

“You healed, none other than the Victor of the 65th Hunger Games, our Finnick Odair” his voice all of a sudden strengthened in volume, coming out in thrilled particles that drugged everyone replicating his mood, one of jovial enthisiasm. There were slight gasps in surprise, but definitely a lot of murmuring between themselves. Your eyes opened in shock, you had completely forgotten all about that. 

Still astounded, you scanned over the room perfectly, the singular emotion that traveled in the air everyone breathed between each other, was that of simple curiosity. They wanted to hear your next words, they wanted to know what you brought to the table, they wanted to who you were. 

This was the great start you needed. Even if it hurt your soul admitting it, you had to appreciate Scarlett's input for spreading this piece of information, so diligently it even reached the ears of the biggest TV host of the Capitol. Not only for your own sake, but as well for hers, you had to make the fullest of this little advantage. 

Scarlett understood the public perception and opinion like no other; and when it came to Finnick’s name being brought up, it was your best bet to grow interest for yourself by using him.

You smiled brightly at what he had said. Making sure the shining of the lights reflected on your teeth just the same as the way your eyes sparkled in hopeful optimism. If you needed to sway public opinion to be on your side, this was your best bet to touch their hearts, and who knows? Maybe tickle them a bit to make their insides flutter happily.

You let a giggle escape through the microphone. “Yes” the tone of your voice thrilled with the taste on candied apple, to feed them the explosion of sweet delight down their throats.

“At the time, his fishing team came rushing in my Herbal Shop one day. You know, after they had injured themselves like they usually did” you started widening your grin at what you just came up with. It felt like throwing Finnick overboard, which was only more unfair on his end, now that he wasn’t with you to defend himself from the words that came out of your mouth. 

But with these people, it was better the more you spoke, rather than staying idly still and quiet, in hopes the ordeal would pass by to detense the anxiety building up a tight knot from inside your throat. Even better? When your words sounded like a caramelized drink to their ears.

“You know, Finnick can be a little clumsy at times” you admitted. The microphone caught the way your tone dropped a few octaves as if mimicking you were in a vulnerable crowded place, giving away uncommunicated information that would make any Finnick fans squeal from joy. You placed a finger up your lips. 

“But shhh, ‘kay? Don’t tell anyone I said that” you opened your mouth, showing your baring teeth to the audience. They laughed at your playful and cheeky personality that you gleefully showed them. 

It worked, somehow it worked. But this wasn’t the time to get comfortable, the show was still going, and you’d give them the best version of yourself. You needed to leave your astounded expression for later, when you weren’t in front of televised cameras that were ready to pick apart the little of what you had shown them. Later, you would try to come up with reasons as to why it was so easy to captivate them, with whatever you had said to them.

Your very words that spoke enchantingly brushed the thin line between the truth and the uncertain lie, and to be honest with yourself, you didn’t know if they were either truthful or not. Because that wasn’t what was important right now, you just needed their attention to you. 

A sudden realization hit you. They didn’t care about the Tributes, at least not nearly enough as the sponsors did, and that was only because they had a stack of money they were risking losing, a large amount that would make a significant difference in their wallets.  

The public just wanted to see a show, and so you’d give them a show. They loved the gossip between the people they cataloged as untouchable, and that was evident with what you had told them about Finnick. If that’s what they wanted, you’d show them your secret facade that seems openly visible for them, as tasty as the sweetest honey they had never been able to come across before. One no matter the riches of the Capitol, they could never recreate that something that felt so pure, yet came from the inner depth of deception. You’d make them feel that a reincarnation of a Tribute like you will never happen again in near the history. 

The blue haired chuckled at your words. You’d show them a different kind of spark, to make them feel you were the only one that could cure them from their embarrassing problems of the high society, an escape from their hard reality.

They had the nerve to complain about societal standards when the rest of the Dictricts were dirtying their backs with sweat and earth, whilst they washed themselves in the cash at the expense of your hard unpaid overwork.

Even with those staining feelings in your soul about them, you'd give them what they wanted. In the end you were still a slave of the Capitol, no matter how much you hated it. You shone under the lights of the stage, an eight-pointed golden star in replacement of your dull pupils. 

If the wanted this, the show must go on then. 

“You are a lovely girl” he started. “But unfortunately I wouldn't place my bet you” he lamented, caressing his eyebrows jokingly. Your heart dropped, and somehow you felt like he could see through your intentions. No, they’re not that smart to realize that. All they wanted was a big fun fest, and desired a good time, that’s why they had come here to begin with. 

You gasped, learning from the best, none other than the unbeatable Scareltt. She was probably looking at you right now, Vito, Finnick and Mags beside her, expectant as to what actions you would carry out. You could sense her eyes, a look of determination, and hopeful you wouldn't miss this chance to change your game. 

“Mr. Flickerman, you hurt me with those words” you placed a hand directly at your heart, theatrically trying to protect his confession from piercing your heart lika a dagger. You pouted very much staged, and of course in a joking manner. 

“I’ll let you know, if you were a Tribute, I would not hesitate in rooting for you” you winked at him cheekily, a sly playful smirk coming up to your face. He only chuckled further at your words, earning you the clapping audience followed with warm laughter.

You could feel it, the way the citizens wanted to have a closer relationship with you. And to accomplish that you would need to captivate them further. Make them feel like there was a close friendship with them, make them feel important by sharing your masking secrets with them, make them believe they were present in your life. 

