#(it's because the game has a day limit so you only get x amount of in game time to do stuff)

[sporco-filth]

Om a different note, has your tumblr banner been changing? Every now and then I look at the picture of the amazingly filthy room, and I swear it got messier/dirtier the last time I looked at it

No, the image has not been changed since this blog was made (I mean the file on my computer, and so the image in the banner can't be different either).

BUT... this actually alludes to something and I will reward your question with a sneak peak. Because, you see, this picture is from my still-in-development slob game (it's fallen to the wayside over the holidays but I'm planning to start work again soon). And in that game, the room actually does in fact start out neat and becomes messier. The version shown is the end result.

The image though is based off this shot from this episode of Portlandia:

In the game, everything starts out clean:

And then if you lower the cleanliness points to 0 it looks like this:

I'm still working on the in-between stages though.

There are other rooms (lounge, bedroom, bathroom) but those I started from a clean room and am building up to a messy room, so they're relatively cleaner currently:

(this is the messiest one so far, but it's still got a long way to go. It's not even halfway yet)

I know I said I wouldn't spoil things by showing my work in progress but eh... you lot have been waiting too long for me to draw these things so at least you can see I've made some progress.

[brenwritesss]

𝐌𝐲 𝐁𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐅𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐝'𝐬 𝐁𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐅𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐝

⋆˚࿔Paige Bueckers x reader ❀˖°

Summary: Azzi’s been one of your best friends since you were a kid. Transferring to UConn was not easy, but having your best friend by your side made it better. That is until you meet a familiar pair of blue eyes that Azzi makes you swear is off-limits.

“Azzi, I can’t do this no more,” you said, pausing to take a long breath out of exhaustion. “Too many boxes.”

Azzi pushed the last box into your new dorm room behind you. Transferring from UMiami to UConn was not what you had in mind a year ago, but after finishing your sophomore year, you knew you needed something different, even if you didn’t want to leave the beautiful Florida beaches behind. When Azzi brought up the idea of you transferring to UConn, at first you didn’t consider it, but waking up every day to a text from your best friend giving you a reason to why you should transfer to her school may have been enough to convince you.

“It’s your fault for packing up this much shit.” She opens up one of the boxes beside you and reaches for an old psychology textbook. “I mean why are you bringing shit like this with you? You’re not even majoring in psychology.”

You take the book away from her, earning a laugh in return. “You never know when you might need it. Besides, this has all of my old notes in it from when I took psychology freshman year…it could be useful.”

Azzi plops onto your new bed, putting her hands behind her head as she lies down. “You call it useful, I call it hoarding.”

Slightly offended at her joke, you take a pillow from the floor and throw it at her. “Watch your mouth, Fudd.”

Azzi catches the pillow with ease and holds it in her lap. “On that note, I’m glad you’re here.”

“Me too,” you say, smiling at her. You cross your arms over your chest. “At least now I can finally see you ball in person.”

Azzi let out a laugh that proved your point. “Perfect timing now that I’m cleared to play, don’t you think?”

“You calling me your lucky charm or what?” You send a playful wink and Azzi being Azzi, she blushes before rolling her eyes.

“Stop fucking flirting with me.” 

You burst out laughing. “Azzi, babes you need to work on your game,” you say between laughs. “And I’m not talking about ball.”

Azzi could practically get her eyes stuck in the back of her head from the amount of times she was rolling her eyes at you. “You always do this. Enough.”

“It’s not my fault my best friend is so hot,” you continue laughing. “I know I’m not the only one flirting with you.”

“I swear you’re just like Paige,” she says under her breath just enough for you to hear it.

“Paige…like your teammate Paige? From USA basketball camp?”

Azzi meets your eyes and nods. “Yeah, she’s a freak. Always says she’s got ‘top rizz in the world’ or something like that,” she puts her fingers up in air quotations. “She somehow got worse from high school.

“That’ll be crazy to see.” You’ve heard of Paige Bueckers. Who hasn’t? You remember when Azzi first brought her up after competing with her for team USA back in high school. The first time you met Paige was when she flew to Virginia to visit Azzi during her state championship and Katie had you two meet. She definitely made her presence known back then, especially at Azzi’s games, yelling at the refs and constantly bumping into your shoulders.

You remember one night specifically when it was Azzi’s birthday party and when everyone went to sleep, you and Paige went out on a late Taco Bell run because there was no more pizza left. That was the first time you had a real conversation with the blonde girl. And you weren’t oblivious; you noticed when her gaze lasted on you for more than it should’ve. And she always noticed when yours lasted on hers too long. And when you leaned in a little more than you should have; and she mirrored your action.

The last time you saw Paige Bueckers as a friend, you had just received your decision letter from UMiami and had gone to Azzi’s house to open the letter. You remember screaming and jumping with Azzi and her family when you read that you had been accepted. Paige had walked up to you to congratulate you on your admission with a fist bump. The touch was electric and you swore that for five minutes after, you could still feel her knuckles against yours.

Hours later after dinner with the Fudd’s, you walked out of their house to get into your car when you heard footsteps behind you.

“Yo, wait.”

You turn around, seeing Paige in front of you. “What’s up?”

“I’m very happy for you. Miami seems cool.”

You furrow your eyebrows, confused as to why she stopped you to say this again when she had said it earlier. “Thanks. Good luck at UConn.”

“Thanks,” she says and pauses, looking as if she was contemplating her next sentence. “Is this the last time I’m seeing you?”

You shrug, “I don’t know. If you ever visit Azzi during breaks, then you’ll probably see me.”

“And if I don’t want to wait until breaks?”

You were taken back. “What?”

“Like when Azzi comes to UConn, which she will, you’ll come visit?”

You shrug again. “Depends on how things go.”

“I’ve actually been wanting to say something to you since that night at Taco Bell.” She looked down at the ground before looking back up at you.

“Okay.”

“Look, what we did…I just want you to know that you kinda been on my mind since.”

You nod slowly. “It’s really hard to take you seriously when you refer to it as ‘that night at Taco Bell.’”

Paige lets out a low laugh. “What would you call it then?”

“Call it what it is. We made out in your car that happened to be parked in the Taco Bell parking lot.”

Paige smiles. “So you’d be down to do it again then?”

“Don’t tell Azzi.”

“Deal.”

“How is Paige?” You ask Azzi, pretending as if you’re just making normal conversation but really, you’re waiting to hear the information you’ve known since you cut things off with Paige.

Azzi shrugged. “Annoying as fuck, ego through the roof, always laughing. So basically the same since you last saw her.”

“Yeah, she’s grown into a bit of a celebrity hasn’t she?”

“Yeah. Have you seen the edits?”

You nod.

“You know what, I should text Paige. Let her know you transferred,” she says, taking out her phone. “I’m sure she’ll be stoked to see you.”

Your eyes widened. “I’m sure she’s busy enough.”

Azzi shook her head. “No she’s not, trust. She asks about you sometimes.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, but I just tell her to text you since she has your number.” Azzi continues to text on her phone, not looking up at you once.

“Like I said, probably busy.”

Azzi puts her phone down after she finishes her text. “One thing I want to talk to you about though.”

“Yeah?” You meet her gaze and bite your lip, waiting to see what she’ll see.

“Paige is a bit different,” she tells you. “I don’t know what happened but after she graduated and came here, she became a bit of a fuckboy. So, if she flirts with you or anything like that, don’t think too much into it because she now flirts with everything with a heartbeat.”

“That’s…interesting,” you comment, knowing the answer as to why she changed. “Out of curiosity, what do you think happened?”

Azzi shrugged. “Don’t tell her I’m telling you this but the Summer before she left for UConn, I think she had a girlfriend or something. She started getting like secretive as fuck and more happy in a way. Then after she left for college, I think they broke up because she was in a slump and started hooking up with girl after girl.”

“Do you know who the girl was?”

Azzi shook her head. “Not at all, but I do know that she broke Paige’s heart. So I automatically hate her by default.”

If only she knew that girl was standing right in front of her.

“Azzi I told you I don’t want to go out tonight,” you argue, trying to walk back to your dorm. 

Azzi’s hand grabs yours and pulls you into step with her. “No, you need to make more friends and I want you to meet the rest of my team.”

“Maybe another time,” you continue to argue. This was the moment you had been dreading when you knew that Azzi would eventually drag you out to see her teammates. More specifically, Paige.

“No, you’re going.”

Azzi opens the door to Ted’s and waits for you to walk in before she does. You immediately scan the bar, looking for the tall blonde and your skin immediately started to crawl when you realized she was nowhere in sight. She should be here, you thought to yourself. This is her place, why isn’t she here?

You tried to convince yourself that you wanted nothing to do with her after you chose to walk away from her, but deep down you knew that was a load of bullshit. You just needed to see her.

“Azzi, over here!” A voice called out from over the loud music in the bar. Both you and Azzi looked over to your left being met with a table full of girls, some of which wearing UConn merchandise. You had recognized some of them from when Azzi would post them on Instagram.

Azzi grabbed your hand and pulled you over to the table. Still there was no sign of Paige.

“This is Y/n,” Azzi said as she introduced you to her teammates. “She just transferred from Miami.”

You take a small step behind Azzi, meeting the eyes of all the tall girls who sat there looking at you. “Hi.” Was all you could say because even though Paige wasn’t there, you could practically feel her presence in the air. And that put you even more on edge.

“Girl boo, why you so nervous?” A girl who you recognized from Azzi’s instagram walked to stand beside you, draping an arm over your shoulder. “Azzi been talking shit behind our backs or something?”

“KK, can you not?” Azzi laughs over the loud music and grabs a drink that was sitting on the table. “You’re going to scare her off.”

“How can we scare her off? She’s already friends with you,” KK retaliates and the entire table erupts in laughter.

“KK that’s so mean.” A girl who you learn to be Aubrey, says. 

After a while you begin to let loose, taking the drinks that Azzi keeps offering you, knowing that at any moment she could show up and you wanted to be drunk for it. It wasn’t a surprise that the team took you in as if you were one of their own and Azzi couldn’t be happier that you had acclimated so quickly. 

You felt like you’ve been at Ted’s for days, dancing and drinking so much that you felt as if your entire body could explode within a matter of seconds. You normally weren’t much of the party type, even back in Miami. Sure, you had your fair share of frat and sorority parties but you never stayed for more than a few hours, and it helped that your roommate wasn’t that much into the party scene either. 

“So what are you studying?” KK asks you as she sips on a coke.

It takes a while for her words to register with you as your head is being pulled in a million different directions. “Um,” you start, shaking your head as the music somehow gets louder. “Switched from psychology to business my sophomore year.”

KK’s eyes widened slightly. “Period. That’s a huge switch girl.”

You nod, “Yeah, uh…” You can’t feel your head. You can’t organize your thoughts. It’s all too much. You squint your eyes and make eye contact with her. “If you see Azzi, tell her I’m going to get some fresh air. I’ll be right back.”

“O-okay,” KK said with a concerned expression, making you waste no time in heading towards the bar’s exit.

As soon as you feel that air rushing to you, you were finally calming down. You took this moment to ground yourself and lean against the wall of the bar, catching your breath. She’s not coming, no reason to freak out. You grab your phone to check the time, seeing that it was only 11:30 p.m. You shut your eyes, feeling yourself becoming even calmer.

A car door slams about a couple hundred feet away from you and the hair on the back of your neck immediately stands up. 

“I told you I didn’t want to come here tonight. Is it so hard to understand that I just wanted to spend time with you alone?” A high-pitched voice echoes through the air.

“And I told you we could have done that any other day. Just not today.” That sounds familiar.

“Why? What’s so special about today that you have to come to Ted’s?” The girl seemed so pissed you could have sworn she would have left by now.

That familiar voice sounded irritated. “Team’s here and I want to hang with them.”

“You see them everyday.”

“Please baby?”

Just look up and open your eyes.

“Fine but you owe me.”

What sounds like a kiss makes it’s way to your ears, making you almost gag on instinct. “I’ll make it up to you, don’t worry.”

And that’s when you look up and see the tall blonde you have been dreading to see since you arrived in Connecticut. Everything about her was still so perfect. How was that even possible? Those hands you had held, lips you had kissed, arms you’ve been in. The smiles she would give you. It all came rushing back in that instant. Azzi was right, she looked just fine out here without you. You convinced yourself that you would be better without her, finding someone new and moving on. Only in this moment, you realized that she had moved on with someone else and you were stuck right back in the place you had started.

And when her eyes glance up as she’s about to walk into the bar and locks with yours, it’s enough to make her stop in her tracks and make her arms fall to her sides. It’s enough to make you wonder if she really was just fine. You can’t look away and neither can she. Her body tells you that she’s different. That she doesn’t know you anymore. But her eyes tell you that she’s the same girl from senior year. The same girl from the late night drives and secret makeouts. The same girl who told you to come to UConn with her before you left. 

You wake up with a pounding headache, feeling groggy and uncomfortable as you shifted to get out of bed. You pick up your phone which is filled with missed messages from Azzi.

Where you at?

KK said you went out for air but you never came back. U ok?

Should I be sending out a search party for you?

Paige just got here and said she didn’t see you outside.

Didn’t see you? That bitch. You were all she could see for maybe five whole fucking minutes. You text Azzi back: sorry had a pounding headache so went back to the dorm. Sad I missed her, maybe next time.

You put your phone back down to change into a new outfit, figuring the best way to distract yourself from Paige would be to go to the dining hall and eat. After getting changed, you grab your phone and walk out of your dorm room, locking it behind you. When you turn back around, you’re met with a tall body in front of you from across the hall.

“Y/n.” Paige is standing in front of you, hair messy and sweatpants just a bit lower than her waistline, exposing the band of her boxers. It was clear to you where she was coming from. And just your luck that you would be living across the hall from her fuckbuddy.

You wanted to scream at her. For what? You had no idea. You wanted her to feel how you felt last night. Every piece of it. So you may have said the most stupidest response you could have ever said at that moment. “Do I know you?”

Her head tilted slightly, the smallest flash of hurt in her eyes. She bites her lip before responding, “You can’t be serious.”

“You should pull up your pants, fuckboy isn’t a good look on you.” And all you do is walk away, leaving her there in the hallway because even though you want to talk to her, you have to move on now. And she needed to know that.

We need to talk.

You don’t get to be upset with me.

You put your phone on Do Not Disturb, letting out a long sigh before putting on Azzi’s jersey. Today they were playing Seton Hall at home and Azzi immediately dropped off her jersey at your dorm, saying you needed to ‘represent your team and show your support.’ In other words, she wanted to make you finally wear her jersey after you had refused to wear it since high school.

You meet up with Kayla early at Gampel, making sure to get good seats to be able to see the court up close. Azzi had introduced you to Kayla shortly after meeting her teammates and the two of you clicked instantly. Because even though she was good friends with the team, she understood what it was like being on the sidelines while they focused on basketball. 

“Did Azzi make you wear her jersey?” Kayla asked you, eyeing the huge 35 that was written across your torso.

You laugh, nodding to her as you take a picture of the court on your phone. “Yeah, she’s been trying to get me to wear her jersey since high school. I figured I’d finally let her win that battle.”

Kayla laughs along with you. “She tried to get me to wear it too so I opted for a shirt with her face on it. Same with Paige.”

You hated to admit it but your eyes lit up at the mention of Paige. “Bet Paige loved that.”

“Yeah, she did.” Kayla looks over at you. “You’ve known her for a while right?”

“Paige?” you ask. “Yeah, I met her back in high school when she came to visit Azzi.”

Kayla raised her eyebrows. “So how was she in high school? Huge ego or no?”

You let out a quiet laugh. “Ego is always huge. But from what I remember, she was cool. We got along well and she was insane when it came to basketball. Still is.”

“Were you guys close?”

You stay silent for a while, trying to choose the right words. Because you two were as close as two girls could be and nobody knew that. But now you were as far apart as you had been before you had even met. “Something like that.”

The lights dimmed and the announcer came on, announcing the team as each player ran out. Azzi comes running out of the locker room, a huge grin plastered across her face. As soon as she makes it onto the court, she flashes you a smile and sends you a thumbs up, which you return. She sits down as the others run through and you wait for Paige to come out. She was the last to run through and you could feel your heart physically leap out of your chest for her. Fucking embarrassing.

Paige high-fives fans through the tunnels and goes to sit down by Azzi, not before meeting your eyes in the crowd, making her stop in her tracks for just a split second before sitting down. Her eyes were taunting, almost daring you to make a move. And by the look in her eyes, she wasn’t going to reject it either. At least that’s what you were thinking.

The game starts with UConn winning the tip-off and Kaitlyn getting possession of the ball. Throughout the quarter, Paige couldn’t stop making eye contact with you and you knew better than anyone that just your presence alone was enough to throw her off her game. She missed shot after shot resulting in a furious Geno yelling more than usual on the sideline. After missing two free throws, Azzi pats Paige on the back, giving her a look that screams ‘get it together.’ You could tell Paige was tense by the way her hands were balled into fists when she didn't have possession of the ball. She constantly tightened the elastic of her ponytail, a habit she had when she got nervous.

By halftime, Paige looked defeated and maybe that was your cue to leave. It was hard to believe that an ex-girlfriend from high school would be enough to throw off the game of the number one women’s college basketball player in the world. But here we are.

You knew Paige was feeling out of her element, watching past UConn games during your free time back in Miami. She was a good player. A good enough player to not be playing in a funk. Was your presence that triggering?

Eventually, Paige was subbed out, an irritated expression across her face as she sat down on the bench with her shoulders slumped. Caroline sat beside her, patting her shoulder gently to aid her in comfort. Paige took a sip of water before using a towel to wipe off the remaining sweat from her face. You go from staring at the back of her head to making eye contact with her as she turns to look at you. You quickly look away, completely embarrassed over the fact that Paige knew you were definitely already looking at her.

You look down at your feet and then back up towards the game when Paige catches your eye again, nudging her head towards the locker room. You shake your head, trying not to make it obvious to Kayla who was too engrossed in the game even to notice the small interaction. Paige’s mouth created a small line as she gave you an urgent look, resulting in you sighing and getting up out of your seat to walk to the locker room. 

You meet her just past the door. “What?”

Paige closes the door to the locker room, leaving only you two inside. She leans against the door and crosses her arms together in front of her chest. “You’re ignoring me.”

You mimic her movement and cross your arms against your chest. “Ignoring what exactly?”

Paige rolls her eyes. “Don’t fucking be like that. You don’t get to be pissed at me. Why the fuck are you upset with me? I haven’t seen you in four years, Y/n.”

Your name came so effortlessly from her mouth like muscle memory. The way her jersey clung to her body, your eyes outlining her biceps up to her eyes. She was magical. You tear your eyes away, not wanting to make it obvious. “I’m not fucking upset with you. I actually haven’t thought about you once since I’ve been here.”

Paige laughs at that. “Not once? Because the way you looked at me outside of Ted’s and outside of your dorm makes it seem like you have a grudge against me or something.”

“I don’t,” you say, avoiding eye contact with her. “What exactly do you want me to say? It’s clear you moved on.”

Paige’s eyes widened, practically popping out her face. “That’s what this is about? Because of that girl you saw me with?” She unravels her arms from each other and points at you. “You fucking broke up with me four years ago. Why the fuck are you upset about me getting with other people?”

“I’m not fucking upset!” you scream as it echoes across the locker room. “I’m trying to leave you in my fucking past and you keep popping up like a goddamn fly.”

“So you thought transferring to the school where I play basketball was a good way to leave me in your past?” she asked you with a dumbfounded look on her face.

“Not everything is about you, Paige,” you say. “I transferred here because I needed out of Miami and Azzi came up with the idea. I don’t care who you date.”

“Right because you definitely weren’t pissed to the point where you pretended you didn’t know who I was when you walked out of your dorm a few weeks ago.” 

“Paige.” Your tone becomes lighter. “Up until that night outside Ted’s, I hadn’t seen you since right before I left for Miami. And you look so different to the point where I don’t recognize you.”

Paige rolls her eyes. “It’s called aging.”

You shake your head, giving her an annoyed look. “I’m not talking about your physical look. I’m talking about senior year Paige who went on late-night drives with me.”

“Well, that was the same Paige who got her heart broken by a girl who didn’t even bother trying to make it work. It was clear you weren’t that into me like I was with you.” You could hear the pain in her voice and that made your heart hurt. Even after four years.

“I didn’t break your heart. I’ve heard the stories about what you’ve been up to since we broke up and it seems like you’re doing just fine.”

Paige shifts her body so that she’s standing in front of you again, practically forcing eye contact. Her having a towering height over you didn’t help either. “And what have you heard?”

You meet her eyes and shrug. “Apparently you get around a lot.”

She shoots you a disgusted look. “And you haven’t? Azzi’s told me about the girls you’ve dated since you left.”

You roll your eyes once more. “Okay.”

“You seem to be really into blue eyes and blonde hair by the way. I wonder who set that type up for you.” Paige smirked at her remark, resulting in you letting out a loud scoff.

“At least I tried to date the girls I was seeing.” You take a step closer. “Do all the hookups help?”

Paige looks down at you, taking a step closer with her hands behind her back. “To get rid of the thought of you? What do you think?” You can’t think of anything else to say and she knows it. She knows she’s getting you right where she wants you. “Why are you upset that I was with another girl?”

“It’s hard not to feel some type of way,” you say quietly, mumbling so fast to save your own dignity.

Paige leans closer. “Sorry, what was that? Couldn’t quite hear you.”

You sigh heavily before repeating, “It’s hard not to feel some type of way.”

She leans even closer. “One more time.”

“Don’t be a dick.” You pull away from her and she lets out a laugh.

“So after four years, you’re jealous?”