Your lashes opened further at the realization. You just decoded how to make them like you, and you practically could hear your mind sing sang the little tunes of confidence that exhaled your body. This was a different kind of game, one the most cunning with the trickiest mind games would surely win over their hearts. And you had to be the best, so much so none of the other Tributes would beat you in this little game of yours, and you just needed to ace this. Especially when you were the creator of the rules to begin with.

“Tell us a little about yourself” Mr. Flickerman said between chuckles.

“Well, you know I’m a Doctor…” you thought further. “But do you know I’m that of a poison maniac” you admitted out loud. Everyone turned silent, and you could read the question as to what you meant by those yours. Your smile widened at the stunned look of the Host. They weren’t expecting that. 

Bingo!

“Do tell us more about it” desired the important Host. “I’m sure everyone here wants to know as well” he directed his attention to his audience, earning the high tones of approval he was seeking. He tilted his face to his side, concentrating his look on your moving lips, impatient to know what you were about to reveal. 

You let a dry snicker escape your mouth, one that ringed at the back of your tongue. You eyed him, with another convincing smile. “Being an medic, it’s only natural I give but the best quality medicine out there. And for that, I would poison myself to find the best remedies” you informed. You bit your lip down expectant as to what the reaction of the public would be.

“Wow. What an unexpected turn of events” he finally roared, his voice echoing in every corner of the set. The audience though, stayed quiet, and you could feel them staring in awe at what you had let out.

“Yup. From strange looking fruits, to snake bites. I have tried them all. An of course, that means I’m tolerant to most poisons” you turned to the audience, giving them a cheeky look. You just thought of the best response for this. 

“I believe there's a saying that goes by ‘Don’t judge a book by its cover’. Next time don’t underestimate me, I have a few cards up my sleeve, Mr.” you giggled through the microphone. Mr. Flickerman simply smiled in amusement. The audience ruptured in an applause, with some people whistling which cut though the noise, at the revelation that you had kept hidden. You only chuckled more in flattery of their recognition of your talent. Your eyes readied on the blue haired, him giving you that of a laughing smile. Maybe it was a bit adventurous of you, but you winked at him jovially, earning him another round of chuckles. 

When the noisy ambience died down, the blue haired Host turned serious again. And of course returned his unbearable pause. He knew what he was doing, creating intrigue among everyone that saw his show tonight, making everyone more focused with what he wanted to say. He opened his mouth to finally speak. 

“We would love to keep talking to you,” he informed regretful at the sounds of disappointed guests among the public. “but I’m afraid time’s up”

“Aww, Mr Flickerman, you’re totally breaking my heart” you pouted in with a pitiful voice, all part of a playing joke. 

“Don’t try to gulttrip me like that” he added, along with the laughs of the public. 

You stood up, but before you left, there was something you needed to do to make sure you were the spotlight of the likeability between the Capitol.

“Love you all, and thank you for tonight” your hand placed on your lips, only to swiftly fly off to your captivating audience, blowing out loving kisses to them. And with that, you left the stage. And that you blissful mask was thrown away into the trash once you heard the roaring cheers for the next person behind you. 

You never realized just how empty this kind of lively show would give you once the lights turned their focus on someone else. Your heart had turned like an empty void, and you came across something you hadn’t thought about during the show. The joy and elation you were showing was was never there to begin with, and it honestly left you exhausted having to overwork you body to achieve to emotions you wanted to convey. 

“Love you all” the words you spoke earlier bouncing around your mind like a broken record, like it was trying to tell you something that you coudn’t quite grasp the concept of. Loving someone, you didn’t know what that even meant.  Although you had never been loved by anyone, nor you have loved anyone before; unless motherly kind of love you supposed. But even with Edna, you weren’t quite sure if that was the case. And for the next five minutes you wondered around with that topic of interest, “What’s it like to love someone?” you muttered as you walked down the hallway to meet the rest of your team, already noticing they’re exciting movement towards you.  

That question though, would quickly fade into the abyss of amnesia inside your mind, throwing away pieces of information that your brain deemed unnecessary worth remembering. Scarlett practically ran to you to give to the biggest, most suffocating hug you’ve the pleasure to experience, and for a moment you thought she was about to kill you right then and there from the sheer force, before the Hunger Games even commenced. She had really toned muscles, you thought.

You found yourself again at the balcony. It had been your comforting place in a way. When everything felt too real and suffocating, you simply came out to feel the seasonal wind against your face. No matter how high quality aircons are in the Capitol, nothing could beat the fresh air of the still night. Even the incoming noises of the busy city, coudn’t reach the high tower you were standing on. So high up you bet you could brush the texture of the soft clouds, only to find the disappointing reality, and to contrary to what you had hoped for. In return, your offering hand was covered in tiny cold droplets neatly placed on the surface of your skin from the forming rain that was happening inside the spongy clouds. 

The cold humidity that exhuded a crashing reality to your silly thought. So it was evident you also felt the freezing particles of the night over your body, and with that, the winds that hide themselves during daytime, travelled further away into their destination under the beautiful moon shine.

You almost expected it to be Finnick, having met him last time in the exact same place, at the very same hour. But what gave away that it was indeed not your mentor’s presence was funnily the smell, it was warm and refreshing. It reminded you of what Athena had said to you days go, the smell of the sea never seemed to leave the sea shells when they touched each other , it was daring and in a beautifully wrapped up overpowered odor. 

Vito smelled similar to Finnick, but your Tribute Partner’s was more capturing. It was a nice smell that anyone would willingly drown themselves into a sea of flower petals, and no one opposed to turn themselves under his very submission. 

Finnick on the other hand, reminded you of the wild dandelions that grew a top of the mountains. Back home, when you needed provisions for medicine, you liked trekking up to the crown of a mountain about an hour away from your town. It was a wonderland of medicinal herbs, like God himself had planted them all for you. And without fail, you blew air out of those loving blooming dandelions, speaking away your impossible wishes and secrets. Fragile and soft to the touch, as light as the wind blew them through the air into the hidden places over the ocean, that’s how Finnick smelled like. 

You looked up Vito. His brown skin glowed with the neon colors of the Capitol, but the real party was the reflection of said colors on his sclera, even more so the void of his black eyes showing that similar of an underground night club where everyone was welcomed, no matter how different they were labeled as by the unfair standards of society. 

“Hey” he spoke quietly so as to not interrupt the peaceful stillness of the night. He wasn’t looking at you, and yet you still understood the serious undertone of his voice, already knowing the reasoning he wanted to talk to you. You didn’t need to be a genious to figure that one out. “Hey”

There was a moment of silence. The heaviness placed around both of your shoulders, the grief swirling your very essence into replicating those sorrowful eyes of yours. You huffed out air. It was exactly the same situation like having to see one of your family member's succumb to a lethal disease, fully knowing they weren’t going to make it, and you were left with the slow acceptance that you would never see them again. Never touch them, never feel them, like you somehow had to ignore the footprint they marked on your core memory, and having to live your days as  the circle of life took away their presence, and you still too burdened by their ghostly unreal fingers walking along your skin. 

It was unfair, because neither you or Vito deserved this, and you both knew this very fact. Why did you have to be punished by the crimes people you never met had atoned for? You have been even able to distract away your anger before, but now it was impossible for your unresolved gut feeling. Your throat squeezed at the feeling of that unfiltered emotion. But there was nothing you could do, because you were merely an ant in the way of a human shoe, the riched and powerful men couldn’t form an ounce of sympathy for you. And why would they? Your merely an insect living in their hunting society; you were invisible to them, so why would they care about what you had to say?

The crashing of your teeth were pressing against each other rather strong, and aggressively. A tight pain from your gums was a reflection that if you kept going, with what felt like an unlimited force, you’d end up breaking each tooth into merely tiny pieces, so small it could could fly away as powder. 

A burning tear screamed its way down to you jaw, like a hurt soldier in the name of scalding revenge for taking his loved one away from him.. 

Vito let a breath out from the agony of the situation he got himself in. He looked at you, finding himself reflected in the same emotion of that female rage that was circling around in a rushed manner through the ducts of your veins.

“Tomorrow’s the day” he just said. And you hated the way he sounded so indifferent about it, like he gave up in that instant, like he had finally come to terms to the situation. But you hated yourself more, because you knew you should feel that way as well, you needed to accept tomorrow would be your grave. But it was one of those hard things in life you coudn’t quite grasp the concept of, it was one of those hard lessons were it only left you more confused every passing second. Because your death would be for absolutely nothing worth sacrificing yourself over for. 

Another tear rolled down, this time taking the path to follow down the silhouette of your nose, only to sink down your lips like a damaged ship from a recent pirate fight, leaving you with the saltiness of the sourness you felt at the tip of your tongue. 

 “I’ll come back to get you. Don’t linger around the Cornucopia unless you want to die from the get go” he murmured the warning. But you were glad he still wanted to follow through the plan, a plan that only happened after the obvious acknowledgement that you were surely going to die if you didn’t have a willing participant to protect you. You were more than glad Vito was by your side. 

Yet, you had another thought in mind. One very much different to the words he was speaking, and if he hadn’t felt the very same rage circling around his soul, Vito would have had trouble in trying to understanding what you were referring to. 

”I hate them, Vito” you told him. “I hate them so much I could kill every single one of them” 

He knew who you were referencing to, the stuck up people of the rich society of the Capitol. Even more so the sponsors whose empathy are as empty as a vacant lot, and he couldn't forgive President Snow for celebrating the Hunger Games for another year straight. To make a whole show about the death of another twenty three children and adolescents, to be nothing but a promotional cultural activity, like a national sport competition that needed to happen for the sake of Panem political affairs.

He tensed the corners of his lips into a frown. The built up tears that he promised himself he wouldn't let spill was threatening just behind his lashes to pour down his cheek. He bit his tongue unable to say anything, complicit of the confessing words that could lead you to your punishment. One that involved scissors, your tongue, no anesthesia and a lot of pain you weren’t ready to face. 

Vito blamed you for making him tear up like that. He was trying to hold it, because it didn’t come from a place of sadness but rather the feeling of unfairness anger, that turned in an eternal resentment to seek out justice for the Capitol’s wrongdoings. Your words had hit straight to his chest, the cruel and cold words he welcomed in with open arms, because he had the same sentiment. Unlike you, it seemed easier to hide away that feeling into an old rusty box under a key he threw away into the ocean, so how did you open his chest to reveal his innermost gruesome desires?

The pure of your emotion was shared with him, and both of you cried through the fiery rage of the obligation you two had to complete. Both of you wished for the other to survive, while also drowning in self pity and a silent wish it was them who would come out victorious. 