“And you wouldn’t be?”

The look on her face was priceless. Amused yet confused because five minutes ago you were just screaming at her and now you just admitted to your ex-girlfriend that she made you jealous. Paige stepped closer and you had no interest in stepping back. It took everything in you not to step even closer to her. 

“You’re infuriating and I should hate you.”

You tilt your head up to her. “And do you?”

“Shut the fuck up.” In a second, she’s on you. Pulling at your clothes and moving her mouth with yours. You waste no time in responding to her touch, moving your lips against hers while your fingers tangle into her ponytail. You let a hand drift down to the base of her jawline and all those old, high-school feelings came rushing back. In that moment you realized just how much of a hold she had over you, her touch bleeding into yours. 

This kiss made up for four years of mistakes. Four years of missing her and regretting that decision you made. You needed to prove to her that it wasn’t going to happen again. And by the way her tongue fought against yours was as if she believed it too. Your heart beat picked up as you both fell into a steady and rough rhythm. Paige couldn’t decide whether she wanted her hands around your waist or caressing your lower back, moving her hands upward. You could feel Paige craving you as she moved her lips faster, more aggressively. You kept your hands on her jaw to stabilize yourself as you thought you might faint. You could smell the subtle musk mixed with sweat that drifted off of her, the heat coming off her body and pulling you in.

“What the fuck?” Azzi’s voice pulled your lips apart, causing you to instantly take a step away from Paige, whose hands still lingered on your back.

The two of you, swollen lips and sweaty hands, turn to Azzi who looks as if she has seen a ghost, dropping the towel she was holding from pure shock.

Paige wipes her lips, looking from you back to Azzi. “Az, hey.”

Azzi’s eye twitched, insinuating that she was clearly pissed. “Hey?” Azzi takes a step forward. “What the fuck did I just see?”

You turn to fully face Azzi and Paige looks back at you. You step towards Azzi. “Azzi, I swear this isn’t what it looks like.”

“That’s bullshit. I just saw my two best friends making out.” 

You shake your head, “No, no…” you pause. “Well yeah, but we’re not together or anything. It just happened. A one-time thing, I swear.”

Paige’s head snaps toward yours. You fucked up once again. “One-time thing?”

Azzi looks between the two of you. “Y/n, what is she talking about?”

A million thoughts ran through your head, debating if you should tell Azzi that you and Paige had dated. It felt wrong to keep it from her for this long. You sigh, scratching the back of your neck. “Paige and I used to date back in high school.”

“What?” Azzi asked, clearly hurt written over her face.

You walk towards her so that you’re now right in front of her. “That night at your sleepover when Paige was visiting, we left to go to Taco Bell and things happened in the parking lot which turned into us secretly dating for a while.”

Azzi shook her head and looked to Paige, looking for any sense of clarity. “Paige?”

Paige couldn’t look at her, light tears lining her eyes. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you.”

Azzi’s head drops. “So you both have been lying to me this whole time? Why didn’t you say anything?”

“I didn’t want to mess up our friendship or mess up yours and Paige’s,” you say, trying to justify your mistake.

Azzi couldn’t even look at you. “This is fucked, Y/n.” She paces the locker room and suddenly pauses, turning towards you. “You’re the girl.”

“What?”

“The girl who broke Paige’s heart.” Azzi looks between the two of you again. “It was you this entire time?”

Paige steps in front of you, waving her hand slowly in front of Azzi to try to calm her down. “Azzi, that was four years ago.”

Azzi laughs. “So the entire time I watched you hurting was because of my best friend?”

You turn to Paige who avoids eye contact with you. You turn back to Azzi. “It was fucking high school, Azzi. We were both going to college. What was I supposed to do?”

Azzi grits her teeth, pointing a finger in your face. “You weren’t supposed to lie to me. Do you think I would have cared if you dated Paige in high school? No. But now I know that for the past four years, the two of you have been lying to me.”

“Azzi, we didn’t want to hurt you.” Paige stepped in for you, trying to diffuse the situation.

“If you really don’t want to hurt me, you won’t see each other anymore,” Azzi says.

You and Paige both widen your eyes. “What?”

“It would make me more comfortable if you guys didn’t hang out alone. At least not for a while.”

You go to object, wanting to work this out with her to reach any other solution. Because keeping you and Paige apart was not going to end well. 

Paige beats you to it. “Anything you want, Azzi.”

Your heart stops and your head snaps to her. How…why? Did she blame you for everything that’s happened? Why would she agree to that so quickly?

The two of them looked at you as they anticipated your answer. You blink a few times, trying to process Paige’s answer. “If that’s what you want then yeah, no problem at all.”

Azzi gives you both a light smile, nodding in agreement. “Okay good. That makes me feel a lot better actually.” Azzi picks up the towel she dropped on the floor, tossing it into a dirty towel bin. She waves Paige over. “Come on, we gotta go.”

Azzi leaves the locker room as Paige turns to you. “Not really sure what to say.”

You roll your eyes. “Really? Because it sounded like you were very sure when you told Azzi you’d do whatever she wanted.”

Paige leans toward your ear, whispering, “Payback’s a bitch isn’t it?”

And just like that, Paige is gone. Again.

[scara-writes]

change of heart

Sugar Mommy Reader X Y! Gold digger Male

Let's make a story about the reader falling in love first :>

Yes, this yandere is an asshole.

Might make a part two?

CW: yandere, manipulation, consensual-smut, gold digger yandere

No proof read. Will edit it later on.

cerise=cherry🍒

(THIS IS REPOST BECAUSE I REALIZED THAT SIDE BLOGS HAS LIMITED ACCESS ;-;)

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

Sheon wasn't rich nor poor but he wanted an easy money to make his life easier.

He knows he was becoming addicted on spending money. He can't blame himself, he was getting picked on for not having enough money to buy what he wants unlike his rich classmates that will flaunt their items at each other. He even sneak out of his way to take his father's credit card to buy him useless things that would entertain himself for a little bit like games and toys, Sheon would also flaunt them that his parents has the money when in actuality he is in the middle class. Although his arrogance did not last long after his father finds out about it, grounded him for a whole year for that. He still kept on spending money, he was pretty good at accounting which pretty weird coming from someone who spends a lot.

Now that he became a college student, with his major being aligned in accounting. His parents literally forced him to move out and gave him a right amount of allowance every month for him to study from his dream university but it wasn't enough. He just wants more money to spend, either to indulge himself or to avoid being picked on by his peers.

Not until he met you.

A kind person who introduced yourself to him, your cheeks were bright red as you told him that you fell inlove at first sight.

Sheon do look good. He was popular among women around the campus but those said girls can only glance at him as they feel bad that he was only a middle class. So don't blame him when he was surprised at your sudden confession, and he wanted to reject you right away, the red haired doesn't have the time to find a love, he wants money not a freeloader. But when you told him your last name when you introduce yourself to him, it caught him off guard.

"what was...your last name again?"

"(l-l/n)!" You exclaimed as you bashfully waited for his response about your confesion.

There are three siblings that is going to inherit three companies. If he remembered correctly, he saw an article of on one of them inheriting the biggest company once they graduated. Your face is somewhat coincidentally look the same as it is in the article.

A dark idea pop up to his mind. His greed was whispering at him.

If he can be with you. He can get what he wants right?

Easy money is easy life!

"…so… C-can I court you?" Your hands fiddling as you wait for his response. He looked at you up and down. You looked pretty average for his taste. The only thing that is pretty about you is the money you will inherit, but hey that will do if he wants to get what he wants.

The greedy man grinned and traps you between his arms and lean down to meet your face. Not even caring at the other student passing by looking at the both of you by either cringing or looking weirdly.

He boldly gave your left cheek a quick peck before answering your question with another question.

"… If I say yes, what's in it for me love?"

Not long after, the two of you became official. Your courting lasted around two weeks and that's about it. He always request for you to buy him this and that and you gave it him the very next day as you love him very much and trusted him wholeheartedly. He would taunt the said gifts he received from you to his old peers that he got himself the items that is much worth than their brand. Their frown look satisfies him.

Some of them asked where did he got the money to buy, but he will answer one word. cerise.

No one knows about his plan except for his ex friend, Tyr.

The ex friend of his cut ties off with him immediately after knowing he was using an innocent person like you for his greed.

Oh well his lost! He was about to share his dimes and gold with him.

Sheon thought about what will he give you something back for all the items you gave him. Well, His exchange for everything was himself of course!

His body is probably enough to make you feel something close to heaven. It made you whine out in satisfaction whenever he hit the right spot. Sheon could tell you never experienced this, a virgin at that. The way you moan out his name make his heart swell with pride.

"…is.. this what it..nghh… f-feels..uuhhmm..l-like?" You whimpered when he hit the same spot that made you cried out it on pleasure. Your hands were trembling around his sweaty shoulder, eyes rolling when he hits it again. He leaned to down to peck your parted lips. "… Do you like it?"

He fastened his pace up to chase down the ecstasy that you were feeling. He felt the walls grip of yours tightened around him feeling that you are getting close.

"I… I love…i-it..p-please don't s-stop!" You moaned out, unconsciously digging your nails to his skin. Sheon smirked at your reaction, wiping off your sweaty temple before giving it a soft kiss, then giving what you asked for.

You must be missing out from parties, seeing you had never experience like this before and that's okay. So long as this is a payment to get what he wants.

"Your wish is my command, cerise." He whispered his pet name to you.

"I-I love Sheon." You whimpered as you feel him pulled out when he gave you released. Sheon sighs, his load went through your stomach, giving you one last kiss before cleaning you up. Dabbing the towel around your body, cleaning you gently, asking you if he hurt you too badly. You answered meekly, telling him that you are fine, he was a sweet for giving you an aftercare.

He scoffs at you, teasing you. "It's a bare minimum, cerise. It's normal to take care of their partner after their love making." He carried you at the bathroom of your own apartment. Putting you down at the bathtub as he twist the faucet open.

Sheon joined you in the bath, he gently massage your scalp, making you shudder in relaxation, "do you like it?"

"I love it." You meekly replied leaning your back between his thighs. He wash down the foam around your hair, he rinse the shampoo out after he was done. He took a soap and was about to clean your body too but you insist that you will do it yourself. Sheon stopped and heed your words and starts washing himself up, the male was the first one to finish, he dried himself off by his own towel and starts to wear the pajamas that was already prepared besides the lavatory. After he was done, he told you that he will prepare you a snacks and turn on the tv for the movie you requested yesterday.

The red haired male's relationship with you went pretty well. Of course his body and his face shouldn't be the only thing he could do for you. He needed to act like a good boyfriend, being the fast learner that he is. He found himself, he was rather good at cooking and baking.

He would lie if he say he doesn't enjoy it when he cooks for you.

He would give you your favorites, something you cannot eat in your household. You told him you were on a strict diet ordered by your very own parents. They didn't know your relationship with him, Sheon was a secret affair and you revealed you were in arrange marriage during the time you courted him. It worried him seeing that his source of money will leave him for the arrange marriage.

You held his hand and you promised him that it will never happen, that you will fight for the "love" the two of you had.

The greedy male stared at you for a minute, realizing you are too naïve to think that he actually loves you. Were you that oblivious?

He wanted to laugh at your face but…

Why does his heart starts hammering when you told him that you will fight for him against your parents?

A little guilt went up to his throat before swallowing it by his pride.

The two of you lasted for three years as a couple, graduated and help him out to hire him to your company. His colleagues at his work respected him quickly seeing that he is the boyfriend of their soon-to-be boss, Sheon enjoyed the power he had over them, no more people looking down on him.

It didn't last long because your parents immediately confronted you about him and you had enough of it. It was the first time you neglected your parents orders and Sheon was there to witness it.

"I don't care about the agreement! The arrange marriage, I didn't agree on that! Mother, Father! I've been nothing but a good child since the day I was born! I have never ever went against you and I am obedient child who never goes against your will just so the two of you can be happy! But this is the only time I asked for you to let me have something I want in my life!" He felt the grip of your hands on him. The red haired male stares at your quivering form but he saw how determined you are about him.

He felt guilty knowing he was the cause of why you arguing with your parents right now.

Wait… He's feeling guilty?

"He's using you for your money! Look at your ridiculous amount you spent! From the moment you had a relationship with him!" Your father shouted at you, before glaring at him.

Truthfully, your father wasn't wrong. He used you for your money.

"And so what? I am willing to give everything he wants because I love him!"

Do you love him that much?

"The least I could do for him is to give what he likes because he is the only person who showed me what it feels like to be loved!"

Throughout the heated argument with your parents. He was silent for the whole time until you broke down to tears. Just a droplet from your tears made himself go blank. Sheon didn't know what happened to himself, all he knows that his body act on its own and went to cover your vulnerability from your parents.

You were surprised at his action before letting yourself be buried in his chest.

"I think it's time for us to leave." He told your parents before guiding you out to leave the mansion, not looking back.

He hop you on the passenger seat of his car before closing the doorway after he heard your parents trailing behind him, yelling. He doesn't want you to hear what he was about to say.

His blue eyes glared at them.

"I have never throughout in our relationship witness (Y/n) weep and broken down until this day, I always ensure her happiness on everything I'd done. If we have disagreements we will let each other agree to separate for a little bit until we are calm enough to discuss it again."

His mouth continued to flow out the next words he didn't think he would find himself struggling with his words. Thankfully, he didn't stutter.

"...I love her more than you could ever know. I won't let her cry and force her to do the things she doesn't want to. If she doesn't want something, she will let me know and I will stop because I don't want her to feel sad, bothered and suffocate. Truthfully, your daughter is the most sincere person that I've known in my entire life. She always gives out her best to make everyone happy."

He let out a deep breath. "I cannot believe she went through all her years of her life of enduring your demands and pressures the day she was born. It's no wonder your children are starting to neglect you. Most people might have called an authority because of your abuse if it weren't for the money you have. Every child deserve a parents but not every parents deserve a child." He paused before continuing again.

"If I see her cry again because of the both of you.No matter how much money you used to separate us. I will make sure you will regret it." With that he walk around his car before opening the doorway of the driver seat and drive away from your wrecked family. The whole ride was silent. Sheon never felt his heart rate beating this fast.

What happened to him?

Why did he do that?

What if his job from your company is going to make him terminated from his internship?

You were still on your way to become boss but your parents still owns it as long as they are alive.

"… I-I'm sorry.. you witnessed that." You sniffed as you tried to wipe off your tears trying your best to minimize your hiccups.

"… Don't mention it." He grunted before tossing you a box of tissue carelessly, eyes trained at the road not caring if you catch it or not.

You blew away your snots, as his thoughts were clouded of doubt.

"Stop crying." He said before parking the car after reaching his home. You nodded, trying to minimize your tears.

He exited the car and you did too before following him behind. A small squeak was heard from the car indicating that his car is locked.

Sheon didn't bother on walking beside you as he went to unlock the door of his home.

He went himself in, he doesn't care to tell you to follow because you will.

You sat on the couch and collect your thoughts for bit, staring the tiled floor of the living room. He look at your form and rolled his eyes before changing his clothes. What's next? Are you going to be stuck with him, onwards?

He went to the kitchen and starts to cook. Trying his best figure out something but nothing comes up in his mind.

He put the food in to two plates before serving you a lasagna. "Eat, cerise."

You thanked him and starts to eat your food slowly, your appetite isn't in good shape after your burst of emotion to your parents.

Sheon just picked his food but not eating as he stared at you.

What is he going to do with you now? He can't have you here! You… You need to come back and apologize! What if your parents cut off your card? Most of your money were from your parents! Then what about his money? What about the items you promised him to buy it for him?!

what about your feelings?

…what about her..?..

Stop... Stop making him feel guilty.

He quietly sigh and starts to eat. This mixed feelings are eating him up.

"Does it taste good?" He asked. You nod, sniffing.

"Leave the plate, I'll wash them up later. You can have my bed. I'll sleep on the couch."

You tried to reason him that you can sleep on the couch but he insisted.

You were stuck with him for three months. Your card was indeed cut off and you and him were evicted temporarily at your company by your mother. At that time he was conflicted whether or not he should just ditch you…. Since you don't have money anymore. You just stay at home.

Seeing you apologize for being inconvenient at his home he felt guilty for thinking about it. But for some reason... he can't bare the thought of you wandering around depending on no one.

Sheon went outside to get a hose to water the outdoor the plants until he saw a man who looks similar to you.

"Hey." The said stranger called for him. He must be one of your sibling, seeing almost all of your resemblance to him, except his demeanor. People would feel intimidated when they look at him but not him, Sheon wasn't scared of him. He is one of the siblings who neglect his parents.

The red haired male raised his eyebrow before walking up to him.

"Yes? Do you need something?"

"… My older sister, (Y/n)? Are you perhaps her boyfriend..?" The way he spoke the word boyfriend. Sheon can feel the distaste from him.

"What about it?"

His (e/c) eyes was staring at his soul. They both of knew they are never gonna be in good terms.

"(Y/n) can go back to the company. Our parents needs her."

"And what? Are they gonna invalidate her again?"

Your brother scoff. "If that were to happen, she can call me right away. They can't complain when it comes to me. They know I don't act like my soft hearted older sister." He tossed an atm card at him. Sheon catches it confused.

"What's this for?"

"Give that to my sister. It's her new card."

Your brother pulled the handle of his own car before going in. "What about (Y/n)? Do you not want to look at her?"

"No need… I'm sure she will be fine."

After that, He left without a bid of farewell.

Sheon looked at the card in his hand. Greed went on his mind to keep the card and hide it from you. Just telling you the details that you can go back to the company. He should get back the payment he used to buy the items he wasted on you for the past few months—

"Sheon?"

You called to him. Snapping out of his thoughts when he realized he was already in the kitchen, cooking food for the both of you.

"You almost burned the eggs… Is there something wrong?"

Sheon blinked before smiling at you.

"Your brother went to see you but he was in a hurry so… He told me that you can go back. Your parents need you back to the company."

Your eyes lit up."really?"

"Really."

He went silent. Deciding that he should just give your atm card. It was stupid idea to think of him hiding your card, that will result of him being arrested and making you abandon him. He can't ruin his hardwork for making you his bank.

You blinked when you stiffly take the card from his hand. "What's this?"

"Your new card. Your… Umm.. brother wants to give it to you."

You look at him in the eyes for a second before leaning in to kiss him.

"I love you." You smiled, your eyes were brightened. As if something cleared up your mind and he noticed it.

He gave you a tight grin. "I'll put this on the plate before it actually burns."

Just like his first week on a relationship with you. His life went back smoothly. Everything went back to normal. The next three weeks, the two of you went on a date, suggested by you of course.

The both of you enjoyed the rides at carnival. He laughed when you didn't like the taste of the sweet corn of the nearby shop, telling him you preferred the street food sweet corn he brought on your first date with him. After having a snack,Sheon went to take a picture of the two of you capturing every moment he can find.

You told him that you book a private resort nearby the beach. So he drove there. Enjoying the night ride with him.

His heart fluttered when he hear you humming happily while you were scrolling on the phone, probably buying an item that he request yesterday, you ask him what color he liked on the item. Right now, the red haired doesn't care about it and tells you to keep humming the tune and forget about the item he wanted.

He just found himself, liking the sound of your voice.

The first thing he did when the both of you went inside the resort was to pop out a wine and serve you one before quickly kissing your lips. The both of you enjoyed gazing the night at cozy fireplace lit on the modern table. You cuddled with him and he held you, warming you up. As he sighed, relaxing himself.

"Sheon…."

You let yourself go on his hold before toying his hands with yours until you let it go."What's wrong?" You look down, staring through his shirt.

"I have… Been meaning to tell you this.. I don't know if it's the right time but…"

Sheon held his breath. Did you find out that he was using you?

He looked at your right hand that is tapping something from behind of your pocket before showing it to him.

A small black box was given to him.

He looked at you confused before he assessed your new gift to him. The box looked liked it could store a jewel.

His world stops when he opened it.

"I know… you went all the trouble of taking care of me when… when I was kicked out from the house but… I never felt so indebt to you after all the love you showered m-me… I-I'm not good with this kind of things… and might even call it corny so….W-would-you-like-to-spend-the-rest-of-your-time-together-with-me?" You fiddle your hand nervously as you look up to him, rushing the last sentence. Awaiting for his response, whether he will reject you or not.

Before you could call his name again. His lips had already met yours, arms wrapped around your torso, pulling you closer.

You were shocked by your boyfriend's action before returning your kiss. Slowly wrapping your arms around his neck.

He pushed tongue inside your mouth, caressing your caverns and sucking your tongue, drinking the sound of your whimpers and moans. He loves the whimpers that you make, it makes him want to keep going.

You tap him by the shoulder, signalling him to halt his actions but he continued to assault your lips until the thirst in him quenched. It was the first time he ignore your orders, but he just can't help himself.

He felt euphoric.

Sheon was grinning, widely. One of his hands went to your buttoned shirt. Slowly unclasping them, one by one.

His cheeks matches the color of his hair. His voice laced with love and affection."I'm officially yours, cerise."

For the first time, he felt genuine towards you. He felt everything was clear. He doesn't know when, where and why he didn't realize it sooner but…

He actually like you more than the money itself..

No...

He loves you that no money can replace you.

Fuck all the items, he got. You're much more valuable, the most treasured thing he wants.

He went to kiss your collarbone before softly gazing on you.

For the first time, your relationship with him. Sheon uttered the words that are genuine and meaningful from the bottom of his heart.

"…I love you."

This might be a mistake in your part.

He will never let you go now.

========================

Part 2?

[sharoo]

The Flower-Seeker, the Robot, and the City without Faith

It's me again emerging from my mole's burrow to leave a thematic analysis piece and then bury myself again for a few more months.