He clasped a hand behind your head and buried your face in his chest, letting you make an emotional mess all over his shirt. So after his invitation to ruining yourself on his clothes, you grabbed a hold of the rich textile behind his back, making sharp and hard wrinkles around were your fingers that were creating a fist, a burning sensation on your fingers from the slight rash at the stong grip.

And there the both of you stayed, venting away the crucial and clouding desires to take down this Roman Empire to build another one, based directly by your conjoined ideals. Ones you were sure the people from the future would look down upon your current systematic one,  to preach your imaginary one.

A whimper escaped your lips, your cries becoming louder in that pit of uncontrollable fire. You were coming back from the wings of fantasy, and crashing down your unprotected landing to earth’s reality. A dry sob from the realization he would be separated from you so painfully soon. 

“But the hardest part is leaving you” was what you wanted to say to him. He’d become your only friend, a bond built upon the same unfortunate situation, but still a friend nonetheless. You didn’t want to separate yourself from him. You didn’t want to die, you didn’t want him to die, you just wanted to be with him like this until the end of times, until Earth had become nothing but crust. For someone to find your fossilized rock, and coming across that of an emotive stone of two hugging skeletons, in each other embrace to face the chaotic disaster together. 

But you didn’t want to die, you wanted to spend more time with him. You wanted the both of you to lose yourselves on the dry mountains of District 4; to swim and perhaps and eat fish he had gathered from the endless sea, and tell old pirate tell tales. 

You didn’t want to die, and you didn’t want him to die. But that wish was simply unrealistic, in which fate didn’t have that wishful plan for the two of you. And fate had already spoken, and that meant you two wouldn't come out of this alive together. 

“Fifteen” the countdown was halfway through. Your feet were stoned to the platform, as your veins run cold coursing through your body. You sucked in air, trying to stop the scraping thoughts of death from cutting around your soul. 

“Thirteen” you gulped down hard, as a way to stop the gurgling feeling from your stomach to rise to your eyes, and start crying right there and then. The anticipated Hunger Games was close to commence, and for the first time a voice whispered in approval to something you had said earlier, you weren’t ready for this.

“Ten” by then you sucked in many more breaths, the anxiety overgrowing through your every artery, infecting your lungs into a garden of poisonous wild vegetation. Your chest heaved rapidly, trying to stabilize your tumultuous mind. Everything was hazy, and your eyes roamed every corner it could, trying to desperately find and hold onto anything that would put you into the guarding hands of safety. But this was the Hunger Games, you knew better than to blindly trust something or someone. And when it came to the Gamemakers, when you turned your back, their betrayal was exactly like a Judas kiss.

“Where’s Vito?” your voice got lost in the immense silence that surrounded you. He wasn’t next to you, and in his stead came the features of the terrified girl from District 5. Her brunette hair braided into twined low tails, giving her the absolute most innocent look on her. 

Ice touched your wrists, hurting the passing blood that was blocking your veins at the sight, already grimly visualizing her end. 

Your eyes started to water, “Where is he?” your chest was rising and lowering in uncontrollable rhythmic fast paces. Your eyes moved fast trying to reach the boy you could trust most in this secluded place. Your jaw trembled a chill, it seemed from the very moment you entered the tube, every shiver that run made incomprehensible shapes on your back like it was foretelling you about something, and it felt exactly like a warning by the way your hairs straightened in electric agony. It didin’t matter how much your body screamed at you to turn around, to not enter the place that was surely going to end up being the graveyard of all the participants. The alert were justified. You were going to die soon, and that what scared you into the shaking fear that echoed in your bones, cliterring against each other.

“Nine” you found him. Vito was looking back at you, the irises of his eyes like the sea before a storm, calm and peaceful, and slowly getting more disturbed by the cruel ripples drawing hungry circles on the water. They were dark, like the clouds that started to cover the sky of the ocean, and soon the electrical particles would float around in the air, welcoming the thunders and lightnings that had been anticipating to come out, to free their violence through the sea. 

He gestured his head behind him, away from the Cornucopia that stayed in the centre of the circled Tributes. He was calm and collected, he was ready to face this, something your weren’t. He wanted you to run away and hide somewhere, just like he said the day before, “I’ll come back to get you”. 

You followed his lead, and found yourself overlooking the structure of this place, of the Arena that the Gamemakers had expressly done for the twenty four of you. 

Walls, that’s all you could see, worn out walls with wild vegetation escaping the stony cracks of it, that hinted this place had been abandoned for many years. They were as tall as twenty versions of you lined up vertically, and you supposed it was to make any possibility for a Tribute’s escape to be as the thin line of impossibility. 

Your fingers curled weirdly at your side, from the tension of your joints. You huffed another air out, your eyes zigzaged around you, scanning the place whole under your heavy gaze. There were a total of six gaps on the walls that surrounded you, so much so it looked like tall hallways, it’s seductive sight whispering to you to cross over them and find out about what forbidden fruit laid at the end of the passageway. It was calling for you.

“Five” ten seconds had already passed. And with that thought,  the beat of your heart was drilling in your ears. So much noise, yet everything remained quiet. The wind brushed the cold stones and caressed  past your boots. With that you felt the faint finger touches of the breeze, cold and disheartening as it cried out nature’s remorse from having been involuntarily used as massacre artilletry for yet another year.

“Three” your heart beat drums were confusing your already hazy mind, feeling it heavier than what you were used to, and you detested it. You opened your eyes, leaving you with half lidded eyeballs, that were already suffering from blurred nausea. You needed to get out of your hopeless trance, that was whispering and placing bets on another, just how you would die. It was difficult ignoring those voices that screamed louder than messageman through the loud speaker, you needed to cool down your head before the countdown set to zero.

You wished you could've done that. But among the scraping noises from your inner depths, the low murmuring sound of “One” signaled you of something crucial had just started. The monotone voice annuciated the beginning of the Hunger Games. With that, a tear rolled down your stuffed face, its high speed symbolizing the heavy burden that carried the weight of its yearly resolution. The cries and screams of false whisfullness, one that not only happened inside the Arena, but it carried away with the very same distressing message to infect Panem with heartbreak.  

And just like that. Bang! Everything started, the televised deaths from countless victims. Most of you were vulnerable sheep, waiting another day to pass and hope the big hungry wolves wouldn't choose you for their next meal, all stuck inside a unfair corral that gave them the advantage, and that meant you wouldn't be able to escape unharmed. 

You stepped back, one foot out the pedestal. And before you could run away, another hit of nausea smashed you senses. 

Everything was going too fast. 

Next thing you saw was Ezra with a machete in hand, on top of a girl from District 12, blood covering whatever was left from her face. A splatter of crimson red across his dilated face, a sly small smile tensing his right corner into a sadistic smirk.

Nyla just got herself a long weapon, something similar of a spear, and was already looking at every individual that laid at her sight, including your petrified form suffering from the fogginess that numbed your brain into submission. 

You shouted yourself to run, but you legs could only do that in forms of tiny steps back. You remembered the words that Finnick had told you at dinner, “it’s a bloodbath”. Sufficient to cover everydrop up to the fullest limit. All before the next victim, a fourteen year old boy from District 9’s head, almost split into two when Ava smashed an axe on him. It was like the faucet had been stuck and turned on, the bloody water overspilling to the white tiled floors, and staining everything. An innocent red that by the context behind was suddenly turned into an unforgiving shade of anguish.

You witnessed him tripping over a rooted plant, stubborn on staying strongly still, and cruelly be the deciding factor of his deadly prophecy. He tried to get up, and Ava’s much taller body caged him to the ground. With one swing move she stuck the sharp of the axe between his head, so hard when she tried to pull it out she struggled to do so, with traces of raw meat and the inner designs of his brain flying out, and making themselves present in the swirling thoughts around your memory for your further misery. It naturally splattered across her face from the sheer brutality and gruesomeness of the sin she had just committed. But its not like she cared anyway. 

And with that blow, that boy was gone. His vitality thick liquid rowing down his head, and making itself noticed with lines drawing a disturbing picture in his face. The red of the blood had lost its colour, and you destested just how it had become a duller shade of crimson, like it was already in its process to rot away, starting off with the blood under the sunlight.

Ava didn’t need to keep going, but she did. She was an unstoppable force that was ready to take down anyone that she considered inferior to her that walked passed her vision, like a vicious lion with blood running down her chin. 

That was it, he was gone from this planet, and away from his homeland, away from his comfort place to battle without choice even when he didn’t want to. He was to never come back to his family’s reassuring embrace. He was gone. Forever gone and to never come back again.

Another two steps back. His lifeless head turned unhumanly to you, his eyes were red as if he had cried many hours before coming to his deathbed. The drops of blood drawing lines from the ears down his cheek and nose. His eyes abnormally placed on yours, void of any terror and pain, just nothing. No happiness not sadness, no anger and not an ounce of fright. Nothing was there, just an empty shell, void of any shining pearl. Just nothing. He was gone. 

His limp body was turned to you when you finally woke up from your trance, hyperventilating from the confusing and rapid forms and shapes that curled up and fused with each other, to be mixed and shaken up into colourful fragments that screamed threatening lines into your ears. Nothing made sense. 

You trembled your jaw, and another tear followed down to your dry mouth. You opened your mouth, almost instinctively to scream away the distress you had built up over the days. Edna always told you there was no use in keeping yourself troubled by your emotions, and if you needed to release them, to scream away so much you could feel your soul screaming along with your body, let it vibrate in waves through your skin to alleviate it as well. Except this was not the timing to be doing that. 

Your hand smacked to your mouth, blocking any sound that would give away your terrified presence. Another swarm of tears threatened to run down your face, this time in pouring rain. You gulped down, and with that you managed to drown back your scream. 

Then you came across the picture of another girl. A  beautiful redhead. Unreal with lightbrown eyes and pointy features. A beautiful red goddess, ruler of all the invading flames, tamer all any fire dragon she quickly claimed. She was like a blooming poppy when you had seen her in training, even more so in the breathtaking dress she had worn in the interview. A slender and shy girl, that what she portrayed herself as, as an innocent and vulnerable flower. 

So why was she looking at you like that?

She was coming closer, a weird deranged expression across her lit charcoal features. She looked beautiful then, because now her animalistic eyes had turned yellow and her irises red in the purest form of insaned rage.

She was coming to you, a long knife in her hand pointed downwards, giving you the full view and the future glimpse of your deadly fate that was going to occur in the next minute or two, giving you an advantage of two seconds to understand the situation you were in. Your survival incticts quicked in, and you were glad your breathing corpse was as terrified as your mind at the oidea of the shapr item in you, in her hand to tear away the protective layers and pierce through your loved organs, circling around into a muchy smelly mess, or on the other hand, the greatest meal for those big and hungry vultures had encountered. 