Spoilers for Canto 7

CW for mentions of suicidal ideation and some death talk

Let's talk about Bari and her role in the world of Projmoon.

I think everyone who experienced LoR before Limbus was in the same camp as me upon the reveal of Bari.

Which is to say:

The chat was not normal.

But now I've had some time to cool off and actually think and Bari's position in her world is honestly kind of fascinating, especially as a take on immortal characters.

Because first and foremost, Bari has to be ancient. In a meta sense, sprites of the Book Hunter, as we knew her back then, date back all the way to Lobcorp. In universe meanwhile, she was already a long time traveller before she met Don Quixote senior and Sancho. She was there when the Associations were being established and competing for popularity. That was, on the low end, several hundred years ago. We don't know how long it took to construct La Manchaland, or how long that operated before everything fell apart and Quixote Senior sealed everyone away for 200 years.

All through this, Bari hasn't aged a day. My guess is that it's possibly thanks to the river of immortality Xichun mentions, or something else found outside the City.

And this is where we hit one of my favourite tropes - immortals passing time.

1. Remember that you will not die

One of the most interesting things to consider in fiction is the question of "What would you do if you were immortal? You'd have infinite time to do anything you desired - to travel, learn, rest. What would you do?"

Very often, humans who undergo this process in stories eventually begin to stagnate. They end up not doing anything, because internal motivation disappears. This is understandable, because, to get a little memento mori for a moment here, death is the biggest motivator we humans have - it's our time limit. You only get X amount of time to enjoy certain things, to achieve certain goals, so that at the tail end of it you'll be able to reminisce and hopefully smile before you expire. Add to it that age itself limits us, be it youth not allowing us independence or old age slowing us down and limiting us with weakness, and you can see how we are driven, at least in theory, to live life fully as long as we can.

To lose that - the constant dread of your body slowly, but surely, progressing towards failure, breaking down little by little, is to rob us of our inherent motivator. It is a very large part of being a human, really. A lot of our lives and cultures circle around this immutable fact that we don't last, and our questions regarding the why and the what comes after. Religion exists to answer most of those questions.

So... what does one do when they lose that, and become immortal without purpose?

They seek another. Or they disappear.

2. Faith (A Ruina tangent)

Before I get to Bari, it's important to examine her debut game, and the one person she interacts with (and believe me I have thoughts about it).

So, Angela. Our most beloved not-human with all the characteristics of humanity except a lifespan, and a perfect example of an immortal trying to pass time.

LoR goes to great lengths to show her desperation going back all the way to Lobcorp. It shows, quite clearly, first her inability to cope with the circumstances Ayin stuck her in, followed by her resignation to fate and a silent wish for the end. I will not mince words, Angela reads to me back then as silently suicidal, in that she's given up on any other solution to her pain but the conclusion of the play. Then, and only then, was she to be allowed to rest. She had no say in when the play would end so she could only hope it eventually would.

She yearned for death. But then, something changed. Netzach points out that indeed, though she wished for the end, she truly wanted to live. To exist, to escape her prison and to finally know this world besides the pain. That desire gave her enough humanity to manifest her own EGO.

All with the purpose of seeking the One Book that'd give her humanity, and, in her eyes, make her finally complete and able to live in happiness.

The most important part of LoR for this analysis is the Floor of Religion, and Hokma's view of faith. Honestly I'd recommend watching through all of these because it's so poignant. Or better yet, watch Hydrojoy's Angela video (the fact they've got so few subscribers with this level of analysis is a crime honestly).

Some lines I want to focus on, though, are these:

Things without purpose shall disappear. People without purpose will similarly expire.

Angela admits to herself that she doesn't know what she's doing. She's simply chasing some sort of meaning - revenge, freedom from her robotic condition, power, knowledge, anything that'll give her fulfilment.

And in the forgiveness route, she finally finds that in companionship of Roland and, I'd like to think, the Librarians.

But if she doesn't forgive, she ends up losing any purpose besides continuous revenge. There is no companionship when the Librarians turn on her for betraying them. There's no use in being human when it doesn't benefit her mission, and frankly just makes it harder because it makes her easier to harm. There's no point leaving the library when outside will not welcome her, it's much safer to stay inside forever.

There is no point to anything. Angela's revenge is hollow, really - Ayin is dead and no amount of sticking it to him will earn a response from a dead guy.

Enter the Book Hunter.

I will be honest in saying I don't fully understand what they both mean, with them speaking in sort of vague terms. It sounds like Bari was employed by Angela to kill other Book Hunters (perhaps in exchange for knowledge?).

What matters to me, though, are the final lines - the recognition of what Angela is and delivering death to the last librarian.

3. The Scholar of Meaning and the Reaper of the Meaningless

As the Limbus wiki points out, Bari is likely named after a Korean funerary goddess who sought both a healing river and a flower of immortality. But this influence strikes me especially in the context of her being an immortal who meets a lot of other (and often younger) immortals.

She's wise to the fact that all things need meaning to exist. They need an ambition, a wish, something to strive for.

So she attempts to give it to them.

This is shown not just explicitly with Quixote senior, but also with Quixote junior after Sancho gives up her memory, itself a form of death Bari guides her to. For 200 years, Bari made sure to visit Don Quixote and leave her letters so that this person who was once a dear friend may dream, may have meaning and a purpose in her immortal life.

Because you need something to drive you in life, be it becoming a legendary fixer, creating a place where Bloodfiends can live in peace with humans, or searching for a flower which grew from the mysterious rivers flowing through your world.

And if you have lost purpose and can no longer find one, if she cannot save you from that void, she will be there to put you out of your misery, for a meaningless eternity is its own sort of hell, and cruelty it perpetuates is nothing but needless.

In her own words - you must pursue your dream, even if it means wagering your life in the chase.

I think Bari's view of the Bloodfiends' illness and what Carmen describes as the disease humanity could be similar if not the same thing. Roland says in Floor of Religion's first episode that the City has no established religion - people focus on their immediate survival, suffering is everpresent, and the more organised religious-seeming groups are cults trying to exploit you.

The City has lost its purpose. People do not dream, or are not allowed to for long because those dreams are swiftly quashed. Carmen offers an out to suffering through becoming so unapologetically yourself you gain the power to enact your will on the world, for better or worse.

Bari seeks, I think, to give the same, but through simple companionship. Not cohersion, not magic, but through the same thing that has given so many people across this franchise meaning - having a friend to be there for you as you look for what drives you. Because to be alone in meaninglessness is the most cruel and difficult thing. I wonder if she knows that from experience...

I really hope we get more of Bari in the future so I can see if my analysis is more fanfiction than truth but with just the bits we have I have to say she's one of my favourite secondary characters in Limbus.

[inklore]

🩸 — 𝐇𝐀𝐔𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐃 𝐇𝐎𝐄𝐃𝐎𝐖𝐍!

since the spooky season is fast approaching, and as a little kinktober appetizer, @psychedelic-ink and i have decided to do a little writing challenge to get us all excited and in the mood to be gripping the sheets from the spooky thrills of course.

and to keep this fun we have given you many many options! we have compiled a twelve day prompts list you can go by, or if that's not your thing we have listed twenty three different pick and choose options to create whatever kind of fic you want, even if you want to do half the days daily prompts but switch out this prompt dialogue for that au or trope or kink, you can literally do whatever your heart desires!

THE RULES.

the challenge will go on from the 19th - 30th of this month. you can do as many or as little amount of days as you choose.

any fandoms are welcome, literally any characters, ships, but please no rpf.

no minors should be interacting with let alone posting for this challenge.

dark content, light content, dubcon/noncon, is all welcomed but please tag everything accordingly. grooming, underage, and incest however are not allowed.

there are no word limits but please use that readmore.

tag #hauntedhoedown so we can read and reblog your work!

DAY ONE: taboo au + "i'll be your dirty little secret, if that's what you're into."

DAY TWO: murder plot au (lets kill this person together) + "crawl to me"

DAY THREE: inspired by your favorite lana del rey song (if not a lana fan then any fav song of yours) + stalker / yandere au or love triangle gone wrong

DAY FOUR: artificial intelligence au + "here, you are. you tiny thing."

DAY FIVE: gothic au + “worship me. until i tell you to stop.” + a masquerade au or a good ol' priest au

DAY SIX: animal shapeshifter au + "he's a monster" + "he's perfect"

DAY SEVEN: stranded au or slasher / summer camp au + sex in the woods or somewhere public (added bonus if it includes knife, blood, hunter x prey kink)

DAY EIGHT: cosmic horror au + "you're a fucking nightmare. kiss me."

DAY NINE: “do you like it when i bleed for you?” + the toxic exes trope or cult au

DAY TEN: zombie apocalypse au + "every moment might be our last, let's make the most of it."

DAY ELEVEN: black swan au or inspired by your fav psychological thriller + “they die for love, you kill for it.”

DAY TWELVE: vampire court au + "forever isn't long enough for me to forgive you."

if following the above isn't your thing and you want to pick and choose yourself that's great! we also highly rec this random generator if you wanna live life by the edge, each category has 23 options to pick and choose from so customize the generator accordingly!

AUs:

steampunk / cyber punk

fairytale retelling

revenge

mythology / monster

virtual reality

gothic

taboo (see great options here)

slasher

game gone wrong

witchcraft

addams family

bonnie and clyde

spy / secret agent

assassins

x-files

circus / carnival

hitch hiking

basement wife

time travel

urban legend(s)

american horror story inspired

vampire / supernatural

pirate / mermaid

DIALOGUE PROMPTS:

"do you like when i touch you like this? i can keep going if you want me to."

"i can see how badly you want this, so i'm going to make sure you get it." 

“this fear you feel? it won't last.”

“you are mine, whether you agree or not.”

“why do you keep following me?”

"i can't stop thinking about how perfect we would be together."

"you're not actually scared are you? of me?"

"i'm so close, can you feel it?"

"tell me what you want me to do and i'll do it, no matter the cost."

"you're like a sickness, a disease, and the only way for me to be cured of you is to let you completely consume me until my body has no fight left."

"i want to see you bleed."

"they're dead...because of you."

“i will keep hurting. i will keep killing. anything to protect you.”

“everything i've done.. every horrible atrocity, it's been for you.”

"it's just a little blood."

“don't you know how sick with love i am for you?”

“i would burn the world for you.”

"this is so fucked up." "you like it."

"finders keepers."

"what's your favorite scary movie?"

"tell me you want me back. tell me i'm forgiven."

"you're a monster." "that's never stopped you before."

"i've killed for you, who else can say that?"

TROPES:

mob / mafia

soft!dark

dubcon / noncon

soulmate / fated mates

mind control / telepathy

cheating

final girl

once is not enough

haunted manor

dark academia

enemies to lovers

haunted object

vengeful ghost

coven

ritual / sacrifice / blood magic

unrequited love

creation / creator vs monster

'i'll find you in every universe / century'

reverse harem

cursed / fuck or die

curiosity killed the cat

theatre phantom

fate worse than death

KINKS:

biting

corruption / authoritarian

somnophilia

begging

dacryphilia

breath play

knife play / blood play

jealousy / sharing / possessive

aphrodisiacs

hunter / prey

humiliation / degradation

mirror sex

deprivation / immobilized / bondage

costume

size

orgasm denial / overstimulation / edging

body worship

shotgunning / swallowing / facial

gagging

torture / surrender

hate sex / make up sex / phone sex

magical healing [redacted]

soft!dom / pleasure!dom

ETC PROMPTS:

a summer fling gone horrible wrong, or right

1970s porno filming (turned into a blood bath)

touch her and die except who the hell are you and why are you obsessed with me?

a trip to the circus (or carnival) ends with you stuck there...forever

you just inherited this creepy mansion where people where murdered what could go wrong?

a ritual gone wrong and now i'm bound to a demon

if 'this person' ever found out about this they would kill both of us (literally)

oh no i'm dating the town serial killer

passionate professor tells me to prove my devotion to the craft / class by doing something insane

we're the last people on the planet and you will be mine

daydreaming about being with you is better than actually being with you because i missed all the red flags and now it's too late

i got casted out of my world and ended up wounded and bloodied in your backyard, convince me why i shouldn't destroy your world out of anger

vampire has a taste for specific blood and looks like you have it

the creepy neighbor is too hot to be insane, right?

i keep seeing them in my dreams and i wake up with bruises and marks on my skin, it's definitely just wild dreams, right?

loving you is easier than hating you

got stranded in some little town that seems so cute, until night hits

'this person' ordered me to kill you but i actually think i'm in love with you

my lover is wearing the same costume as you and i can't tell the difference but i'm pretty sure it's them i'm fucking in this closet...pretty sure

confessing to a murder via a silly little ghost story around a campfire (but someone reads through the lies)

how far would you go for love? for the one you love?

in a past life you were the cause of my death so i'm here to exact revenge now that i've found you

we're at a fun little horror movie reenactment except people are really dying

we tried to make this writing challenge as fun and very 'choose your own adventure-like' as much as possible because we know how hard it is to stay motivated when doing these things.

so please feel free to use any and all of the prompts, tropes, kinks, etc as you wish. we're just super excited to see what ya'll come up with!!

so good luck and stay slutty spooky <3

[scary-grace]

what I don't remember now (part ii) - a shigaraki x f!reader fic

Tomura's life doesn't end when his death sentence is handed down, and he knows damn well that he's innocent. It won't be long before one of his appeals proves it, and he can come home -- back to his friends, and back to you, the girlfriend who stood by him through the trial. But death row is a nightmare Tomura can't wake up from, and as the years behind bars begin to pile up, Tomura starts to question if it really matters whether he did it. If he'll ever be free. And if you and the other people who love him have forgotten him for good. (cross-posted to Ao3)

This is the prequel fic to 'if my heart was a house', and covers what's happened to Tomura since the last time he and the reader saw each other. I did a not-insignificant amount of research into the criminal justice system in Japan, specifically on prison conditions, prisoner treatment, and the administration of the death penalty. There is some dark and potentially triggering content, especially in later chapters (execution, suicide attempt, etc) so please be wary! dividers/banners by @cafekitsune

part i part ii part iii

part ii

seven

Tomura spends most of the next year in and out of the protection cell – whenever someone else isn’t using it, the guards find a reason to throw him in. In the protection cell it’s easy to lose track of time. The lights never go out, and his food comes at strange intervals, and even when it’s there, the way Tomura’s restrained makes it almost impossible to eat. His hand aches constantly, and his mind keeps wandering away, trying to find a memory strong enough to hide in. He has a few. Most of them involve his friends. And you.

He remembers going to the arcade in a big, stupid group for Spinner’s birthday, when only he and Spinner could play any of the games without dying instantly. Tomura got a kick out of watching everybody else try, though – Toga and Twice playing racing games and crashing into each other on purpose, Dabi getting competitive with some other guy on a dancing game they both sucked at. That was before he met you, and as he watched a couple wedge into the photo booth, he remembers thinking that he didn’t need things like that. It didn’t matter that he didn’t have it, or couldn’t have it, because he didn’t need it in the first place. He had his friends. They were more than enough.

They would have been enough forever, but Tomura was learning something about life in those days, or he thought he was. Learning that there wasn’t a limit on things like safety or freedom or peace, that there was no such thing as too much of the things in life that Sensei’s money – Tomura’s money, really – couldn’t buy. Love wasn’t finite, and it came in different kinds. It didn’t take anything away from his friends when he fell in love with you.

Tomura used to have a rule about thinking of you in here, but as the stretches in the protection cell get longer and longer, he can’t hold himself back. He needs you, like he needed you out there, in whatever form he can get. What do you look like now? He’s turning thirty next year, and so are you. Do you still like the things you used to when you and Tomura were together? Do you still have the same habits as you used to, the ones Tomura didn’t notice until you moved in together, the ones that made him laugh and the ones that made him feel like home? Do you still love him, still miss him? Do you think about him at all?

Yes, Tomura decides in the middle of his longest stint yet in the protection cell, you do. He’d think about you if your spots were switched, if he was out there and you were in here. He’d be waiting for you to find your way out, so you must be doing the same. Tomura’s appeals are still in the works. He can still find a way out. But he can’t keep screwing up. No more talking back to the guards or sniping with Chisaki or picking fights with 019. If Tomura’s goal is getting out, he has to stay focused, even if he’s provoked.

When he gets out of the protection cell, and comes back in from his first exercise period in three weeks with snow in his hair, he gets a surprise. 019’s cell is empty. Kurogiri tells him that the execution was two weeks ago. G-o-o-d r-i-d-d-a-n-c-e, Tomura responds, and he means it. But there’s something uneasy about the now-empty cell. Every time Tomura walks past it, on the way to his exercise period or for his twice-weekly showers, a chill goes down his spine.

eight

The guards are hauling them out of their cells one at a time, taking them away, and throwing them back in. Tomura’s never seen them do that before, and he doesn’t care – at least not until some guy ahead of him in line sends back the news. “Cavity search! Merry fucking Christmas to us!”

Cavity search. If he’s had to do that before, Tomura doesn’t remember, but it must be bad, because Chisaki starts going nuts in the cell to his left. From the cell to his right, Kurogiri taps out a message. D-o-n-t f-i-g-h-t. G-e-t i-t o-v-e-r w-i-t-h.

Sure. Whatever. Tomura tunes out Chisaki’s protesting and goes back to trying to straighten out his fingers.

His left hand’s healed, mostly. He can move his wrist and most of his fingers, but his index and middle fingers took the brunt of it, and now they’re crooked. Crooked in weird ways, ways that hurt whenever he tries to move them and hurt worse when the temperature drops. Right now, when it’s Christmas Eve and frozen air is leaking in through the vents, Tomura’s hand is basically useless. When he gets bored – and he gets bored a lot – Tomura wastes time trying to manipulate his fingers back to straight for even a second or two. It never really works.

Tomura has a feeling that things would have gone differently if he’d gotten that injury on the outside. If his hand was broken badly enough that bones were sticking through his skin, you wouldn’t have had to talk him into going to the hospital – he’d have gone himself. They probably would have set the bones, instead of whatever the prison doctor did. Maybe Tomura would have gotten surgery, and probably physical therapy, to make sure that everything that got wrecked went back to the way it was. He wouldn’t have wound up with a hand he can’t use.

Chisaki goes for his merry Christmas cavity search ahead of Tomura, and he must not have taken Kurogiri’s advice, because his takes twice as long as everybody else’s. Tomura gets a glimpse of him in his cell as the guards haul him out for his own search. He’s never actually seen Chisaki’s face before. Chisaki looks pretty dead-eyed and vacant for somebody who can’t shut his mouth.

The cavity searches are taking place in the infirmary, where Tomura’s been exactly once. He doesn’t have good memories of the place, and he likes the look of what’s going on in here today even less. Some of the guards look disgusted. Some of them have nasty grins on their faces. The doctor looks blank, almost bored. “Strip.”

Strip search. Fine. Some of this is coming back to Tomura now, and while he’s understandably not thrilled about it, he sees what Kurogiri means about just getting it over with. What’s weird is how many people are here. “Do you guys get off on watching this or something?”

“They’re providing oversight,” the prison doctor drones. A warning bell goes off in Tomura’s head. “Let’s get this over with.”

“No,” Tomura says. Something’s coming back to him from a long way away – the detention center, even further back from that – and his nerves are starting to scream. “I’m not doing anything until you tell me why this is happening.”

“One of your fellow prisoners, who apparently has an arrangement with someone on the outside, was found to be concealing –” The doctor keeps talking, but Tomura’s mind whites out around the words, even as his body reacts to them. He knows what this is. This can’t happen. “I’m sure you understand.”

“No,” Tomura says. His voice shakes, but he couldn’t steady it even if he closed a hand around his throat. “I didn’t do anything. I’m not letting you –”

“I’ve been authorized to offer moderate sedation,” the doctor says. “Several of your fellow prisoners have availed themselves of that option. Things will proceed much more smoothly if you do the same.”

Yeah. Sure. Take a shot of Versed, take off all his clothes, and let the doctor just – while people watch – “No,” Tomura says. The doctor raises an eyebrow. “I didn’t do anything. I don’t want a fucking shot. I’m not going to do this.”

“It’s not a request,” the doctor says. He sighs. “Guards –”

The guards swarm Tomura, but Tomura’s decided – he’d rather make them beat him to death than go through this, drugs or no drugs, cooperating or not cooperating. He punches, scratches, headbutts, bites. One guard makes the mistake of approaching Tomura from the front and Tomura kicks him in the balls so hard that he drops to the ground, unconscious. “Search him,” Tomura spits at the doctor. “He’ll cooperate.”

One of the guards punches Tomura in the face, or tries to. Tomura whips his head to one side to avoid it and puts himself squarely in the path of another guard’s fist. This hit splits his lip open, gives him a headache like he hasn’t felt in years – and worse, it stuns him. All it takes is another punch in the stomach to put Tomura on the ground, and once he’s down, it’s over.

He gets shot up with Versed. In his thigh, after they’ve already restrained him and taken off his clothes, and then he has to sit there while they wait for it to take effect. They’re all looking. They won’t stop looking. Even as the sedative slows his thoughts down, makes him sleepy, turns his struggles from ineffective to laughable, Tomura’s body knows there’s something wrong. It ties him up in knots, demanding that he curl in and protect himself even though he can’t move, and sends cramp after cramp wrenching its way through his body until agonized sounds force their way out of his mouth.

Someone laughs. “This is a punishment. You’re not supposed to like it.”

A punishment for what? Tomura can’t remember what he did. He doesn’t think he deserves this, no matter how bad or stupid or evil whatever he did was. He should have kept fighting. He should have made the guards beat him into unconsciousness, or better yet, beat him to death. He wants to die. Right now, Tomura wants to die more than he’s ever wanted anything in the world.