She twitched, and that was enough indication for you to run away, to hopefully be able to see the next twelve hours play out, still alive and well, no matter how lucky or ambitious that may be.

She screamed, more like she roared in pleasured challenge. Everything she ppotrayed herself as; from her shyness, her kindred soul, her peaceful nature, she had none of those adoring qualities anymore. On the contrary, she embraced a new side of her that eat away all the remaining good left of her. It was like she forgot the sympathetic teachings that grown ups had instilled in her. She wasn’t human anymore.

You were running for your life. Being someone with great knowledge about corpses taught just how fragile it was to begin with, more prominent injured become somewhat life altering. From broken tendons that hurt after long working hours, to crystal fragments stuck ti your knee could also be form geometrical pain from the scarring after being sat for a few hours. 

And you were sure as Hell you didn’t want to find out, even in the small chance you lived long enough to find out. 

You looked behind, wanting to see just how far she was. And to your regret the wild girl was just tailing behind you, a hand pushin forward against the air resistance to grab your forearm. You ducked away and turned to your right abruptly, hoping that would be enough for her to lose sight of you. A destructive shriek was all you heard, you were only frustrating her further, and a loud battling yell came out as a ball of fire that burned away her delicate features

You recognized her to be Linette from Dsitrict 8. You were surprised to say the least, you always had thought of that District to be more tame and peaceful, being in civilised cities and not knowing much about the outside world. They were in many instances at a great disadvantage because of this very fact. They dealed with the beloved Capitol’s textiles, and you cursed at yourself from letting that stereotypical thought question her eagerness and ability to come crashing down on you to kill you.

This girl had gone completely rouge, like another one of the traps that the Gammakers had created to kill you all. She didn’t feel human anymore, but rather another one of the puppets for the Hunger Games its exclusive usage to create as much chaos as it could through the Arena, and you wouldn't wait to find out the lengths she was willing to go as her first victim. 

There was yet another sound, and even though your were hyperventilating, it oddly sounded like something good had happened, like you weren’t being chased anymore. You noticed your only pair of legs running, and that stalking demon presence gone you stopped. The air came in an out in ragged and heavy breathes, your stomach churned in pain, and you wanted to puke then. You gulped down that disgusting taste away in hoipes it wound’t later come up.

You looked back and scanned where the threat laid ahead of you, only to find yourhopes to become reality, even if they had made you guilty to have think that way about someone. Tears were swelling your eyes red, the pure of the salt irritating and hurting your scelera like your first attempt at diving underwater and trying to enoucter all sorts of beautiful sea creatures, but instead now, it was due to having a racing mtch with a monster that seeked blood and death. 

A sob escaped your lips. Your eyes looked back at the returned concentrated stare of the black eyes you longed to see. His irises that were just below a a black tone, and more so a o dark greyish shade looked over your body in making sure you were in one piece, away from danger and hurt.

You were finally near the person you whole heartedly yearned among the chaotic violence. It dawned on you of the smart move you had done on the tran ride to the Capitol, he could protect you. He’d protect you, so you could later look after him.It ist wasn’t for that, you would most likely be dead in this very instant.

You slumped your shoulders down. And you cried, you cried out so much you felt everything else disappear. You breathed in sharp breaths earning the infamous hissing sounds coming from your throat. You moaned as well, because you were scared of everything at this point, and Vito was your only salvation at this moment.

You just wanted to be back in District 4 and be in Edna’s arms. To squeeze yourself in her body no matter how she retorted back many comments, coming at you in defense for her own personal space, that you were stubbornly invading, not caring that she didn’t want you so close to her.

But you coudn’t that, noy one or the other. This started to feel like a personal vendetta against you. 

You should’ve have noticed it then, the way his irises clouded reason. He was away, far away from what was surrounding him; the corpse of the girl he was holding, the screams of pained anguish not so far away from the two of you, the cold stale air brushing his skin. He was simply out and switched off. That should have been a warning, because even though you hadn’t spent that much time together, Vito wasn’t the Vito you had grown accustomed to. 

His expression was blank, a single drop of blood coming down his cheek, and yet he didn’t seem to care at all. His hand was queezing the girl’s arm, so much the beginning of the purple of a choking bruise was appearing in her forearm. The red head, though, didn’t try to wriggle her way out of him, instead her fingers wrapped themselves on her throat. Vito had given her life threatening injures, and you knew she was breaths away from death. Linnette gurgled as she looked you, the striking eyes of shock directed at you. She, as well as you and Vito knew she was going to die, and that only turned her bloody mess in a tortural refusal she was going to die so soon after the horn rang. 

It seemed she wanted to say something, and you and Vito let the silence preserve for her, but she coudn’t say anything. Her last breath was taken away from her, and now she could only fall to the ground in that. She sat on a fetal position, blood scurring off her fingers that still lay squeezing her throat, trying to somehow stop the bleeding of her punctured vocal chords.

Every word she wanted to say would never be heard, being choked down by the meaty blood. She remained there, her body trembling and you hoped her light twitches weren’t from body spasms in trying to wake her from her slumber. 