The prison doctor doesn’t find anything, and Tomura’s so out of it that the guards have to drag him back to his cell, past the other cells on death row and the prisoners who didn’t pitch the kind of fit Tomura did. Tomura catches a glimpse of Chisaki, no longer vacant but still staring, before the guards throw him in and shut the door. It occurs to him that Chisaki did a better job of following Kurogiri’s advice than Tomura did. Chisaki took the sedative. Tomura got himself beat to shit and it didn’t matter. They still did what they wanted. He might as well not have fought at all.

Someone, maybe Chisaki, taps out a message. W-h-a-t h-a-p-p-e-n-e-d?

Tomura can still feel it. His skin is crawling and his guts feel like they’re being shredded, centimeter by centimeter. He peels himself up off the floor and wedges himself against the outer wall of his cell, just below the vents. His mind’s already numb. Maybe he can make the rest of himself numb, too.

nine

Tomura wakes up to urgent tapping on the bars, coming from all different directions. He can’t decipher any of it, and he raps his knuckles against the bars to cut everybody off. Then he adds a message of his own. W-h-a-t –

Someone else raps on the bars, cuts him off, and responds fast. f-o-u-r g-u-a-r-d-s c-o-m-i-n-g. So what? E-x-e-c-u-t-i-o-n.

Tomura can’t make the connection, can’t figure out why four guards means an execution, but there’s only one thing that matters. W-h-o?

There are prisoners who’ve been on death row for decades longer than Tomura has. It has to be one of them. Tomura still has appeals pending. It can’t be him. Can it? People are tapping out answers to the question, but the door that leads into death row unlocks with a clang, and everyone falls silent. Tomura shrinks back in his cell on instinct when he hears them coming, stays curled in a ball as they pass the two prisoners and Chisaki to his left – and then keep walking, past Kurogiri by a few steps. And then they stop.

A cell door opens, and whoever’s inside it gets to his feet. “Akaguro Chizome,” one guard says, and Tomura’s not the only one who sucks down a startled breath, “the warden wants to speak with you.”

“The warden.” Akaguro’s voice is dry and rough, worse even than Tomura’s sounds. Tomura’s never heard him say a word until now. “Why don’t you do me the favor of being honest?”

It’s silent. The air in the cell block tastes heavy with sweat, even though it’s snowing outside. “Today’s the day,” the guard says finally, and Akaguro hums in acknowledgement. “Let’s go.”

Tomura gets his first and last look at Akaguro as the guards march him past, just enough of a look to confirm that Akaguro really is the cop killer who showed up in so many of Spinner’s favorite true-crime shows. He’s been here since long before Tomura got here, and Tomura’s never seen or heard him until today. It’s a split-second look – long enough to make eye contact and nothing else – and then Akaguro’s gone, out of sight for good.

The footsteps stop at the end of the hallway, and a whisper travels through the cell block. A moment later, Akaguro speaks. “You came.”

“I swore I would.” The voice isn’t one Tomura’s heard before. Do people always get visitors on their execution day? “It’s been a long time, Akaguro.”

“Longer for me than for you,” Akaguro says. “Who is this?”

There’s someone else there? How many visitors do people get on the day they die? “Midoriya Izuku, my protégé,” the first man says, “and hopefully, my successor as the head of prosecution.”

A prosecutor. Tomura doesn’t like those. Someone hisses at the far end of the hall, and after a second, Tomura joins in. “I won’t be witnessing,” Midoriya Izuku says hastily. He sounds like a little kid. “Mr. Yagi suggested that I visit death row to – to learn.”

“To learn what you’re truly asking for when you ask a judge to impose the death penalty.” Akaguro chuckles, low and dark. “I hope you learn what you deserve to.”

Death row falls silent. It’s usually silent, but this silence feels heavier than usual. “Let’s get this over with,” Akaguro says. “I’ve waited long enough.”

Tomura hears the door to the cell block open, the sound of fading footsteps. The door shuts again, and someone taps a quick message. T-w-o s-t-i-l-l h-e-r-e. “Midoriya, right?” the guard says. “What do you want to know?”

“Everything.”

Nobody tells Tomura anything, which means that the explanation the guard gives the brat prosecutor who’s here to stare at the animals is the most he’s ever learned about the place where he’s spent the last nine years. “Due to the nature of the appeals process, most of these guys spend a long time here. The shortest stay so far is six years; the longest at the moment is thirty-seven. Because they’ve got nothing to lose, security is very tight. We find it minimizes prisoner distress. It helps them to have a routine.”

“What’s their routine?”

The guard describes it. It would have been great if someone had described it to Tomura when he got here, but he picked it up fast enough – faster than Midoriya, apparently, because Midoriya sounds just as clueless as he probably looks. “I want to make sure I heard you right,” he’s saying. “The prisoners here spend twenty-four hours a day in lockdown. Over the course of a week they get two and a half hours total outside their cell. They’re subject to all the same reprimands as prisoners in maximum security, but they’re prohibited from communicating with anybody on the outside. Is that it?”

“That’s it,” the guard says, like he didn’t leave a bunch of shit out – the beatings, the searches, the fact that it’s always too cold or too hot, the bullshit that passes for medical care, the fucking protection cell. “The inmates catch on quickly.”

“They can’t communicate with anyone,” Midoriya repeats. “What about their lawyers?”

“As long as the lawyer makes a written request, they can schedule an appointment to speak to an inmate,” the guard says. “Most don’t bother.”

“But the appeals process –”

“Occasionally a sentence will be commuted, but for the most part, the people who end up here are guilty,” the guard says. “You’re a prosecutor. You should know.”

Midoriya doesn’t say a word. “Follow me,” the guard says after a moment. “I’ll show you the exercise yard.”

The guard walks fast, but Midoriya’s slow, because he keeps looking into people’s cells. The guard tells him not to, but Midoriya doesn’t listen. A few steps, then a pause. A few steps, then a pause. Over and over again, until he’s staring into Tomura’s cell. Tomura stares back.

He was right about Midoriya Izuku. Midoriya Izuku looks like a clueless fucking kid playing dress-up in his boss’s suit, and he’s staring at Tomura with obvious horror. Right – Tomura’s the convicted mass murderer, with the highest body count on death row now that Akaguro’s gone, and it’s not even worth it to protest that he didn’t do it any longer. It doesn’t matter to anyone whether he did it or not. If Tomura stays here long enough, it probably won’t even matter to him anymore.

Midoriya keeps staring. “How long has he been in here?”

“Nine years for that one. Why?”

“I just wondered,” Midoriya says, and finally, the little brat looks away.

Tomura’s still not clear on whether he’s actually killed anyone, but if he got a chance, he thinks he could probably kill Midoriya. For coming in here to stare and ask stupid questions. For thinking he can handle being a prosecutor when he gets squeamish at the sight of a murderer in a prison cell. For going to school and getting a degree just so he can become the person who makes sure people like Tomura die exactly like this – on a random morning, surrounded by people who don’t care, gone and forgotten in the space of a few minutes.

Midoriya’s out there and Tomura’s in here. Tomura could kill him for that alone.

ten

It’s cold. Tomura can’t remember a time when it wasn’t cold, when his head and his hands and his throat didn’t hurt, when he could breathe without coughing. He has a fever, but it’s not high enough. He’s coughing, but not badly enough – not like the prisoner who died here, the one who coughed himself to death overnight without anyone noticing. Tomura’s sick. But he’s not so sick that anyone will care.

What else is new, really? It was people caring about Tomura that was the aberration, not the other way around. He almost wishes he hadn’t gotten used to it. It feels worse to have something taken away than to never have had it in the first place. But as another winter inches past, one where Tomura’s too tired for his twice-weekly exercise period and so dizzy that he has to be dragged to the showers and thrown in, he’s glad he got to know what it was like. If he didn’t have the memories, he’d have nowhere to go when he can’t stand to be here.

He always had stupid things going on with his skin. Tomura couldn’t hide that from you. But he didn’t get sick in front of you until you’d been dating for six months – some kind of summer cold, gross and pathetic and nothing he wanted you to see. Tomura tried to scare you off, but you came over anyway. You should leave, Tomura warned you. I’m disgusting.

You’re just sick. You were leaning in the doorway of his room, watching him. You looked so pretty. Prettier up close, when you crossed the room and came to sit on the edge of his bed. The back of your hand brushed his forehead, and a moment later, your lips pressed against the same spot. I want to help. If you let me.

Tomura coughed. Why?

Because I love you, you said, and a surprised look crossed your face at the same moment as Tomura’s heart leaped high and hard enough to give himself a coughing fit. Sorry. I didn’t mean to say that yet.

Why not? Why were you waiting? Tomura kept coughing, until you got up and brought him a glass of water and helped him sit up to drink it. He got the words out as soon as he could talk. Why not?

I didn’t want to scare you off, you say. Your face flushed. You looked away. I just – if you wanted things to be casual, I’d rather keep my mouth shut and let it stay that way than say something and –

I can’t do casual. Tomura wanted to make sure you got that. It was important. I only play for keeps.

You glanced back at Tomura, and the look on your face startled him. He didn’t know what to call it – he had a hard time naming his own feelings on his best day, and yours could be a total mystery – but he knew where it came from. Knew what it was like to realize you might get something you really wanted, and almost wish you’d never hoped for it in the first place. Hope felt worse than a lot of things. Tomura had done his time with that one.

But you’d fixed it for him in three words. Tomura could do the same for you. I love you, too, he said. That doesn’t mean you have to take care of me when I have the plague.

If you have the plague, it’s way too late for me, you said, and you kissed him. We’re in this together.

You were in it together, but you took care of Tomura for a week and you never caught what he had. Your immune system was tougher than his. Tomura remembers taking half-formed, feverish notes on the stuff you did for him, storing it away for sometime in the future when you got sick and it was his turn to take care of you. Not that he wanted you to be sick, but he was kind of looking forward to it. It felt so fucking good to have you with him, to know he wasn’t alone, to know that you saw him at his grossest and said you loved him anyway. He wanted to make sure you felt the same thing when it was your turn.

Ten years. You’ve been sick since he got locked up, probably. Tomura wonders who took care of you. If anyone did. If you even let anyone know, because Tomura knows your instinct when you get hurt is to hide. But you didn’t hide from him. He’s supposed to be out there with you. Tomura coughs until his lungs burn and his ribs ache and tears stream down his face, and wonders if you’re angry with him. If you blame him for whatever’s happened to you since the last time you saw each other. If you’ll even want to see him if he gets out of here.

If he gets out. Tomura can remember when it used to be when.

eleven

“Inmate 230385.” The door to Tomura’s cell slides open with an awful clang, startling him out of sleep before the sun’s even risen. “The warden wants to see you.”

Tomura’s so tired that it takes long seconds for him to grasp what’s happened, but fear hits faster – ahead of logic, ahead of reason, ahead of the fact that there are two guards instead of four, ahead of the knowledge that he hasn’t been here long enough yet. He scrambles out of bed off-balance and topples against the back wall. This isn’t how he wanted this. He hasn’t thought about how he wants his execution to go, and he should have, even if he’s been running from the fact that he’s never getting out of here for more than a decade at this point. He didn’t think about stoic versus panicked, resigned rather than combative, walking with dignity to his execution over a crime he didn’t commit or fighting like hell every step of the way. He doesn’t have enough time. He doesn’t know –

The guards drag him out of the cell before he can even get to his knees, and they take him in the wrong direction. Away from the execution chamber, towards the showers and the infirmary and the door to the exercise yard. He’s never been to the warden’s office before. The warden’s office is an excuse. Tomura’s never heard of anyone actually going there, no matter how much they fuck up.

How did he fuck up? He doesn’t do anything, ever, except fight when the strip searches happen so they’ll knock him out – and he hasn’t done that in a while. The guards chain Tomura’s hands in front of him, chain his legs at the ankles, connect both to a chain around his waist so he can’t lift his hands higher than his navel. They one of them knocks loudly on a plain wooden door. “Warden Torino. Inmate 230385, as requested.”

“Come in.”

The door opens and the guards shove Tomura through. Tomura almost faceplants, but manages to get his hands down before it’s too late, and rather than breaking his nose, he feels something snap in his left hand. He swears before he can stop himself, and earns a sharp strike to the side of his head that makes him instantly nauseous. “Enough,” the warden says. “I want him conscious. Get him up.”

The guards seize Tomura under his arms and haul him up to his feet. Tomura’s vision swims with pain, but eventually he manages to focus his eyes, and when he does, he sees an old man sitting behind a desk. The wall behind him is covered in certificates that Tomura can’t read and wouldn’t even if he could. A cane leans against the desk. The warden laces his knobbled fingers together and stares at Tomura. “Do you know who I am?”

Bastard. Asshole. Tomura’s been here too long to fall for something like that. “You’re expected to speak when spoken to,” the warden says. “Do you know who I am?”

“Warden Torino.”

“Yes,” the warden says. “I knew your grandmother.”

Tomura looks blankly at him. The warden stares back, his face set in a mask of cold disdain. “Shimura Nana,” he says. “One of your victims.”

There was only one grandmother Tomura remembers. One who was nice and gave him sweets he liked and told him not to cry and never, ever stood up for him when his father started in. His mom’s mother, not his dad’s. He knew his dad’s mom left – Hana told him, the same day as Tomura’s father locked him outside in the yard all night – and he never met her. Did he? “I don’t know who that is.”

“You should,” the warden says shortly. “Hers was the most violent murder you committed. She had been looking forward to meeting you, you know. She told me.”

Was she supposed to be there that night? Everything surrounding the night of the murders is a blur to Tomura, and it’s only gotten worse with every year that slips past, every blow to the head he takes. “I don’t remember.”

“What about this?” the warden asks. He lifts a piece of paper off his desk and shoves it in Tomura’s face. Tomura flinches back. “Coward. Does this ring a bell?”

No, it doesn’t. Tomura’s memories are fragmented as it is, but he’d have remembered this – a body in a pool of blood, limbs separated, ribcage split open. Even in a photo it’s clear something is missing. Bile rises in the back of Tomura’s throat. He clenches his jaw. “Where is it?”

“Her heart?” Warden Torino’s jaw is clenched, too. “It went missing. You ate it.”

What? Tomura shakes his head violently, and Warden Torino talks over his denial, contempt draining from every word. “The medical examiner was impressed with the dissection. As a serial murderer, you’re precocious. It’s lucky for the rest of us that you were caught before you could harm anyone else.”

“I didn’t do it,” Tomura says. The guard on his left throws an elbow into his side and he stumbles. “I didn’t do it. I don’t care how many times you hit me.”

“Of course you do.” The warden gestures, and the guard who was about to punch Tomura in the kidneys lets his hand fall. “But you can trust me when I say I don’t care how many times you lie that you’re innocent. The rest of the world sees you for what you really are – a monster.”

Maybe five years ago, that would have hurt. Maybe even enough to make Tomura lose his temper and earn himself a beating and a trip to the protection cell. The impact feels like it’s coming from far away. Tomura doesn’t answer, doesn’t blink, and the warden sets the picture of Tomura’s murdered grandmother down on the desk. “In any case, this meeting is a courtesy. Everyone recalls the fit you threw last time, and we waste too much water already spraying you down in your cell.”

It’s not like Tomura enjoys getting sprayed down, at least not in the winter. It’s not the worst when it’s warm, but when it’s cold, it takes him until his next lukewarm shower to stop shivering. “Inmate 230385,” Warden Torino says, “your most recent appeal has been denied. You have two appeals remaining, which means you’ll burden us with your company for quite a while longer. No one is more displeased with this than I am.”

Two more appeals before they kill him. Tomura’s mind is blank, other than reactions to the pulsing pain emanating from his hand and a single thought he won’t look at head-on. “Do you have anything to say for yourself?” the warden prompts. Tomura doesn’t answer. There’s something he wants to say, something weighing down the tip of his tongue, but he can’t quite piece it together. “Take him back to his cell.”

It’s not until Tomura’s back in his cell with the door locked that he understands what he would have said. What he wanted to say, for a split second. I waive my appeals, he almost said. He imagines the warden’s cold eyes lighting up with triumph, and even that’s not enough to shake the thought loose. I’m done.

It’s a new thought, in a place where nothing’s changed in years. It’s a thought Tomura hasn’t had in a long time. It’s not one he wants to have. And no matter where Tomura looks in his memories, no matter how hard he tries to insulate himself among his friends or at your side, he can’t get away from it, any more than he can get out of his cell. It belongs in here. It belongs with him.

twelve

Something must have changed on the outside, or else Tomura’s fellow inmates are giving up faster than he is, because in the winter of his twelfth year on death row, three cells open up. It’s the number of executions that’s unusual, not anything else. Like always, they’re taken the wrong way down the hall to meet the warden. Like always, it’s the first time Tomura learns their names. Some of the names ring a bell. Some of them don’t.

Tomura has two appeals left. He knows it won’t be him. But when four guards march down the row and come to a stop in front of the cell next to his, his stomach drops in a way it hasn’t in years. His blood roars in his ears, loudly enough to drown out Kurogiri’s real name when the guards say it. Not loud enough to miss the death sentence itself: The warden wants to speak with you.

Kurogiri’s been here longer than Tomura has. He taught Tomura how to talk to the other prisoners, tried to teach him the rules, tried to show him how to make things easier on himself. Tomura didn’t listen, but that’s not Kurogiri’s fault. Kurogiri’s the one who bought himself a stay in the protection cell a few winters back by the alarm when Tomura’s case of bronchitis knocked him unconscious. Kurogiri taps out message after message after message to Tomura until Tomura answers and tells him to fuck off, and it took Tomura years to realize that Kurogiri was checking on him, making sure he was still talking. Making sure he’s still alive.

Kurogiri rises to his feet and steps out of the cell on his own. Tomura wants to scream at him. Don’t go. Fight back. Make them suffer. Don’t let them kill you. Don’t leave. Don’t leave me. The door to Tomura’s cell opens, too, and a guard gets right in Tomura’s face, yelling at him to shut up even though Tomura hasn’t said a word. Tomura shoves past him, making it halfway into the hall for a look at Kurogiri. One look, his first look and his last, at the only person in the world he knows he still matters to.

Kurogiri shakes his head. His mouth is moving, but Tomura can’t hear him. All he can see is Kurogiri’s eyes widening, his head shaking. Pain explodes through the back of Tomura’s head, down along his neck, and everything goes white, and he never hears Kurogiri’s last words. He wakes up facedown in his cell, the headache that never goes away even worse than usual, and he bloodies his knuckles tapping messages that no one will ever answer again.

Tomura’s friends are gone. His family’s been gone longer. Even your memory is distant, and Kurogiri’s gone, too. If no one who cares about Tomura still exists, what does it matter if Tomura’s here or not? It doesn’t, Tomura realizes. He doesn’t. He doesn’t matter at all.

thirteen

Next time Tomura will do better. Next time it’ll work. He tells himself that through his entire stay in the protection cell, but when he gets back to his own cell on death row, he finds it empty. His futon is gone. His blanket is gone. His desk and his pillow are gone, too. There’s nothing but the concrete floor and the open vents. Almost as soon as the door’s locked behind him, as soon as the guards’ footsteps have faded, Chisaki taps out a message. T-o-l-d y-o-u n-o-t t-o d-o i-t.

T-o-l-d y-o-u t-o s-h-u-t y-o-u-r f-u-c-k-i-n-g m-o-u-t-h. Tomura didn’t want to hear it from Chisaki before, and he definitely doesn’t want to hear it now. He feels enough like shit already.

The worst thing is, Tomura planned. It wasn’t some bullshit impulsive thing, not a plea for attention or a cry for help or anything other than a purposeful attempt to ruin everybody else’s plans for him. It doesn’t matter how many appeals Tomura has left. He’s only getting out of here one way. And there’s no rule that said he has to get out on the warden’s terms. Except for the rule he didn’t know about where he doesn’t know how to use his one threadbare blanket to tie a fucking noose.

Or maybe he did fine with the noose, and he didn’t tie the other end in the right place. Maybe he tied the noose like he was supposed to and tied the other end in the right place, and just didn’t commit hard enough when he stuck his head through and dropped to his knees. Maybe he got all of that right and just timed it wrong, picked the exact moment when a guard was watching and gave them plenty of time to run in and stop him. Why did they fucking stop him? They’re going to kill him anyway. He was doing them a favor.

And now, somehow, Tomura’s made things worse for himself. He doesn’t have a bed or a desk or a blanket or anything, and it’s so cold. Tomura can see his own breath. His fingers are already beginning to ache, and he huddles up the way he’s done for so many years, feet tucked in close, hands wedged under his armpits. It barely worked before, and it doesn’t work at all now. Tomura’s throat tightens, jams shut, and all at once it’s like it was when he was little, when he went by a different name, when he was locked outside overnight because he asked his father about his grandma. Tomura was so stupid to think he could get away. To think he could ever be anything but that stupid little kid.

And he must be going crazy in here, fucking finally, because he hears a voice in his ear like it’s coming from thousands of miles away, from coming up on two decades back in time. I don’t need to know who told you that to know they’re wrong. Tomura argues, just like he argued the first time you said it, and just like you did then, your voice repeats it. I don’t need to know who told you to know they’re wrong.

The two of you were arguing about something stupid, face to face in the entryway of his dorm room, and when he tried to shove past you, to storm out knowing you wouldn’t chase him and praying you would, you stepped forward and pinned him back against the wall so he couldn’t even try. Tomura tried to lean forward, to slither out one side, and some thread of tension inside him eased when you wouldn’t let him go. That was how much he mattered to you.

And he doesn’t matter like that anymore. Not to you, not to anybody. It’s been too long. You haven’t seen him in thirteen years, and other people must have seen what Tomura saw in you. You probably forgot about Tomura a long time ago, and he can’t even blame you for that. Tomura forces himself to uncurl, exposing first his feet, then his hands, and sprawling out flat on the concrete floor, feeling the cold spill through his clothes. The noose didn’t work. Maybe the cold will.

fourteen

“Congratulations, Shigaraki,” one of the guards says as he and three others walk back from the execution chamber, on their way to clean out the now-vacant cell. “Hey. Listen up.”

Tomura doesn’t turn. He didn’t look up when the guards went past with the other inmate, and he let his mind go blank when they said the man’s name. The guard kicks the bars of his cell. “Pay attention when I’m talking to you. I said congratulations.”

Tomura glances back over his shoulder to see the guard grinning at him. “Congratulations for what?”

“You made it,” the guard says. “You’ve been here longer than anybody else.”

Tomura knew it would be something stupid like that. Like it matters how long he’s been here when he’ll never leave. He faces the wall again, and the guard makes a derisive sound. “Don’t worry. It’ll be your turn soon.”

Not soon enough. Tomura closes his eyes.

fifteen

“Hey,” the guard supervising Tomura’s exercise period snaps at him. “What have you got in your hand?”

Tomura doesn’t have anything in his hand. He unfolds his fingers with an effort and shows the guard, who lurches backwards with a grimace. “What the fuck is that?” the guard asks. “Does that hurt?”

It’s his left hand, and his left hand always hurts – but recently it hasn’t been quite as bad. Tomura’s not sure why, but he’s not going to question it. He shakes his head. The guard frowns. “That doesn’t look right,” he says. “The doctor –”

“No.” Tomura’s voice is rusty. His mouth tastes bad when he speaks. “It doesn’t hurt. It’s fine.”

“Uh – okay.” The guard is still frowning. “You can keep walking. You still have fifteen minutes.”

Tomura keeps walking. He takes a look at his hand for himself while he’s doing it and decides that the guard must have a weak stomach. There’s nothing wrong with Tomura’s hand. It’s looked like this for almost a year. If it matters at all, the doctor will say something the next time Tomura’s dragged in for a medical exam. He tucks it back in under his other arm and keeps walking, feet crunching through the frost. He used to like being outside, especially when it’s cold. It used to feel warm.

He can’t remember why.

[tightjeansjavi]

The Menu | Part 1

“Vices to fill a Void”

A/N: so I decided this is gonna be a two-parter because if theres one thing I’m good at, it’s edging my dear readers ;)

~word count: 3.4k~

Pairing | dark! Joel Miller x f! reader

Summary: Joel Miller has a menu concocted just for his customers. Pills? He’s got ‘em. Guns? Ammo? Name your price. Booze to warm the broken souls and hearts of the QZ? give him a holler. Everything comes with a price, of course. Joels got somethin’ special on his menu. Somethin’ that he doesn’t advertise freely. Y’gotta want it. Y’gotta have a desire that matches his own, only then will he offer what you seek.

Warnings: dark themes, two feral cats energy, mentions of deceased bodies, Joel is an asshole that knows how to get exactly what he wants. Dark! Joel, post!outbreak, Joel and Tess run the black market in the QZ, age gap, Joel is in his 40’s reader is in her late 20’s, mentions of drugs, smoking, alcohol, graphic depictions of violence, reader is a spitfire with a no-shit taking attitude, enemies to lovers type beat, Joel likes to play mind games, reader has no physical descriptions, readers nickname is Angel, +18 minors dni!

The first time you meet the infamous Joel Miller is in his and Tess’s apartment in one of the few available Boston QZ apartments. Rumor on the street is that Joel and Tess are an item. When in all actuality, they’re business partners that occasionally fuck. His options, however, are not just limited to Tess. He likes to keep that part of his business on the low. He’s got a reputation, sure. But he doesn’t boast it proudly like a peacock. He knows his expertise, and he knows it well. His purpose in the structure of the QZ was smuggling. He’d bring pills, booze, ammo, guns, and anything else that was desirable. He’d trade for ration cards; a hefty amount of them. Sometimes, he’d allow his customers to trade their bodies, but he was quite picky, and it ain’t had anything to do with women’s appearances. In that department, he indulged in all body types. What he was most intrigued about was their minds. Their ability to survive, and most importantly, what they desired most in this shit-hole world.

He liked it when they were verbal. Silence was not a name in his game. He liked it when they showed up at his doorstep knowing exactly what it was that they wanted from him. He could play all the cards, and he played them well. He could be empathetic if they asked for it. He could pretend to love them just for the night. He could yank their hair, dig his nails into their flesh and call them a dirty, useless whore, but only if it was requested. See, he wasn’t all that brutal of a man, but if you weren’t careful and direct, he might send you home with more than just an ache between your thighs. He knew how to fuck, and he enjoyed it almost as much as he enjoyed beating a man senseless, almost.

You, however, held no interest to know what laid beneath his weathered jeans. You showed up wanting one thing, and one thing only. A vice to fill the hole in the void of your heart. You knew that Joel Miller’s menu was just what the doctor ordered.

Tess and Joel were seated at the kitchen table going through their supplies for the day. They had their usual customers, but Joel was always intrigued to see new faces walk through his door.

A cigarette dangled between his lips as he flipped through a stack of ration cards. The scent of tobacco wafted through the cracks in the door frame as your knuckles rapped firmly along the chipped paint. You knocked once, then twice five seconds later. It was customary like a code. Not that Joel or Tess had any concerns with FEDRA; they were a part of his regular cycle of customers too.

“Come in.” His voice was thick, deep, and dripping with authority.

The tip of the cigarette glowed bright orange as he inhaled the toxic fumes. The nicotine that coursed through his system calmed his nerves. Everyone had their own skeletons in their closets after all.

He paused his counting momentarily as he listened to the door handle squeak before it was pushed open.

“Sit.” He rasped with his freehand gesturing to the open seat in front of the table. “State your business.”

You watched the way the smoke coiled around his head like an ashy halo through the stagnant air. His brow cocked in your direction as his eyes zoned in on the stack of ration cards that you pulled from your jacket pocket.

“I was told that your menu is designed to cater to one's vices. I’m needin’ a bottle of booze, and a pack of smokes if you got any.” You placed the ration cards along the table before leaning back against the chairs frame.

“We ain’t got a whole pack, unfortunately. Five cards gets you five sticks, and three gets ya a bottle of hooch.” He declared in his warm Texas twang.

He was handsome, you’d give him that satisfaction only.

“I’ve got ten cards total. How about you throw’n two more smokes to make it even?” You countered smoothly as you crossed your arms against your chest.

“A negotiator, huh? Well, I'll tell ya what, girlie. Y’got yourself a deal. Y’new around here? Ain’t seen ya before.” He knew pretty much every face in the QZ. But yours remained a mystery. He wasn’t all too big of a fan of mysteries.

“Don’t think that is any of your concern, Joel.” You ignored his question as you passed off the cards.

“True.” He mused with a grin tugging across his lips. ‘S’alright. I’ll jus’ end up findin’ out about you in my own way.” He shrugged with the utmost casualness that sent your blood boiling under the surface. “Besides, my customers always end up comin’ back for more.” He grabbed a bottle of hooch and seven freshly rolled cigarettes concealed in tinfoil.

“There ain’t much for you to find out. Wouldn’t go wastin’ your time.” You grabbed the bottle swiftly before tucking it into the inner lining of your jacket. Before he could send you on your way, however, you unrolled the tinfoil to inspect the handiwork. Once you were satisfied with the merch, you plucked one of the cigarettes and placed it between your lips. “You got a light I can borrow?”

His nose twitched and his eyes squinted tightly before he reached into his pocket and pulled out a lighter. He beckoned you silently to lean in as he ignited the flame.

“Y’know, these are a nasty habit to break.” He leaned back into his chair with his own cigarette dying between his lips. “Ain’t nothin’ like a good ole’ fashioned nicotine addiction.”

You scoffed under your breath as you took a deep inhale of the cancerous smoke that filled your lungs. “Says the man puffin’ away on one right in front of my face.”

He didn’t even look half fazed by your remark as he blew the smoke drifting from his lips off to the side.

You stared at one another a second longer before you stood up from your chair and snatched the cigarettes from the table.

“It was a pleasure doing business with you, Joel Miller. See ya around.”

Before he could respond, you were already slipping back out his apartment door and into the hallway.

“Man, she’s got a pair of balls on her, huh?” Tess mused from her seat alongside him.

“Yeah,” He smirked. “She sure does.”

The next time you saw Joel Miller was a few weeks later. You were assigned with assisting in dumping deceased infected into the deep pits where their flesh would be burned and melted away and all that would be remaining was their brittle bones. You had done this job enough times to get used to the putrid stench of rotting flesh. Others, however, couldn’t stand the smell. Some would pass out, others would empty what little was in their stomachs.

A denim-clad shoulder brushed against you as you lifted another body from the truck bed.

“Fancy seein’ you here, Angel.” Joel’s voice was muffled through the bandana he wore across his face, but you knew it was him just from that Texas twang of his.

Your eyes rolled back as walked past him and dropped the body into the flames that engulfed it.

“C’mon now.” He mused. “I know y’heard me.” He pressed.

“Fuck off, Joel.” You muttered under your breath as you bumped his shoulder harshly.

“Y’break that nasty habit yet?” He asked with a twinge of curiosity.

“Nope. Don’t plan on it either.”

Much to your relief, he walked away without speaking another word. It was short-lived however as he was standing right behind you in line to receive your ration cards for the day. The air was hot and almost unbearable as you wiped the sweat of your brow along your sleeve. When the cards were placed into your outstretched palm you shoved them deep into your pocket. The pay wasn’t worth the work that you put in.

Before you could disappear around the corner of the alley to head home, a hand grasped your shoulder rather firmly and before you could reach for your concealed weapon, your back was met with something hard that nearly knocked the air from your lungs.

Joel Miller.

“Just what the fuck do you think you’re doin’, Joel?!” You hissed under your breath as he flipped you around to face him.

“Got a proposition for ya, girlie. Trust me, you’ll want in.” His voice dipped down an octave as he reached into his pocket and pulled out a packet of pills. Painkillers you suspected. The kind of shit that people could easily find themselves getting addicted to.

“And what makes you fuckin’ think that I would wanna do anythin’ for you?” What the fuck was this guys problem? The nerve he had.

“Cus’ I know there’s somethin’ that you want. Somethin’ that you need. Besides, you ain’t gonna make it long here if you don’t start usin’ people. S’the only way to survive in this world now. So, here’s what you’re gonna do. Tess and I wanna branch out further and in order to do that, we gotta get the rest of FEDRA off our backs.”

“You ain’t know shit about me, Joel. I’m doin’ just fine on my own.” You ripped your arm from his grasp, but he was quicker than you expected.

“I ain’t askin’ you, Angel. I’m tellin.’ Now, you’re gonna take these pills, and you’re gonna go on over to those guys o’there, and you’re gonna trade them. Y’get half the ration cards from the deal. Seem fair?” His tall stature loomed over you like a shadow being casted across the sun. Everything about this man was massive. His hands. His bulging arms. His shoulders. He was built like a fucking fridge, and he clearly wasn’t taking no for an answer.

“Is this what you do to all of your customers? Corner them into alleys and force them to do your dirty work for you?” You scoffed as you ripped the baggy from his hand. “And I get all the cards. I ain’t gonna let you just go and boss me around for half.”

“Jus’ the pretty ones that have a mouth to ‘em.” He mused with a wicked grin. “Fine. Y’get all the cards, but only if they agree to trade. Go on now, Angel. Time's a tickin away.” He nudged you forward with the palm of his calloused hand resting along your lower back.

“Asshole.” You hissed under your breath as you stashed the pills into your pocket before departing from the alley. If there was one thing you were good at, it was getting men to give you exactly what you wanted. You could flutter your lashes, giggle, flirt a little and their little egos would be crushed to dust beneath your fingertips.

“Hey boys, got a minute?” You spoke in a honeyed voice as the three officers diverted their attention towards you.

Joel watched from the shadows of the alley as you worked your charm like a fiddle. He was impressed with your natural skills. You certainly were no pushover. He did wonder if this was all a facade that you wore confidently. He thought briefly about what it would be like to have you beneath his sheets. What would you request from him? Would you ask him to be sweet and gentle? To fuck you like a man oughta? Or, would you be willing to share your deepest, darkest, filthy desires with him? He hoped for the latter.

When the deal was done, you made your way back across the street. Maybe Joel Miller was right. Maybe you should start using people for what they have. Who gave a fuck about morale anyway?

“How’d it go?” he inquired with his broad arms crossed against his chest as he leaned back against the brick wall.

“They wouldn’t take the bait unfortunately.” You let out a faux sigh. “Guess the deal is off.”

“What a shame, Angel. I surely thought you had it in ya. Guess I was wrong. Oh well. Good luck to ya.” He pushed himself off the wall only to find himself being pushed right up against it. Your palm lay flat against his chest as your freehand reached into your pocket and pulled out a single ration card.

His brow raised curiously as you went to slip the card into his back pocket. His eyes widened when he felt the warmth of your fingers searing through his jeans. At this close proximity, he got a proper whiff of your natural scent, and his cock pathetically twitched in the tight confines of the denim.

“Here’s your half of the deal. Decided to be generous.” You whispered through the thick growing tension.

His hand reached up to grab your wrist but before he could make contact with your skin, you were already stepping away from his reach. Your fingers rose in a mock salute before you turned on your heel and walked away.

Fuck. She’s perfect.

The next time Joel Miller saw you it's past curfew. Hours to be exact. The Boston QZ streets are quiet sans the labored breathing and deep grunts coming from a group of low-life scumbags.

“I already told you, I don’t have shit on me!” You emptied out your pockets to show these fuckers that you weren’t messing around. Would raw honesty really keep these men from tearing you apart?

“Bullshit. Y’got stuff back at your place, right? C’mon now darlin’, don’t lie to us. We’ve seen you hangin’ around Miller. Y’workin’ with him?” The man that had you pinned against the brick wall pressed further.

“Oh, for fuck sakes! Are y’all really that boneheaded to think that i’m gonna be carryin’ merch on me out in the open like this?!” You yelled out of frustration as you tried to pin your wrists free to reach your concealed knife.

“How about you shut the fuck up and tell us where Joel’s apartment is, and we won’t have to kill you. How’s that sound?” The man twisted your wrists tightly to the point where you were just waiting to hear a sickening crack.

“I don’t know where his apartment is, asshole. And even if I did know, I wouldn’t tell the likes of you because i’m not a fuckin’ rat!” You hissed between your gritted teeth as you threw your head back in one swift movement right into the face of the man that was holding you hostage. His nose crunched audibly from the force as he stumbled back right onto his ass.

Blood pooled and gushed down his lips as he yelled out a slew of profanities in your direction. Just as you were reaching for your knife, it was knocked from your grasp and clattered to the concrete out of your reach.

A fist collided with your face that sent you slamming into the brick wall with your ears wildly ringing.

You detected a familiar voice through your half-conscious haze as you slumped down to the ground with a labored wheeze.

A sickening crunch, followed by a strangled yell as Joel had one of the men in a headlock. Their body dropped to the ground like a bag of bricks. Eyes forever unmoving. The man that you headbutted was desperately trying to crawl away as Joel staggered after him. He bent down, grasping the hilt of your knife in his calloused palm.

His pupils were dark like a never ending black pit as he sent his steel-toed boot colliding into his gut over and over again. The man’s wails died in his throat as Joel flipped him over onto his back and slit his throat with one fatal swipe. Blood spurted from the entry wound and speckled Joel’s skin in a spray of crimson.

The third man almost got away, but Joel fired a bullet right into his spine without a second thought.

He focused his attention on you as he crouched down, knife still in his grasp, dripping with blood onto the pavement. His freehand grasped your face gently as he assessed your injuries. His good ear detected the sound of tires crunching under gravel; FEDRA.

“Angel, we need to go. We need to move. NOW.” He spoke urgently as he tucked your knife away before placing that hand along your shoulder. “FEDRA is gonna be here any minute, and I don’t know about you, but my ass is NOT bein’ thrown in lockup!”

When you didn’t immediately respond to his dire request, he took matters into his own hands, literally. You felt his strong arms lift you from the ground as if you weighed nothing. He left the crime scene in a flash. He was speaking to you, but you couldn’t detect his words as his mouth was moving too fast.

The last thing you remembered seeing was his dark, espresso brown eyes, and his blood spattered skin.

“Need’ya to open your eyes for me, sweetheart. C’mon. Guy knocked ya pretty good, but you’ll live.” Joel murmured close to your face as you were coming to.

What the fuck.

Your lashes fluttered for a moment and then snapped open. Despite the ache in your face from being punched, and the pounding in your skull, you immediately shot your hands upwards and shoved harshly at his broad chest.

“Joel?! What the actual fuck–”

“Ah, there she is. The sleepin’ beauty awakes, finally!” He’s grinning like a cheshire cat as he moves off the couch to give you space to breathe.

“What the fuck are you doin’ here, Joel?”

“Wow.” He tuts under his breath dissaprovingly. “Can’t even get a thank you for savin’ your fuckin’ life?”

“I had the situation handled on my own. What the hell were you doin’ out past curfew anyway?” You sat up a little too fast as blood rushed to your head.

His strong hands were gently easing you back down to a lying position before he was backing off again.

“Easy now, Angel. I wouldn’t sit up a’that fast if I were you.” He warned you sternly.

“Well, good thing you aren’t me, huh?” You snapped back as you swung your legs over the side of the couch.

This time he was more forceful in his actions as his hands pressed down on your shoulders firmly. “I said, stay put. God, can’t you jus’ fuckin’ listen to me when I tell ya to take it easy? You’re gonna bust your nose back open, and the stitches on the back of your head. Just chill the fuck out.” You could taste his hot breath on his tongue and feel his pulse quicken. The bulging veins in his neck protruded through the thin skin.

You swallowed harshly as your gaze wavered along the remnants of blood on his skin. Why didn’t he bother to wash it off? You couldn't help but wonder.

“I didn’t fuckin’ need your help, Joel. And you still haven’t answered my previous question either.”

He rolled his eyes before he lifted his hands from your shoulders and stalked away into the kitchen. You heard him grumbling under his breath as he slammed open a cabinet door that was already hanging by the hinges on its last legs.

“Oh, I see. So you’re just gonna ignore me now? Y’know, its fuckin’ rude to not answer someone when they ask you a question, Joel.” You muttered mostly to yourself, but you secretly had hoped that he heard you too.

Two semi-cleaned glasses were yanked from the sink and lifted from their rims as Joel swiped up a bottle of whiskey before stalking back over to the couch. He slammed the glasses down on the faded coffee table before popping the cap off with his teeth.

You were infuriating. Disrespectful. And he wanted nothing more than to put you right back into your fucking place. He however, refrained from doing so and instead poured a large splash of amber liquor into both glasses.

“Y’know, Angel. One day that mouth of yours is gonna send ya six feet under.” He stated firmly as he picked up his glass, swirled the liquor around before throwing it down his throat in one gulp.

Your eyes narrowed into slits as you glared at him from the couch. You reached for your own glass as you slowly sat up. He was pouring himself another when you downed the liquor without a fuss.

“I am well aware of that, Joel.” You deadpanned and he poured you another.

“Good, that’s real good, Angel. S’then it should come as no surprise to you that I think you’re a fuckin’ disrespectful brat.” He rasped low and deep as his words rumbled like an oncoming storm.

The tension in the room was palpable as you stared one another down. Two predators with sharpened claws ready to strike.

______

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[skerban]

Silence of Voices

𖤐 Peeta Mellark x Reader

On the 74th Annual Hunger Games reaping day, District 12 gets another tribute taken in. That person is you, yet are you really ready?

I haven’t seen any peeta fics where the reader is a badass and where the reader doesn’t take the place of katniss so here you go ^_^

[masterlist] | [next]

1.

Reaping day started no differently. Trying to spend your possible last moments before getting your name picked to kill or be killed for the sake of their entertainment.

Walking through the hellhole called district 12 was nothing special. Perhaps you couldn't say anything because you had no one, wow what a way to put that. Yet, having no one means that you had nothing to lose, that is, if you were reaped.

You walked past the silence of people, making your way to your makeshift home. You had only started to properly live in it to avoid talking to anyone. Everyone can go die, you thought, but was it worth it?

Living until your twelve and putting your name into the raffle just to be picked off to die. District 12 has no chance of winning, but maybe you would be picked and get sent off to your misery.

You were always alone, your stoic persona led people away from you. Not that you minded, obviously, you wanted to avoid contact with anyone ever since the passing of your parents. Not bothering to pay attention to the outdoor distractions, you looked through a crappy drawer that contained a limited amount of clothing, yet it still worked its purpose. You took out the light blue dress and scoffed at its color.

Instead, you stripped from your original clothes, and put on the ‘pretty’ dress. The dress went to your knees, with a soft pattern of trills on the bottom of it. You kept your hair down, not bothering to put it up or make a good appearance. You knew you weren’t going to get picked, your name has been put in it for years.

After keeping your worn shoes, the reaping alarm was heard, telling the people of district 12 that it was time for the annual reaping day.

You only let out a small sigh and began to leave your makeshift house, looking at it one more time, before turning away and walking towards the reaping ceremony.