Another choke. Her veiny red eyes founds yours. Linnette opened her mouth to say the words she so desperately wanted to say. Her teeth were covered in brown red, and as she choke again she spit the red liquid that was accumulating in her mouth, overspilling in to the earthy ground. And along with her cut throat, the large quantity of lost blood made a river down the path you had just taken, going back to the Cornucopia to announce her death to the rest of the Careers. 

The iron taste in her mouth was overpowering her senses, and soon, that was all she could think off. Her veins were cold as if someone or something had sucked her dry, and she for the first time appreciated the warmth that blood had provided her in the freezing winter season. 

She breathed for air. Tiny gasps but still despairing nonetheless. Of course, the red haird had grown tired, and she lamented that all the air she sucked was to be escaped by the gap that Vito had done to her. There was no use in fighting anymore, she had lost. Tears formed in her eyes only to never be shown to the world. They simply got stuck in her lashes as she felt herself dream to another realm. 

But you managed to understand one word she said in all the gurgling and choking mess. Her pink lips were pigmented with that of crimson, and as she spat another line of sticky and thick blood, she revealed the thought she had before she had gone completely limp. “Theo” she said in her final hiss. 

Sprawled over the grassy ground and accommodated by a bed of her own blood. Her eyes were wide awake looking away from the two of you, wanting her final moments to be from her own introspective, thinking back to her homeland and family. And as the cold she had never felt filled her to her senses, she wanted her last thought to be of Theodore, her boyfriend from back home. 

She had hoped you could relay her final words to him, which only filled her death with so much more unforgiving tragedy. Linette hated herself for not being able to say how much she loved him, she wanted to let him know she would never forget him. Even when they would be separated, she would remember him under the sunlight, while she could only fantasize about him from the moon afar.

Her trembling fingers were the last body partsc for her to completely cease from reality, and she hoped you and Vito could hear her unheard unspoken words. “I’m sorry” and she regretted that plead for forgiveness was turned into her final gurgle. 

Linnette was sorry for her survival outrage. She wished for you to understand her reasoning behind why she did it to begin with. It was like a theatrical loving tragedy, making the main character of the novel kill in order to be back for the confort of her partner.

But something you didn’t know was that this story was just like that, a love story filled with the elements of melancholy and despair, all in the name to be close to your partners loving heart. 

Before she left for the Capitol and into the death game, Theodore had come to her to lament with her. Theo proposed an idea, something that was on the back of him mind for a while, and he needed to expulse that though to her. He pleaded her to come back to him, that he was nothing but a heavy rock without her. He said “Come back, and let’s get married” that’s all he said, and that was sufficient for Linette to risk everything for him, and for a future life withing the warm embrace of each other. 

She apologized to you, but if you looked close enough in the rampage of her mind, behind her heavy circumstances laid the final words for not being able to keep her promise to a loved one. She was sorry becasyue she coudn’t do the task that was placed on her, to come back alive in the security of his sweet kiss. She already missed him, and Theodore could only take on the idea of dying to be near his Darling. He was more than convinced to got through Death’s realm to find her, and come back with her and fullfill their lives together away from anyone, just the two of them. 

Vito looked at you, somber caressed his expression by having to see her death, but it was especially haunting the knowledge he was the perpertrator of her murder. His finger dropped the stained weapon, that was swam droplets into the dry leaves of the trees towering you two.

His ragged breathings hinted you he was close behind when the chase occurred, a hunter hunting down a carnivore animal that was close behind your form, as it decided your were the her next meal. You hated thinking that, but you had to accept it. In this secluded place where no one would come to help you, you were at the very bottom of the food chain. 

The dilation of his pupils spiraling around at the sudden adrenaline charge that sparked every sense in one singular thought,  you. He was worried, and that fear was another loud and harder step to protect you, and with that primal surge of energy he completely ignored the voices of his principles and came running behind until he reached to get Linette.

And he had reached you on time. 

You looked back at him, calling out his name in a weak and broken down tone, as a fragile as a ceramic vase being hit to the harsh cold floor. His face said something you coudn’t read, he was completely paralyzed and stoic. His eyes were faded into the high of the clouds. The storm you saw before, merely minutes ago was completely gone now, only left with the smoky clouds after the rain, calm but with a clear hint that a devastating disaster had just occurred.

“Vito?” Another cry left your lips. He looked as dead as the girl by his feet. Cold, unmoving, and hollow behind his eyes. But he was fine, he had to be. Vito was standing in front of you, you were seeing his breaths quickening through the movement of his chest. He was alive and well, only he felt dead inside as all the dead corpses lying around the Cornucopia when he had left it behind. 

His irises were nothing you had seen before, none of his lively playfulness, nor the broken pieces of crystals that were crying out in pain. He was away from reality, and definitely far away from the life he learned with his family, a journey with not return ticket from his usual life.

It like his soul had left him. 

His hands trembled by his side, the blade just beside his feet not only was stained with Linnette’s blood, but also his concious guilt of self disgust. The very faded eyes were stationed on yours, irises still and yet his pupil shaking like a chemical reaction was happening behind his brain. He was so eerily still it out you on edge, and a clear whisper told your to run away from him, readying your legs for another round of running. 

But, why were you scared of Vito? 

And yet in that emotional turmoil you wanted to answer, his gaze was still directed at you, with nothing. Your Tribute Partner was looking at a picture of his own guilt, one were an invisible pencil drew him with Linnette’s dead body beside him. But it didn’t stop there, no, the pencil was growing bold and recreated the many more murdered corpses it was predicting Vito would commit. 