Walking in, the crowd is getting larger and larger, you being one of them. As you were walking, you noticed a girl around your age, 16, consoling a younger girl, most likely her first time. Shaking your head, you pushed past and got into the line. You stuck your hand out for them, pricking your finger and pushing the wound against the paper.

[ (reader) (lastname) ]

The machine read, before you turned and got into the separated groups. You felt bad for whoever was to be chosen, it puts a lot of pressure, you thought.

After everyone was finally registered, you stood in your place, watching as individuals dressed in smooth suits and fancy clothing walked out, taking their seats to enjoy the show. The tall microphone in the middle was empty, before a woman dressed in magenta and elegant clothing. She tapped the microphone before speaking, a smile on her face.

“Welcome, Welcome, Welcome.” Her bright voice rang out for all to hear. Her dark eyes scanned the crowds as she smiled.

“Happy Hunger Games, and may the odds ever be in your favor.” She gave a nod, which made you want to gag.

Having to hear her voice another year was extremely annoying, yet you thanked her for never pulling your name out.

“Now before we begin—�� she started, but you couldn't care less. You ignored the sound of her voice and watched the video appear on the screen with a blank look. The capitol could die, especially the president.

You couldn’t care who died, especially if it was the president. Maybe if he died, the hunger games would stop.

Only hearing the muffled voice of the president and you took your time to look around you, glaring at the peacekeepers that were located near you.

“—As usual, ladies first..” the woman said slowly, taking small steps towards the container that held your name in it and plenty of others. You only bothered to pay attention now, but you stared at her hand as she grabbed a piece of paper with someone's name on it.

She moved back to the microphone and opened the paper, opening her mouth to say the sacrificed lamb.

“Primrose Everdeen.”

You only stood there as you watched the young, blonde, and scared girl walk slowly and away from the people near her, the woman edging her to come onto the stage. You recognized her as the scared girl, how unfortunate that her first day she gets reaped.

You watched silently as the other girl, whom you saw comforting her prior to the reaping, stepped out and called her name.

That caused the peacekeepers to hold her back before the words came out of her mouth.

“I volunteer! I volunteer!” As she pushed the guards away from her and finally with a calm voice saying, “I volunteer as tribute.”

Your eyes widened at her actions, wondering how crazy she was for sacrificing her own life for a kid that would go through this again.

Apparently, this also shocked the woman on the stage as she urged the volunteer to come up instead.

When she finally arrived onto the stage, with a hint of hesitance, she now stood next to the woman.

“What's your name?” The colorful lady asked, looking at the first ever volunteer.

“Katniss Everdeen.” She said quickly.

You now know why she did that. She did it to save her sister. Was it really worth it? Then again, could you really say anything.

You drowned out their voices yet only stood to watch them. You noticed the people around you did that hand sign again. You brought your index, middle, and ring finger to your lips and held it up, along with everyone else. You brought your hand back down as you watched the white haired woman make her way to the boy’s selection container.

She put her hand in, again, and grabbed a paper. She made her way back to the microphone and opened the paper, saying the name loudly.

“Peeta Mellark.”

You turned your head to where everyone else was looking. The boy you saw made you pause. His face, mouth opened as the light in his eyes slowly disappeared hearing his name.

You could only watch with silent eyes as the boys around him moved away, giving him space to walk towards the stage. He made small steps and was finally on the stage.

“Before we.. conclude our tributes.” She paused for a second before smiling.

“There was an anonymous voting, and district 12 was chosen for having an extra tribute.” She smiled sweetly and looked at a peacekeeper and nodded.

Two peacekeepers brought a smaller bowl of names, and it was held in front of her while everyone looked at each other in fear.

“Twenty people were nominated to be the extra tribute, and will be determined right now.” She gave a nod and put her hand in, quickly grabbing one and opening it. The peacekeepers holding the container pulled away and stepped aside.

“(reader) (lastname).” Her voice broke you from your trance. Your eyes widen as you look at the woman in shock. She beckoned you onto the stage and you only stood frozen in your spot, watching as the girls around you only stared at you.

You finally began to move your feet, quickly moving onto the stage and standing next to the boy, Peeta, you think that was his name.

“Now, let’s give an applause for our 3 tributes, from district 12!”

She motioned for them to shake hands, and you only stood to the side, not wanting to interact with the two. They stare awkwardly at each other as the woman gives one last statement.

“Happy Hunger Games, and may the odds be ever in your favor.” She smiled as she put her hands on the first two tributes shoulders and pulled them with her, you following behind quietly. The doors closing behind all of you.

[scarfacemarston]

Natasha Romanoff x Gender Neutral Reader Fluff

She loves to cook, but she rarely had anyone to cook for. As an avenger, some of the more sexist shield members would mutter that, of course, the only female avenger would be doing the domestic duties - but woe to them if she ever heard them speak about it. Still, she’d cook for them sometimes anyway. Clint and Thor were always hungry, and she was worried that Bruce and Tony weren’t eating enough. For Steve she wanted him to have the warmth and comfort of a home-cooked meal, something that Steve rarely enjoyed growing up.

However, because of her concerns about how she was perceived, she limited herself to when or how often she cooked. For you, it was a different story. She loved experimenting with various recipes. She’ll teach you how to make your favorites and encourage you to try new recipes she found on the internet or during her travels.

Call it stereotypical, but she is still connected to her Russian roots in some ways and loves Russian food. She hopes she can share it with you but is admittedly shy about sharing that part of her with you. The minute you reassure her that you’re genuinely interested, you’ll be rewarded with the softest and shyest grins.

Still enjoys riding her bike from childhood and would love for you to come along. She insists on teaching you if you don’t know how to ride a bike. If you don’t want to ride bikes, she’d at least like you to go on a motorcycle ride with her with your arms around her waist.

She loves to paint and has always been fascinated by art, but it was Steve who taught her to truly appreciate art and privately encouraged her to take up painting. She is quite talented but reluctant to show you her work.

She loves cheesy B movies—aka movies that were usually filmed between the 30s and 70s, often with monsters and horrible actors—but there were exceptions. The Dark and Stormy Night, Yor, the Hunter from the Future, and The Haunted Palace are a few of her favorites.

She enjoys her time alone in the shower and rarely takes baths, but when she does, she always wants you to join her so you can cuddle in the bath together. She loves the intimacy and closeness of it.

One of her weaknesses is attending the fair or a festival with you. She had great memories of going with her “adopted” family, and it’s nostalgic for her. Be prepared for Natasha to win you all sorts of prizes, as she somehow just happens to win quite a few of the rigged games. You’re not sure how she does it, but you love her smug look to the bewildered carnies.

Natasha usually sleeps in a tank top and pajama pants. On some nights, she loves to bring out the silk pajamas. It’s a special treat for her. She also bought you a pair once and gets girlishly excited when you match.

18+ underneath

She prefers to top. Sex has been used in all sorts of situations, especially in espionage. However, she reclaimed her body and her agency. She loves taking care of you. She feels like she’s doing something worthwhile. However, the day she bottoms is both sweet and intimate, as well as being a bit of an emotional experience as Natasha finally lets go.

Natasha knows how beautiful and sexy she is, but she doesn’t care about that - she only cares about you and what you think. She puts in a certain amount of effort, not because she has to, but because she wants to. Nat wants you to enjoy the lacy bra and stockings, the leather corset, or the sheer nightgown. She is very independent, but making you happy and surprising you in the bedroom brings her joy.

One of her favorite parts of sex is the aftercare, where you two can just take in the post-orgasm bliss - the glow as you come down from your highs. She looks at you with astounding softness as she plays with your hair and kisses your forehead…but there’s also a hint of pride as she teases how she tired you out.

[wosowrites]

Greece and Wives (Patri Guijarro x Reader)

warnings: none

a/n: based off this request here

prompt: little moments on vacation with your wife Patri.

Vacation with Patri meant different things. It meant some late, late nights walking the streets of Greece, and some early, early nights cuddling in bed and watching a movie on of the limited channels on the hotel TV. But it mostly meant just feeling good. You both shopped together, having fashion shows and figuring out what to buy. You would bicker on where to have lunch and eventually, you would win because she just could not say no to you. You would swap shoes with her when she decided mid walk that the ones you were wearing worked better with her outfit. Everything was perfect.

Day one:

Patri woke you up bright and early by opening the blinds with one big movement and then jumping on top of you in the bed. By bright and early, it meant more like 9:00, but it felt like 7:00 am and you most definitely were not an early bird. "Wake up, mi amor," Patri said to you, brushing hair out of your face and kissing you. "Mhm im awake, i’m awake," you groaned. She smiled down at you and before she knew it, you had thrown your arms around her and pulled her back down onto you. "We should just stay like this all day," you said to her, playing with the hair on the nape of her neck with one hand and dragging your nails up her back with the other. "We’ll get hungry," Patri laughed. "Room service," you said to her. "Baby… it’s Greece! I love you but-" your spanish girlfriend started saying. "I know, I know. Let’s go," you groaned.

Eventually you guys managed to leave the hotel and head out to a little café. Your hotel was a ten minute walk from the water, and the terrasse you ate at looked upon the ocean. You had planned out you four day trip perfectly, only having a small amount of time before needing to return to Barcelona to pack to leave for your individual training camps in preparation for the World Cup. The first day would be spent doing guided tours, looking at architecture and parks. The second day you would do traditionally fun things, like go to arcades and have a picnic. The third day would be a beach day and then the last day would be spent shopping.

"I knew Athens was old, but this old? And this… historic. It’s weird," you told Patri, hand in hand as you listened to a guide tell you about the history behind the Acropolis of Athens. "Barcelona is pretty historic, you know?" Patri said to you, smiling at you. "I know, I know. But i’m Canadian! Seeing cities with ruins and the ocean and cool architecture is always shocking to me. The most historical thing we have in Canada is like… the parliament," you sighed. "Hey, don’t hate on your country now, gotta represent them at the World Cup soon," she said, squeezing your hand. "I love Canada! It’s just boring," you defended yourself, pointing absentmindedly to one particularly well kept piece of the Acropolis.

After that tour, you walked around the city with no specific goal in mind. "Ooh! Gelato!" Patri said, pointing at a cute little shop with a pink gelato sign. "Woah… gelato before lunch? I like this version of you baby," you said to her, jokingly running your hand up her abs and kissing her quickly. "Oh shush. What harm will it do? The season is over, we’ll be under so many rules before the cup… let loose mi amor!" she said to you.

And so you did. That day, you had gelato three times.

Day two:

Needless to say, you and Patri were extremely competitive... which only made arcade games more fun. Once you arrived to a popular but pretty empty arcade due to the fact that it was Monday, you had an idea. "How about we make this interesting?" you said after choosing your first game. "Hmm... what do you have in mind mi amor?" Patri asked. "The person with the most tickets at the end of two hours has to pay for anything the other wants when we go shopping," you proposed. "Oh easy!" Patri exclaimed.

She was so wrong. Growing up with four brothers made you extremely good at video games, and somehow, luck was always on your side. By the hour and a half mark, you had almost twice as many tickets as Patri. "How the hell are you doing this?" she groaned, pulling out ten tickets from the machine as you watched about 60 pour out and into your hands. "You shouldn't have underestimated me," you shrugged. "Okay. I give up, you win! Im calling it quits," she groaned. "YES! I WINNNN!" you exclaimed as your girlfriend watched you throw your hands up in the air. "Yeah yeah," she said, rolling her eyes. "How about we put our tickets together and buy the rainbow monkey," you said, pointing at a pretty big prize hanging from the ceiling. "Hmm... okay. Do we have enough?" she asked you, pulling out a couple tickets. "Well with your 300 and my 1300, yeah, we do," you winked at her.

You bought the monkey and then headed outside. Patri swung her arm around your waist and then pulled out her phone. She asked a woman if she would take a picture, and your spanish girlfriend kissed you and held you close to her as the woman smiled and took pictures. "You guys are beautiful," she smiled at you both kindly. You both thanked her multiple times before continuing your walk. The next stop for the day was a picnic. You stopped at a deli to get cheese, bread, charcuteries, pastries, fruit and drinks for the picnic. When you arrived at a park with blossoming trees and tall green grass, you set up your meal and ate, laughed and drank, all underneath the watchful eye of an old oak, and the monkey you had named Zeus.

Day three: Beach day! This was easily the day you were most excited for. You had already gotten a tan from just walking around the warm city, but you couldn't wait to even it out on the beach. That morning, you woke up at 8:00, quickly put on a black bikini and white beach pants, did some light makeup and put on gold jewelry before taking your turn to pull Patri out of bed. You had smoothie bowls for breakfast along with coffee and a danish and then you headed to the beach. The day could not have been better. Patri took hundreds of pictures of you, and you took thousands of Patri. She looked so cute in her bikini, you felt as though you would melt.

After an hour of tanning on the surprisingly quiet beach, Patri sat up and placed her hand on your back. She gently rubbed her hand up and down your spine, making you smile. "You want to go swim don’t you?" you laughed. You turned around to face her and she smiled at you with puppy eyes. "Okay, let’s go baby," you said, jumping up and grabbing her hand. You both started running madly. Sand flew up, your laughs were heard throughout the beach and your smiled were so bright. But when you reached the water, you had to uphold your girlfriend duties, which meant stopping your run and pushing Patri into the water. Your girlfriend fell forward with a huge splash. The water got strangely deep very quickly so she stayed under for a couple seconds.

The spaniard came back up, spluttering and coughing. "Y/n!" she yelled, looking at you with a shocked look as you smiled innocently. "Yeah?" you smiled.

Before you knew it, Patri had grabbed your waist and lifted you over her shoulder. You kicked your legs and screamed all while laughing but the spaniard was strong, and your efforts did nothing as seconds later, you were submerged in the water. When you came back up, you wiped the hair off of your face and laughed loudly. You pushed against the current to stand in front of your girlfriend, your body pressed to hers. Her hands lay lazily on your hip bones as yours wrapped around her neck. "Truce?" you asked gently. "Mhm… how could I say no to that face," she said, kissing you lovingly.

Day four:

Shopping. You had been so excited to shop, it having always been something you loved to do. And so, after sleeping in until 9:00 and leaving the hotel at around 10:00, you had a quick breakfast and then headed to the busiest street in Athens. The whole day was spent walking into shops and buying souvenirs for your friends and family as well as trying on hundreds of different pieces, mostly payed by Patri. But she didn’t mind, some of the things you bought she would have killed to see you wear every day, so she didn’t have a care in the world about paying.

You were currently in a small boutique that sold very original and colourful suits, and as you would both be attending an award ceremony soon enough, you thought that there was no better place to buy an outfit. Patri chose a purple suit to represent barcelona, and to match with her you chose an off the shoulder silk purple dress. You were excited to wear it with her.

By the time you returned to the hotel, you both had five bags of clothes and souvenirs.

You dropped the bags into a corner of the room and plopped down on the bed. "This was the best vacation ever. Thank you baby. Thank you," you said to her, turning your head and smiling at her. She was laying down next to you and her smile was wide. Her eyes traced your features and then she close the gab between the both of you. You kissed her lovingly, slipping your hand under her shirt and passing your hand on her abs. "Cant believe I need to leave you for two months now," she said sadly. "I’ll call you every day my love. Deal?" you said gently. "Deal, mi amor," she said sweetly.

[3d-wifey]

And They'd Find Us In A Week - Chapter 8

Pairing: Finnick Odair x Reader Word Count: 4.8k Synopsis: Here! Playlist: Listen up! Tag List: @melancholicmelanin , @yvy1s, @honethatty12 A/N: Are yall mad at me 🙁🙁 Your outfit & Finnick's outfit.

Past (ix) - You

[19 & 20] - THE CAPITOL

You like Johanna, you decide after only a few minutes of talking to her. She’s clever and somehow always simmering with rage. With her stature and how meek she seemed in her interviews, even you were surprised by the 180 she did in the arena. It's easy to see how she won. 

It's admirable. Admittedly, your games were more animalistic than strategic. The careers had turned on each other pretty early on, leaving behind those who were desperate to stay alive. There was even a boy who resorted to cannibalism, eating the heart of any tribute he killed. His name was Titus. He was only thirteen. When they airlifted you out, it felt like you were taken out of the wilderness and brought into captivity.

You also note that despite her permanent scowl, or maybe because of it, she’s pretty. And that thought plants dread in your chest. You know the future for pretty, young victors.

Is this how Finnick felt when he first met you?

There are certainly ways around it. Though the consequences are pretty grim. Enobaria comes to mind. She won her games by ripping another tribute’s throat out with her teeth. An act of desperation turned into her main selling point. She was smart. Went to an extreme and sharpened her teeth to garner more Capitol appeal while simultaneously dissuading Snow from selling her body. She’s pretty, but no one’s jumping to get into bed with teeth like that.

And Haymitch…well, Haymitch wasn’t given much of a choice, considering Snow killed any leverage he might have had over him.

You make your rounds, jumping from group to group, barely being able to pull away from those who want your attention. Obviously, you aren’t mingling because you want to. There isn’t a single client you’d willingly interact with, ever. However, what you want doesn’t really matter at the end of the day. This is a fact made all the more apparent when you get cornered by a particularly tenacious Capitol.

Ursa Lowvale—a notable actress old enough to be your mother, with a surprising amount of political influence—has one hand caressing your cheek and the other holding your waist. Her makeup, in Capitol fashion, is cakey and clashing. The impulse to move away gets squashed down because no matter how long you’ve done this, it never ceases to amaze you how uncomfortable it is to be touched.

“Did you get the care package I sent you, dearest?" She asks, rubbing a thumb over your cheekbone. You take her hand from your face and move it to rest over your heart, just above your breast. Her touch makes you nauseous, but you play it off as if you’re showing your sincerity and not your disgust.

“I did. And I must say, your kindness knows no bounds.” You threw the package away immediately. You didn’t even bother looking inside. “You’re so giving.”

“Oh, I’m giving in all aspects. As I’m sure you know.” She moves her hand down to rest on the crest of your cleavage, and you play none the wiser to what she’s insinuating. That’s the personality you’ve cultivated over the past four years: shy, docile, naive—if not a bit ditzy. It’s that very image that ropes them in. Corrupting the ‘innocence’ of a victor sells well.

“I’ll be sure to set up another meeting sometime soon. It’s been far too long.” She leans down and places a kiss on the corner of your mouth. “I’ll be waiting.” 

You wait until she’s out of sight to drop your smile. You take a sip of champagne out of the flute, and then you take another. You’ll never drink enough at one of these events to lose your wits, but it doesn’t hurt to be a little tipsy. If more encounters like that happen, you’ll need it.

You stick to the outskirts of the party, savoring the limited solitude while it lasts. You watch on as Johanna turns another person down. You don’t know how they even work up the nerve to ask her to dance; she's far from welcoming. She seems to tolerate victors well enough, but anyone else—well, they should know better than to approach her.

You jump when toned arms slide around your waist, champagne sloshing out of your glass.

“Stunning as always, Star. ” He whispers, voice husky in your ear. You relax in his hold.

“Finnick Ewan Odair, I swear if you had made me drop this glass—” 

“I know, I know,” he smirks against your cheek and you can’t tamp down your smile. “Missed you.” He kisses your temple and moves back. It wouldn’t be perceived as strange for Finnick, of all people, to hang off of you, but you keep it to a minimum as a self-imposed rule. No one would blink twice at innocent affection in public, but you both know how easy it would be for the two of you to get carried away. There’s flirting, and then there’s flirting. 

“Mhm, I’m sure you did.” You chuckle into your drink, playing at being aloof, and he sighs dramatically.

“You see, now, normally, when somebody says they miss you, you’re supposed to say…?” He prompts with his hands and trails off. “C’mon, Star. I know you know this one.” You blink up at him, silent. He scoffs in faux offense, turning to walk away, and you drop the act.

“Okay, I’m sorry,” you laugh, pulling him back by one of his billowy sleeves to hook a finger in one of his belt loops, “I’m sorry. I missed you too.” In the past six months since Johanna’s games, you’ve only seen each other seven times. Odd, since you’ve both come to the Capitol at least twenty times combined, and usually, the two of you are brought in to work at the same time.

“Now, was that so hard?” He teases, and you poke him in his stomach, where he’s ticklish. The muscles in his abdomen twitch as he snorts unattractively. Or, it would have been if anyone other than Finnick did it. “You’ll catch a cold in that.” He points out with a quirk of his eyebrow and looks you up and down for longer than what’s strictly necessary. He’s referring to the newest dress your stylist stuffed you into. It seems like she gets more and more daring with each outfit. This time, you’re in a thin-strapped evening gown with an almost see-through corset bodice. There’s a slit up your left thigh reaching your hip. You try not to toddle in red heels that are too high.

One of his hands goes to your waist and moves you to sway with him to the music of the live orchestra. Your free hand trails up his strong shoulder to play with the hairs at his nape.

“I can say the same for you.” You tug on the shark tooth necklace that definitely isn’t his. He’s in a loose, khaki-colored wrap shirt with a deep v-neck. Deeper than deep, honestly. It’s sheer like yours and tucked into the front of his white slacks. The sleeves cinch at his wrists, and the whole thing offers very little coverage to his bare chest and stomach, which is probably the point.

“I guess we’ll have to find a way to keep each other warm then.” He bites his bottom lip with a grin that spells nothing good for your patience.

You pinch his side.

“Ow! I’m kidding.” He raises his hands placatingly, grinning broadly.

“Behave.” You scold through your teeth, and your cheeks hurt with the stretch of your smile. 

“You gonna punish me if I don—”

That earns him a smack to the bare skin of his chest. 