The blurred drawing of red lines, like that of a a spiderweb of blood decorated in the insides of his brain, showing his admission of a guilty killer. There was no coming back now, he stepped away from the stable line of human morality, and into the the abyss of murderous insanity. He was a murderer, and no matter your denying words he knew you would say to reassure him, it could not erase that simple, yet cutting fact. 

“Vito?” you called out to him again, a tint of shakiness painted the wall of your throat, making the cried tone of yours break his heart even more. You huffed air expectantly, he was finally looking at you, the real you and not what his imagination tried to trick him with. He turned his fingers into a fist, obligating himself to feel the prickling pain from the stabbing fingernail on his palm, in a way he was trying to indulge himself in some sort of self punishment, especially after seeing your terrified form and dilated pupils. 

And as cruel as it maybe, Vito didn’t mind the signing tunes of gratitude your heart whole heartedly sang to him. Deep in his soul, he knew you weren’t happy to have Linnette killed, but rather for saving you on your assured death scene. His eyes softened after seeing yours, scanning your colourful tones from your broken eyes, at least at ease him you were still alive, even against all odds you were still here. And that’s all he needed to know to feel like he could lift the deadly weight off of him. 

Vito called your name. His eyes were still void, and the charcoal irises only made him look like empty black holes, powerful enough to suck you in and grab a hold on you, not matter how much your tried to scurry away from him. 

“Run” he said. The new facade of Vito was showing up on the Arena. You half expected it was going to occur sooner or later, but you didn’t want to believe that would come in the form of that stoic expression he was doing. But the words he spoke, those were the hard hitting truth of the fantasy you tried to convince yourself was just that, and unreal expectation that only lived in your optimistic fantasy. The voice that you had gotten used to, was stranger to your ears. It was the sound of a thin thread of frost, creating little drawing of asphyxiating ice by your ear drums. 

He didn’t repeat himself, looking down at you with nothing but that disturbed face of his. Following your every move as you cried some more, pleading him to stay with you. But it didn’t work, he was still and convinced of the meaning behind those cold words. And after some low sobs you gathered yourself to leave your friend behind, your only friend, the one you would give your life up in order for him to come back to his family. 

His voice was echoing the singular words he said, leaving traces of tears down your cheeks and dampening your whole gear from the neck down. You wanted to scream at him, for ignoring your contractual agreement the two of you promised each other to carry, yet you still obeyed him. Even when his very actions were exactly like sending you to your horrible death. 

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TagList -> @mushy-mushroom04 @marvelescvpe @meri-soni-meri-tamanna @thegr8estpuff

[h3rmess]

WHERE OUR BLUE IS

Written by @h3rmess ✰

Masterlist

S1 : Chapter 4 - Lore ☆☆☆☆

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Okumoto Seiko, a first grade sorcerer and daughter to Haruto and Yukine Okumoto. They were a well-known family in Japan. Wanting to become one of the big three families, the clan leader, Yuto Okumoto, sent them to London to build international relations and connections. They knew of Seiko's immense power and potential since she was born. Her parents vowed to make her the very best sorcerer. So, since she could walk, she has had private training in jujutsu, learning how to control and channel her cursed energy, eventually manifesting a cursed technique. Illusionary reality . This technique was lost from the family's lineage almost two centuries ago. The fact that it manifested within Seiko was seen as a miracle. Due to this, everyone has always had really high expectations of Seiko, expecting her to live up to the name of her ancestor, Okumoto Gekido.

After moving to London, Seiko was enrolled in The Club Academy for Jujutsu sorcerers. There, she learnt how to control her cursed technique. She made some friends, but nothing too notable. She came back to Japan to truly feel her connection to Jujutsu and to fully grasp the importance and power of herself, beyond her body and into her soul, learning its shape and how it can be altered and touched.

Cursed Technique - Illusionary reality

Seiko has the ability to manipulate atoms. This means that through the use of cursed energy, she is able to combine atoms to create things. By calling out "configuration," she is able to draw items such as weapons purely from the atoms around her. This ability can also be used to alter her body as she can alter the atomic structure. Seiko has learnt to expand this radius and now has the ability to use atoms from already existing things, e.g, buildings. It can take time to conjure all of the atoms, but she has learnt to shorten the process. She uses this technique in the form of nuclear decay, messing with her opponets atom structure to effect their efficiency. She also uses it to create portals to be used for teleportation. She can use her cursed technique to take particles from the atmosphere and shoot concentrated beams of different substances at her opponents through her fingers.Her reversed cursed technique, "Dispersal", grants Seiko the power of destruction. This happens by conjuring millions of atoms in the atmosphere into one and shooting it at an opponent. By the use of nuclear fission, the effect of these atoms is amplified as more high-speed, radioactive nuclei are created during the attack. This leaves long-lasting effects for the opponent, such as radiation poisoning and ionisation, overall decreasing their abilities. She carries a bag with her during exorcisms or battles. This bag is filled with poker tokens, which are charged with cursed energy. She uses these to create portals during battle to maintain her own cursed energy within that moment for later use instead of using it up all at once. She is currently going through the process of being reviewed for the title of a special-grade jujutsu sorcerer, as requested by her parents.

Seiko came back to Japan to follow her own motives instead of living by the ones her parents had set for her. She wants to help people, using the power that she has selflessly to better the world. She also wants to prove to her parents that even without the connections to other families, pure motivation and passion can lead to immense success.

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