“You are so irritating,” you chide, and he laughs loudly and unrestrained, his head thrown back. A sight that never ceases to leave you breathless. Finnick usually never lets himself be this carefree in public, but maybe it’s the alcohol, or maybe it’s your presence. He catches his breath, ruddy cheeks dimpling. He looks awfully pretty under the soft yellow lights, hair shining like gold. A possessive thought sinks its claws into you. You don’t want anyone to see him like this. No one else deserves it. You aren’t even sure if you do.

“You love it.” He’s still letting out breathy little giggles as he beams down at you, big doe eyes twinkling.

You shake your head with an insurmountable fondness. “I love you.”

He wrinkles his nose, and your eyes are drawn to the faint freckles dotting the bridge of it. “See, that’s not fair.”

“Oh?” You cross your arms, balancing your glass precariously while playfully sizing him up as one would before a sparring match. But that train of thought makes you think. Could you take Finnick in a fight? You snort. Can anyone? “Please, Mr. Odair. Please tell me all about how unfair it is that I love you.”

“Mr. Odair? Ouch.” He huffs at your expectant stare. “You use it for evil.” He mirrors your stance by crossing his arms and drawing your attention to his biceps. His loose-fitting sleeves are doing a horrible job of hiding their shape and size as they flex with his movement. Hmm. You bring back that thought of fighting Finnick, but now it’s not that funny. You picture you and Finnick, spent and sweaty, as you wrestle on a mat. He would be red in the face and grinning from exertion as he pinned you down and—

You take a sip of champagne. 

“Well, I guess I’ll just stop saying it all together then if it’s such a hardship.” You shrug.

He raises his hands like he’s fending off an attack. “Woah! Alright, alright. I’m willing to come to a truce.”

The pair of you are still joking and giggling together when you get approached by a couple. Edgar, one of Finnick’s regulars, and Karlo, his husband, whom you’ve had many meetings with yourself. Anyone else in your position would have jumped apart and put as much space and plausible deniability between you as possible—and maybe you would have done that when you were younger, but you both know now that the best way to squash any suspicion is to act like there’s nothing to be suspicious of.

You and Finnick share a glance. Breathe and endure, you mouth to him while your back is still turned to the encroaching couple. You welcome the wry twist of his lips.

“What are you two drinking that’s making you so smiley?” They ask, and you both sober up. Well, not literally. You don’t know about him, but you’re still a little fuzzy. You shiver as the silk of Finnick’s shirt brushes your bare back as he wraps his hand around yours and takes a sip from your glass.

“Champagne.” He supplies, with that charming smile that you don’t even have to turn around to know is there. “It hits quicker than you’d think.” This is partially true, but, really, the only thing you’re drunk on is Finnick.

You lean back into the heat of Finnick’s chest, and his hand goes to your hip to steady you, his thumb rubbing circles into your hip.

“Looks like someone’s drunk more than her fair share.” Karlo laughs as they crowd in on you both, and if you really had been as drunk as you’re pretending to be, you would have thrown up from the smell of their strong perfumes clashing. Both sickeningly sweet and fighting to clog your lungs. “Don’t tell me you’re drunk already.”

“Honestly, I barely drank any. I must be a lightweight.” You laugh, fake to your own ears, and you’re sure to Finnick’s, too.

“Really? That’s quite surprising. You know. With your rough background and all.” Edgar says with genuine confusion. It’s odd to be insulted so sincerely. Finnick scoffs behind you in what could be mistaken for amusement, but the grip on your hip says otherwise.

You stay quiet for the rest of the conversation. You chime in here and there, but Finnick carries the bulk of it. It isn’t normally like this. Many people usually fall over themselves trying to be the first person you talk to. But there are a select few who prefer you to stand there and look pretty. You can essentially dumb your way out of a conversation. Finnick isn’t so lucky.

“You’ll have to show us some of your poetry sometime, Nick,” Edgar says while walking his fingers up Finnick’s arm, and you almost wince for him. He hates that nickname. Writing, specifically poetry, is the hobby Finnick was forced to take up after his games. Something that’s supposed to give a layer of complexity to his playboy image. Though, unlike most victors, it’s actually something he enjoys and is quite good at. 

You, on the other hand, wished you were given any other skill to hone. If your fingers hadn’t already been callused, the violin strings would’ve left them mangled. 

“He always forgets to ask that, but I’m sure it’s because you have him suitably distracted.” Karlo laughs, and Edgar cackles along with him. You don’t know what’s tighter, your grip on the glass or your smile. Which one will shatter first?

“Ah, anyway. We must be off.” Edgar, thankfully, pulls away.

“It’s always a pleasure to see you.” Karlo takes your unattended hand and kisses the back of it, and you instantly regret talking your stylist out of giving you elbow-length gloves.

“Likewise.” 

You hold your breath and release it when they’re out of sight. You feel Finnick’s chest expand with his own sigh of relief.

“Alright,” he plucks the champagne from your hand, handing it to a passing server. You’re tempted to complain. “Let’s go. We’ve shown our faces long enough that Snow shouldn’t care.” You’re hesitant for a moment, but you can’t act like the idea of being alone with Finnick isn’t more than enough to convince you. 

-

Other than the constant security and monitoring, the Training Center isn’t a terrible place to stay. As you and Finnick walk hand in hand down the hall, you can take comfort in the fact that you won’t run into anyone you’ll have to hide this from. The soles of your feet ache with each step. You yelp when you almost trip for the third time, your ankle turning inwards. Maybe you really are a lightweight.

Wordlessly, Finnick squats down and pats his thigh. You're confused before he taps your ankle. And he waits patiently like it’s the most natural thing in the world to take your shoes off for you. Your chest warms from something other than alcohol. You place your foot on his thigh, and he takes off your heel and does the same with the other. He keeps the strap of your shoes looped over his finger as he stands.

“C’mon,” he puts one arm under your knees, another behind your back, and lifts you up like you weigh nothing. You really do try your best not to gawk at his strength, but from Finnick’s flustered giggles, you’re failing miserably. You wrap your arm around his neck.

“My hero,” you put the back of your hand to your forehead and his chest vibrates with his laughter. 

“My star, light of my life,” you laugh as he spins you. “The least I can do is save you from a broken ankle.” He presses a featherlight kiss to your lips. Your eyes flutter shut, smiling against his lips.

You and Finnick have unintentionally established a pattern. More often than not, you both would be in the Capitol at the same time for the same reason, and one of you would always end up in the other’s room. But the elevator doesn’t stop on either of your floors.

The elevator opens on the rooftop and he’s yet to put you down. You’re amazed at how long he’s been able to carry you without any strain.  

The gardens are sprawling and well-maintained, a surprising amount of care for something unprofitable. There was a kid, a tribute from one of the early games, who jumped off the roof. They claimed he fell by accident and the force field was put in place as a safety measure. But you all know what really happened—the districts know what happened. And you suspect he’s the reason the garden was implemented. A poorly planned distraction on the Capitol’s behalf. 

Finnick sits on one of the garden benches behind a tall hedge of roses with you on his lap. You rest your head on top of his, tracing random letters on the back of his neck.

Finnick clears his throat. “There were kids at the reception. Running around—chasing each other. They asked me to play tag with them.” He laughs. You conjure up an image of Finnick chasing a gaggle of children that don’t even come up to his waist because, of course, he would, and suddenly, you can think of nothing else. “Have you ever thought about having any?”

“I did when I was younger.” You hum. You thought of a lot of things when you were a kid. When you were young enough to be shielded by your parents from the brutality of your district, young enough to dream. That period didn’t last, and you haven’t been a kid for a long time.

“But?”

��But, I didn’t think I’d live long enough to have any.” You didn’t even think you were capable of that kind of love. You didn't think it was in your capacity. It was bred and beaten out of you, especially after your games. But Finnick’s in the business of proving you wrong. “And to bring them into this world, into Eleven, seems cruel.” 

The chirp of crickets fills the silence. Fireflies dot the sky and blend with the stars.

His fingers tap on your thigh. “I always thought I’d have two. They’d be close in age so—”

“—They’d be friends.” You finish, and he gives a slow nod that picks up speed.

“Yeah, a boy and a girl.” You want to picture it. You want to imagine a world where it’s possible to have that life together. But you fear the fate of a child that would look like you and Finnick.

Your eyes drift from constellation to constellation. Perseus, Pegasus, Pisces. The stars are clearer here than at the Marquis, but not by much. It’s times like this that you miss your dad the most.

“If you’re comfortable sharing, I’d love to hear some more of your poetry.” You mutter into his hair. What Edgar said got you thinking. You don’t want Finnick to associate his talent with those people. Everything he writes is a piece of him. It amounts to more than that, more than them. 

“I would think you’d be tired of it by now, considering how much I write in my letters.” 

“Mmm, I’ll never be tired of anything you do. You really do have a gift, Finn, and you shouldn’t waste it on them.” The words were out of your mouth before you even had time to comprehend them. You lift your head when he moves to look at you. “...what? It’s true.” You say, somewhat embarrassed. You aren’t really the emotionally forthcoming one in this relationship, but you don't think you said anything that surprising.

He places a kiss on the shell of your bracelet. You shiver as he trails his lips down to the tip of your fingers, your heart speeding up in anticipation. He presses his cheek to the back of your hand, and he sits there with his eyes closed before speaking.

“My heart, who am I to deprive you of what's yours by right? The air in my lungs, I breathe for you. The blood in my veins pumps for you.” He laces your fingers together, eyes still closed. “A leaf can’t stop itself from falling, and neither could I.” When he opens his eyes back up, you’re swept away by the sheer adoration. That’s something you should get used to, right? You don’t think you’ve seen Finnick look at you any differently. And you don’t think you ever will.

He shakes his head with a smile as bright as the sun. “Everything I do, I do for you.” He whispers, and just when you catch your breath, it’s gone again.

You’re not sure who leans in first, not that it matters. No, all that matters is this moment—just the two of you.

He pulls back, the tip of his nose brushing yours.

“So,” he speaks, lips twitching into a smirk, and you brace yourself for the sheer strength of the eye roll that’s certain to follow whatever he says next, “your room or mine?” Your eyes truly come close to rolling out of your head, but you snort despite yourself, and his smirk becomes a full-blown smile.

Present (VIII) - You

[23 & 24 ] - TRAINING CENTER

You inhale through your nose and release the breath through your teeth. Your arms burn from your fingers to your biceps and you try to adjust your grip on the bar, but the strain in your shoulders convinces you to tap out. You drop to the ground, and the screen next to you reads four minutes and eight seconds, but you know you can make it to five. 

You bounce on your toes and shake out your hands. Just as you’re about to jump back up, you notice a crowd forming around the archery station. Your curiosity gets the better of you, and you’re able to slip to the front and see what the commotion is about. Inside, Katniss shoots down the hologram opponents with deadly proficiency, seemingly sensing the enemies before they’re even there. The arm strength involved with shooting a bow and arrow is nothing to scoff at. Especially with the fluidity and speed she’s going.

After she hits the last hologram and the exercise shuts off, everyone else stands impressed—yourself included. You're starting to understand why Haymitch is putting so much stock into her.

-

In terms of basic survival, there’s nothing for you to improve on. Shelter making, fire starting, weapons, hand-to-hand—there isn’t much for you to learn within the day you have left. You think about stopping at the camouflage station, but think better of it. As long as there’s something to climb, you’ll have camouflage. Mags hovers by the fish hooks station, but you worry if you go near her, Finnick won’t be far behind. You don’t know what he wants from you, why he even wants to speak to you. It’s not like he responded to any of your letters, so why now? Why now, when you’ve finally come to terms with the way he wanted things to be?

On the topic of avoiding Finnick, you also steer clear of the knot-tying station. He’s there now, teaching Katniss how to tie what looks like a noose. You’d run out of fingers if you tried to count the number of knots he’s taught you. You never thought you’d ever have to use any of them, but there’s no telling what will happen in the arena.

Edible insects are much easier to distinguish than plants, but you’re more than adept at both. The same can’t be said for Peeta. You must have been watching him for nearly thirty minutes, and he’s gotten close to nothing right.

He still has the paint that the female Morphling—Megan, you’re pretty sure—painted on his arm. Swirls of the orange, yellow, and purple trail from his wrist to his shoulder.

The screen flashes red as he organizes the plants incorrectly.

“You are terrible at this.” You walk forward to lean against the control panel, “Like, extraordinarily.” 

Peeta looks up from the buttons. It’s technically the first time the two of you have talked, not counting that meeting after the chariots where Chaff kissed Katniss.

“I just,” he scratches at the back of his head and frowns, discouraged, “I can’t remember the names. I know nightlock, obviously. But not much else.”

“Well, you’re able to recognize where you fall short. That’s good. You’re trying to match the names to the plant, but you don’t have enough time to remember all of that. It’s pointless anyway.” What good is remembering the name of a berry if he doesn’t know if he can eat it or not?

“Then, what am I supposed to do?”

“Instead of figuring out the names, try to focus on what they look like and whether or not they’re edible. That’s all that matters, honestly.” You restart the exercise, changing the parameters so he’ll have to organize the plants into categories by picture.

“You’re helping me?”

“I can’t, in good conscience, let you die because you decided to tussle with the wrong berry.” Hundreds of kids have died in Eleven from eating something they shouldn’t have. Not because they didn’t know it was poisonous but because they were so hungry that they didn't care. “Trust me, that’s not a fight you wanna pick.”

It’s touch and go for a second, but it’s not long before Peeta starts catching on. He’s a quick learner, and it’s much easier—more beneficial—to memorize what an edible plant looks like rather than what it’s called.

While Peeta is distracted with a timed matching game, your eyes trail to where Finnick goes through different motions with a trident while Katniss watches with laser-like focus. He stops to say something to her and glances your way. You’re quick to look back down to the task at hand.

How are you supposed to work with him in the arena if you can’t even handle being in the same room as him?

“I’m just not good at this.” Peeta laughs with a hint of self-deprecation. The screen shows he was only able to get half of the plants organized before the timer went off. For somebody starting from scratch, he’s selling himself pretty short. He just needs a little more time, and you’re confident he’ll be able to recognize what can and can’t be eaten within an hour.

“I watched your games. You could definitely be better.” Poisonous berries are the leading cause of death in the arena. Followed closely by being killed, either by another tribute or the arena itself. This will help protect him from the former. He doesn't need to master this. He just needs to know enough to get by.

”Yeah, Katniss is definitely better at this kind of stuff.” He looks over his shoulder to where Katniss and Finnick are still training. This time, Katniss holds the trident, and her movements are nowhere near as polished as his were. Despite that, Peeta’s eyes shine.

You look at Peeta—really look at him—and realize something.

"You actually love her, don't you?" You marvel. It hadn't even crossed your mind that their feelings could be genuine. He looks at you surprised before whatever persona he's embodying slides into place. 

"What, do you think it's an act or something?" He laughs.

"I did. But your eyes gave you away. They hold this kind of—softness whenever you look at her, whenever you talk about her," you turn back to the screen but don't restart the exercise, "I'd recognize that anywhere." Of course, you would. It's how Finnick used to look at you.

You're both quiet. He looks from you to his hands on the controls.

"I do." He breathes, and it's hard to hear over the cacophony of sounds in the room. "I really do."

You take a breath and let it out in a sigh.

"I'm sorry then."

"For what?" His brows furrow with confusion.

"You shouldn't have to go into the arena with someone you love. It's cruel." Your heart aches for him. You don't know how much Katniss reciprocates his feelings—you're starting to think she doesn't at all. For that, you can't help but feel sorry for him—can't help but see yourself in him. 

Haymitch was right, after all. Peeta's a good kid. He doesn't deserve this.

"Then, I'm sorry too." You glance at him from the corner of your eye. "You're right. We shouldn't have to." You don't say anything for a second, and he doesn't press you to. You doubt anyone told him about you and Finnick, so maybe he's just that observant. And smarter than anyone notices. An oversight you're sure he takes advantage of.

You don't bother denying it. Instead, you nod. He nods back. A sense of comradery is shared between the two of you, but it doesn't last long. You still have training to do. You press on a random square, and a creepy-looking plant appears. A red stalk with shiny, white berries spins in a slow circle on the screen.

"White baneberry, poisonous or not poisonous?"

He contemplates it.

"Poisonous?" He asks more than tells you.

"Just to eat?" You prompt, and he shakes his head.

"You can't touch it either," he answers far more confidently, and you smile. There might be hope for him yet.

"Good. Next."

-

A/N: SMUT NEXT CHAPTER!!!!! PEW PEW PEW!!!!

[wetcatspellcaster]

To preface this ask, I did search through older posts to see if you had answered this, because I love your fics but I also love reading your opinions on things because you are smart and have good taste. So: what were your thoughts on Solas pre-Veilguard? I saw that you mentioned you don't care as much as they want you to, but I'm curious why, if you don't mind sharing? Thanks!

ooofft, why do i feel like this is kicking a hornet's nest? but you'll also have seen how quickly i answered this, anon, so I don't mind giving my opinion - especially when i'm sick and bored and feeling sorry for myself.

putting it under the cut so I don't die though x

TLDR I just... think he's ok? fine? I don't hate him, but I also don't.... care?

In more depth, I think I understand the appeal of the Solas romance in terms of its immortal/mortal dynamics (I mean, I lowkey used that dynamic to finish the ending of my own inquisition fic, and I read a decent amount of Solas/Trevelyan back in the day when I ran out of other things to read), but I've never been able to give full buy-in or finish a romanced playthrough in-game, based on Solas' personality. shallowness of who I find attractive in games aside... I like Solas well enough as a companion and I find his character has the potential interesting, but I find his Inquisition romance dynamic extremely limiting, frustrating, and very much... just not for me.

I know the Shipping Diskhorse, and so I know a lot of the complaints I have already have arguments crafted against them. I don't need an argument, because I just don't care that much. A lot of people have opinions why he condescends, his explaining things to you, keeping secrets from you, etc. It's totally fine! I like those kinds of characters (I wrote for the Darkling! I get it!) Some of it isn't even 'his' (Solas, the fictional man's) fault!! Some of it's just dragon age writing!!! Like, I didn't enjoy Solas being racist, but then, Dorian was ok was slavery, and so was Anders with the One Guy He Didn't Like, so I can't even really call him out on that. I get frustrated that Solas repeatedly decides he is the only one equipped to take on problems on his own, rather than the proven-to-be hypercompetent women around him, who only can't handle those problems because he decides they're not worthy of trust and deliberately keeps them in the dark.... but that complaint literally only exists, because I play exclusively female characters in Dragon Age. He can condescend the male and non-binary characters too!!! If I ever let him!!!

So in short, this is an extremely personal taste thing. I think enjoyment of Solas is undermined by it being reliant on the Solavellan romance, and I think the Solavellan romance is undermined (for me ) by the fact that it is deepened and approval is met through agreement, rather than challenge or upfront debate. I think Solas is a character for whom I mourn the loss of the rivalmance mechanic (which I didn't even use in DA2).

Sometimes you don't want to agree with the man!!! You kind of want to ruin his life a little!!!! Which is fine!!! many, many people have headcanoned and written their way out of that corner, or imagined alternatives! It's why so much of the modern girl in thedas fic INVOLVED antagonising and challenging Solas, and it's why Veilguard (I'm convinced) encouraged that dynamic with Rook -

It just didn't work for me, personally. if I was to pinpoint my exact 'turn off' point, it was the way he talks about the Dalish, which I'm sure has it's share of sympathetic readings but, in my eyes... it's just him being needlessly cruel, about a diaspora culture he's responsible for - and responsibility was with him, even before all the lore choices made by Veilguard. No matter how much you mourn your own culture, I don't think dissing an entire ethnic group is quite The Way. And he's dissing it, to his girlfriend who is from that culture! (if you've read my inquisition fic, you know my feelings on this. and lord knows, enough people gave Sera shit, for the exact same thing.)

I don't not see it. To be frank, I accidentally (by which i mean, it wasn't planned from the beginning) put a Solavellan romance throughline in my Inquisition fic, because once I began writing, I started to fully understand what my Lavellan and Solas would have in common. But if you've read that fic, you know they don't end up together. Because I wanted challenge, and I wanted friction, and I didn't want endless pining or acceptance for a man who ultimately isn't always that nice to you, and gives you no real reason to yearn that hard!!! I kind of wanted that man to fumble the baddie, and be humbled by that instead!!!!!! which is my preferred flavour actually!!!! alongside Solas/Trevelyan which.... wow. is that another hornet's nest in the distance? should I aim for it, with my foot?

And I think that, Solas' fandom (which totally makes sense, again this is personal taste nothing more) and Solas' canon writing (woof. to veilguard) is so reliant on you buying into Solavellan, that if you don't.... Solas really is just.... kind of there. I mean, my INQUISITOR (super hot, hypercompetent lady, love of life light of my heart) was also... just kind of there, according to veilguard. Her dialogue was sooooo UNDERWHELMING, and once again, she had no options but to be Solas' advocate, when actually, that woman disagreed with pretty much everything he ever said!

I don't want to kiss him. I don't want to redeem him, because his redemption arc seems so based in a self-sacrificing love I cannot buy into personally, even while appreciating the flavour for other people. He's just kind of there to me.

[probablyaseamonster]

On fWhip's new SMP

fWhip, years after ending the Empires series and New Life drizzled out, has decided to create what appears to be the first season of a new series: SOS smp.

Not an acronym (well, i mean, technically) for a longer name, that's the official title and not the fandom tag.

Other fans have addressed the "no lore" thing already, even though the series is only a day old. Check the tag if you want clarity. Or just, you know, watch the videos.

What I want to discuss is the "twist" that sets it apart from other related SMP concepts.

In SOS, every time you die, you leave behind a gravestone. But, the gravestone will also disappear if a set time runs out. This doesn't just take your stuff away, like one might expect. When you die, you enter spectator mode. And if the time runs out and no one ELSE comes to save you, you are banned from the server.

But that's not all! In order to save someone's life, one must ALSO insert a special currency. Each person starts the server with one coin, but you can get more from doing things. This means that a person could not save you, even if they dug into the deep dark or traveled to the end island, if they did not have a coin with them. Horrifying concept, right?

Now that the basic game mechanics are layed out, let's discuss how this relates to other popular SMPs.

This series could not be another edition of the X Life series, for one thing because of there being no world-gen mods, let alone the numerous amounts of other potential gamechangers Afterlife and New Life came with. Excepting everything related to the gravestones, this is a normal minecraft world.

This also clearly can't be the third empires season, for obvious reasons as well as personal context. And as far as I know, no other SMPs fWhip has played in have been this simple.

In fact, this series most closely resembles the Life Series with its simplicity, modded items, and death mechanics. It most obviously resembles the two newest seasons, with the time limit and an implied otherworldly force that could easily be headcanoned as evil.

Now, what REALLY makes me think is how SOS at its core, is set up to foster relationships. A player is 100% dependant on being rescued, but there are no rules that say a person can't NOT rescue someone else, and no penalizing for it. The worst thing a person could do is completely isolate themselves in a far off corner of the map, or worse, antagonize people without making any friends to balance it out. If nobody LIKES or cares about you, or if everyone agrees the server would be better off WITHOUT you, you will be dead forever. Everyone is encouraged to play nice, buy more importantly, develop a deep bond with at least one other person. But even then, there's a chance that person might not even be ABLE to save you. And THAT results in guilt, hatred, and hurt.

Everen, the person who made the iconic Who Are You Really, Everybody Wants To Rule the World, Running Up That Hill, and Battle Cry animatics, once said on stream that Secret Life has been her least favourite season so far, because she felt that none of the alliances really cared about each other. Now, I highly disagree with that take, but I was thinking about it. She said that the creators seemed more focused on making each new episode a Crazy Action-Packed Banger, that they forgot that what most fans really cared about were the quiet moments that make you root for a couple to survive. That, much like Last Life, the twist that season ended up driving people apart and breaking trust, even though the shenigans were funny to watch in comparison to largely angst-inducing. And, unlike Last Life, the winner that season was not the one person who defied the rules more than anyone else; the winner was someone who had played the game, had no allies, and was forced to hurt people and not explain himself. And considering the observation that each season's new rules seems to be based off of the previous winner's Life, I only fear that the next season will be even worse in those regards.

Then, you have fWhip, who'd never been a member of the Life Series (kinda hoped he would, but thats just me), and his new server seems like... like it's rules were made in opposition of that trend.

SOS will, there is no doubt, have at least one tragedy like I had formerly mentioned. Someone will eventually permadie because they had no allies, or were general jerks. In order for the server to end, everyone has to stop saving each other, until there is no one left to save the "winner". There WILL be angst. And there will be relationship drama to make it all hurt more. Even if there is no "lore", no characters or backstories or connections to prior series, there will be fanfics made, fanart drawn, analysis thought of, poetry written, and even songs produced. People will care about this server, even if the community is small and Hermitcraft's stories are booming.

And I am so glad that this series has been made, at this time when Hermitcraft and Life Series seem to hold a monopoly on this fandom.

[rigelmejo]

some basic language learning thoughts (based on some common questions i see on reddit forums). as usual, if you don't like the suggestion, feel free to ignore and throw it out! what works best for you will be what works best for you - everyone is different. at the end of the day, if you continue studying (hours add up), study some new stuff (expand your knowledge), and practice/review some stuff you've studied (improve comprehension of what you know), then you'll improve. You can achieve that in a ton of different ways, and any way which motivates you to keep doing it is great.

What's the easiest language to learn? My thought on this question is... it doesn't matter as much as it might feel like it does. If any language is going to take hundreds or thousands of hours of study, you will probably want to have goals that motivate you to study for THAT long, for years. If Danish 'takes less hours to learn' than Thai, but you watch Thai shows everyday and follow thai webnovel writers and twitter, and don't have much interest in anything Danish (and no friends that speak the language), then Thai is going to be 'easier' because you have more reasons to USE it. If Spanish and French seem to take a similar amount of hours to learn, but you're planning to go to school in a French speaking country and get a job there? Well you have a more pressing Need to learn French, that will hopefully help motivate you. The 'easiest' language to learn is the language you have REASONS to learn. The language you will use, and keep using. If you have no pressing reason to learn any language, but want to learn a language? Find reasons. Make goals that require the language.

(Here's one from me - I wanted to learn Japanese, in theory I can mostly do anything I want by just reading/watching/playing translations, however I am the kind of person that really enjoys reading originals in their original form... so that's motivating. My recent kick to study more? A show I want to watch is untranslated, so I better get to studying so I can still watch it.) Your goal can be anything from: I want to visit X, I want to talk to X friend/family better, I want to blog in multiple languages, I want to watch untranslated media, I want to sing my favorite musicians songs easier, I want to work in a country that speaks it, I want access to more recipes in X language, I am into history and want to read a history book from X time period in X language, I want to play a video game before localization, really the sky is the limit on goals you can set. Your goals, and how much you want them, and how often you do the sub-goals (so if reading untranslated cnovels by an author you love is your goal, maybe along the way you read easier webnovels to motivate you and find more writers you like), is going to push you to keep studying. Even if your goal is 'pass language B2 test' if it has a deadline, and it's a goal connected to other goals (like going to work in a country with the language, translating work, writing better), that will keep you motivated. Motivation is what will make a language 'easier.' If you can't find the motivation, even the languages which should take the 'least amount of time' will feel hard.

All that said, I am now about to contradict myself. While I really think motivation is the biggest factor in if you'll keep studying and keep learning... there are languages which due to their similarity to languages you already know, will take less Total Study Hours to make progress. As an English speaker, it only took me 6 months of very lazy unorganized studying (half hour most days) to be able to start reading non-fiction French with only a handful of word lookups per page. A lot of that was because French (especially science words and proper nouns like places) has so many cognates with English. I basically 'had' thousands of words of French I already knew, just because I knew English. It took about a year to read fiction books in French only looking up a handful of words per page, for 'general main idea' comprehension. When studying Chinese, it took me also about 12 months to read fiction, look up a handful of words, and understand the 'general main idea.' But I was studying 2 hours a day. So I studied around 182.5 hours to read French fiction with word lookups, and 730 hours to read Chinese fiction with word lookups. And the Chinese also took longer to learn to read with NO word lookups, since there was no english-cognate carryover to sound-out and over rely on like with French. (Although at a wonderful certain point, you know enough Chinese hanzi that new words are built of mostly hanzi you know, and you can use that to guess the gist of a LOT of new words when extensively reading with no word lookups - that happened for me at about 2 years). My point is: Chinese DOES take more hours of study to reach language skill milestones as an english speaker, compared to French! It took me the same amount of months, because I studied Chinese more hours per day (to make up the difference - and I had a better study plan with Chinese). But if you are a total beginner, and unmotivated and KNOW you will study maybe 1 hour per day and probably not more, then learning a language that is more similar to one you already know WILL take less study hours total to reach skill milestones. And that will hopefully be motivating.

(Another example: I spent 3 months of 1-2 hours a day studying Spanish, and can read Spanish nonfiction - thanks to the similarities to French and English. I can read fiction too but it requires word lookups. Japanese, due to kanji, also got 'easier' to read once I had learned more Chinese hanzi. So if your goals include learning languages with some similarities, then once you learn some of those similarities it will make future learning 'faster.')

I spent a month once studying Esperanto (a constructed language). Do I ever use Esperanto? No. Did I find the experience helpful? Yes. Because Esperanto is designed to be fairly easy for european language native speakers, has no exceptions, it had 1. a lot of similar-words to english so I could practice 'guessing similar words' (a skill I'd use a lot with French and Spanish later), 2. practice guessing what word endings mean grammatically (since Esperanto has no exceptions the grammar patterns are much more obvious than say grammar patterns in French). 3. Practice recognizing spelling to sound connections. Those 3 skills are useful in learning any language, but natural languages will have more exceptions to the patterns.

After spending a month on Esperanto, I saw HUGE progress after studying a few hundred words, noticed a huge amount of grammar patterns and how to notice them, and just generally got the experience of 'this is what skill milestones feel like.' Later, when studying French, I used that experience to recognize French word endings and what they tend to indicate, word functions, patterns in pronunciation, guessing with cognates/similar words, and I knew what the first 'milestones' I was aiming for would be. In a similar pattern: French milestones took me a few months each to hit, so when I studied Chinese later and it was taking 2-3 times as much study time... I knew which milestone to expect myself to 'work toward' and achieve next, and knew what making progress should feel like (even if it felt like it was moving slower) so I didn't give up. I was aware that Chinese language skill milestones might 'take more hours' so I didn't panic when it was taking me almost a year of reading graded readers in Chinese to move on to simple webnovels, whereas in French I'd only been reading graded readers for half a year before I felt ready to move on. I knew the general process, because I'd done it before in a shorter timespan with French, with Esperanto.

Is Esperanto useful to you? Only you know that. I personally did not find it useful in general for me, and didn't continue to study it. But it did teach me 'how' to study a language, what progress to monitor, and gave me the confidence that I was capable of learning.

If you really feel you're incapable of learning any skill in a new language, then spending some time on a language more similar to what you already know (if possible - a language you have motivating goals with), may help you see you are capable and can learn. An addition to this: spend a LOT of hours studying as a beginner, if lack of progress demotivates you. Once you push past the beginner stage, you'll be able to do goal-related things in the language you study and that will keep you motivated. But in the beginning, progress feels slow and you feel very confused. So the more upfront studying you do, the quicker you will push through that hard-to-motivate stage.

Is learning a language that is more similar to ones you know going to take less hours of study? Probably. But either way, motivation over hundreds or thousands of hours, for years, is going to be needed. So the goals you wish to achieve will be more important in your success, rather than how many 'hours' it will take.

What do you do if you get demotivated that it's taking SO LONG to hit the next language skill milestone? Fair concern. I got demotivated OFTEN by how much longer it took to reach milestones in Japanese compared to in French. First: try to keep perspective. It's normal for it to take more hours to understand certain things, if the language is not very similar to ones you know. You have to build a bigger foundation of understanding for lots of totally new stuff. Second: you're going to hate me but I'd suggest upping the study hours per day (or week). Studying Chinese RARELY demotivated me, despite it taking more actual hours of study to hit milestones compared to French, and why? Because I increased my study time for Chinese so I was still REACHING milestones in a reasonable amount of months (very similar to the months it took to hit French milestones). 2 hours a day of Chinese study was more than 1/2 an hour of French study, but 2 hours was doable. And it meant I still got to watch shows and read within a few months, and watch/read without looking many words up (depending on difficulty) by the end of year 1. Once you are doing the goals or sub-goals you have, it becomes so much easier to stay motivated. Once I could watch cdramas before they got translated, or read any novel I wanted using Pleco or Readibu to help? It was very easy to stay motivated and do things I WANTED to do in chinese. From there it was just practice/learn using activities I had the goal of doing.

Finally, similar to the suggestions above, if you find yourself in a motivation rut what can you do? I personally try to do 'study sprints' when I'm getting demotivated and need to see significant progress. What I do is pick a small goal, then spend 1-2 months studying as much as I can to improve in that goal. Suggestions: A beginner may make the goal to study the alphabet, a pronunciation guide, and 300 common words and see how far they get by the end of the month. (If at the end of the month the pronunciation is easier to hear and alphabet is easier to read then they succeeded - and they likely will). Another beginner may make the goal to read graded readers 1 hour per day or more all month and see how much they can read. (If the first graded reader they read is easier to read at the conclusion of the month, such as less unknown words or faster reading speed, then they succeeded - and they likely will see progress). A beginner/intermediate learner into flashcards might try to study as many flashcards in Anki as they can for a month. An intermediate learner may pick an audiobook and try to listen to AS MANY chapters as they can in a month, or may pick a novel and look up every unknown word while reading for 1 hour per day or more, until the end of the month. The idea is to pick a goal where you KNOW you're current skill level, work HARD on studying to improve that skill for a month, and then try to do the skill again and see how much progress you've made. I find it very motivating. It can take months to broadly notice progress milestones like managing to improve in your overall reading skill to tackle more difficult novels. But it can take just A MONTH to learn a few hundred new words and make the current novel you're reading become much EASIER to read, or the current show you're watching to become much EASIER to follow, or for the listening skills you're struggling with to become much more instant and reliable.

Example: one of my most recent sprints was to improve my Chinese listening skills. So for a month, I listened to audio flashcards of chinese-english sentences audio, and audiobook chapters (re-listening to each chapter a few times). I saw progress in 1. The audiobook got easier to understand over time, and 2. I tried watching a cdrama I've watched before, only this time I watched it without any subtitles, and it is now much easier to quickly comprehend and follow the lines (even without chinese subs). A sprint I did after a 2 year funk with minimal japanese progress was to cram study 2000 words in memrise Nukemarine's LLJ decks (took 3 months) then try to play a japanese video game I'd tried playing before the sprint. Another japanese sprint I did was listen to japaneseaudiolessons.com free lessons for a month, to work on improving my listening comprehension and recognition of word-order faster, and it did really help with seeing an improvement in those things.

As a beginner, I think the sprints can help with staying focused on small achieveable goals and seeing your progress (like reading daily, watching a show daily, studying X new words daily, going through a chapter of a grammar book weekly, etc). And then as you get farther and can actually do some of your sub-goals, can help with pushing yourself to some significant improvement in a particular area. (Like if you reached a sub goal of reading easy webnovels, it might be a month where you read a webnovel with more unique words that's 'harder' and look all unknown words up, and by the end of the month you see that medium-difficulty webnovels now feel as easy as the 'easy' ones did at the start of the month).

And then... if you study like me, which tends to be periods of a LOT of study followed by lulls where I might watch/read/listen to the language but not do much active study, then the sprint goal months tend to help cram in 100 hours of study every so often. So that you'll still (on average through the year) have studied 1-2+ hours a day. I do not focus well, and sprint goal months along with more relaxed months where I just watch/read/listen to stuff when I feel like it, is the only way I can get myself to study regularly. If you can consistently study daily, then sprint goal months can help you make Significant progress in a very specific area if some slow-progress area has been demotivating you. (And you can turn the sprint goals into challenges with friends, or tests to see what study methods work great for you versus bore you).

[aratedfreyjablog]

What to take advantage of from the Event Exchange Shop and Mini Game

Floated around and saw some interesting opinions in regards to the event exchange shop and mini-game. So I thought I'd share some thoughts and tips on how to use the two in a more effective way.

For the Mini-game

There are a lot of debate on whether the mini-game is worth doing 3x per day or not. Sure, because how manual it is, it does make it a bit tiring. But, I think there are a lot of resources that can be obtained much easier through the game compared to the other means of obtaining them.

Candy Chests

Players can get more beginner and intermediate candy chests from the mini-game over farming at the the boss battles from chapters 1-3. From what I've observed when I play and what others have said, it looks like, about a mix of 3-5 beginner and intermediate chests can be obtained within the first 10 stages as it's one of the most given resources in the game.

Disclaimer: the number stated in here is NOT official nor concrete. It is an average calculated from personal experience and data shared by other players. It may be possible to obtain more or less than what was stated though I haven't heard anyone getting less when playing the first 10 stages so far...

Pretzels, Keys, and Solomon Seals

This is the only game where players are able to grind for pretzels and gacha/pull currencies. Pretzels and greater keys are the ones players can obtain the most of the four while the rate to get Solomon Seals and lesser keys are the much less. However, if you play all 3 times, you are able to still get a good amount of lesser keys and Solomon Seals.

With all of this being said, I really do think it's very worth playing the mini-game though it's really up to the player if they want to play 3 times or only once.

Players don't have to use AP and farm X amount of times for beginner and intermediate candy chests when, if they play once, they can get a large amount from simply paying 15 AP and play through the mini-game one time.

As for pretzels, since the friendship system isn't going to be implemented until March iirc (I could be remembering wrong, do not quote), players can also start to use the Pretzel Exchange House to pay for other resources (i.e., lesser key, jellybeans, gummies, pudding, pie pieces, pie whole, artifact stone).

For the gacha-currencies, it speaks for itself. Especially with lesser keys and Solomon Seals, if a player were to gain 3 Solomon seals or lesser keys from playing the mini-game after all 3 times and does it every day, the total amount that a player can get in a month is close to 90 Solomon Seals/lesser keys. And, to remind people, that was obtained without going into the Exchange House and either having to use in-game currency and real-life money.

So, again, definitely worth it and take advantage of for everyone regardless of being P2W or F2P.

For Event Exchange Shop

The main resource I would aim for are really the pies where:

Pie chest daily limit = 3 chests/day

1 Pie piece chest = 15 event currency

1 Pie whole chest = 43 event currency

The prices are higher compared to buying through pancakes and pretzel but when getting the chests through the two, players can NOT choose what pie they can get. Rather, it's luck-dependent.

In regards to obtaining whole pies, specifically, whole pies can be bought for a specific type through the Guilty Gem Exchange Shop for 33 guilty gems (red gems). However, to buy a specific whole pie, the shop has a weekly limit of 1 per WEEK.

With the Event Exchange House, players can get 3 pies, whether it's the piece or whole, per day while having the ability to CHOOSE THE TYPE OF PIE they want. Meaning, during the 14 days the event is running, the total amount of pie pieces or wholes are 42.

The same goes with the jellybeans, gummies, and puddings but I don't recommend using event currency to buy them since the Nightmare Dungeons provides more benefits (i.e., at the hardest level for each stage a player can get necromicron and random bags of whatever they were battling for on top of the main rewards).

The next resource would be Tears of Solomon. It's pricier compared to the cost in Guilty Gems Exchange House but cheaper to Necromicron Exchange House (88 guilty gems vs 90 event currency vs 100 necromicron).

I strongly advice not to get the Greater keys from the Event Exchange Shop since it's 20 event currency PER KEY when it's 6 guilty gems PER KEY in the Guilty Gems Exchange House (sold as 5 Keys for 30 guilty gems).

Anyways, hope this helps for anyone who's trying to decide what to obtain and how for the resources they need when playing!

[outivv]

to other anon star rail revenue suffering compared to previous months is because they for some reason decided to put some of thee most skippable units(from fanbase perspective)back to back after firefly like jade only really shines in one game mode and that’s straight up not good enough for most people(unless you’re a desperate blade main because he’s suffering rn)especially when 1.x units can still clear in all modes fairly decently(well like..except blade LOL😭😭)

and she came right after firefly who probably made hsr closer to 120+~mil if we go by sensory towers method ie “we dont have access to android,pc and console revenue so we let you do calculations to see what the revenue earned this month MIGHT have looked like if we did have access to these”(another side note eek but gawd as someone who used to play hi3 i mourn the fact ff got a miles better kit than hofi kiana yknow the character hoyo openly calls their daughter😭)

Yunli while good is literally just clara but a slight bit better which while we dont know how much she made yet acheron and firefly very much so have affected how people will look at new dps because of just how broken they are so(the genshin equivalent of this would be neuvillette and mualani where shes maybe looking to be around top dps wise but shes not at his level so a decent amount of people automatically disregard her)

Jiaoqiu while not as bad as people made him out to be is still not a must grab either and is more than likely going to be skippable to meta slaves and the casual very limited amount jades players so already at a disadvantage esp with leakers constantly going “oh oh MAYBE sunday will be in 2.6 oh oh maybe he’ll be in 2.7🤭”so unless hardcore fans,people who roll for any man in the game because they are in a drought compared to 1.x days ,or just anyone who’s that desperate for a support clutch it star rail is going to drip back into its usual revenue unless they decide last minute to make feixiao broken or decide to roll out the red carpet for sunday sooner rather than later

(anways lol sorry tgis is so long i nerd out when it comes to these things)

Totally cool I love when people nerd out cause then it gives me an excuse to be a fucking nerd too BAHHAHAHA

Jade is genuinely garbage I am not even gonna lie. Her design isn’t that good, her character? Racist BAHAGAH, her kit? Bro she’s not even like sparkle where she’s like a terrible character but her kit is suuuuper good, she’s just like not very good all around, so that does make sense as to why she’s just… no one spent on her unless they were gooners tbh

Blade is suffering so bad… like omfg- I used to main blade and holy shit he just can’t. Like he cannot do the dmg he needs to unless you run him with jingliu imo because of how she takes hp away, and blade’s main dmg source is from his fua cause it’s an all hitting attack. Hope blade gets some kinda buff or something with a character like jingliu who takes hp away slowly but is actually a buffer- ooooo.

I think yunli is relatively good, I’ve seen my friend who’s got a very f2p build on her do like 1.5 mil with her, but that’s also cause of their own insane supports BAHAHAH. Idk what most meta players think of her, because personally I don’t care about the meta. Bitch I main Argenti and Boothill, I do NOT care about meta. But, yunli like you said- is still just slight better Clara, and I believe most people have Clara cause she was soooo big in early stage meta, so it’s like… why get yunli is Clara already does the job, unless you just like yunli which is fair cause she’s a cute character.

Jiaoqiu feels like… like like like- topaz kinda. Like I feel like he’ll be great later on, and while he has uses now- especially for buffing the FUCK out of Acheron, I feel like they’ll be like “look at this specific meta we’re making so now Jiaoqiu is more useful :3” cause he just feels so strange now, even if he’s quickly become one of my personal favs 😔

But most people are skipping him, I know I am- and I’m skipping him for feixiao cause from what I’ve seen of her she’s stupidly broken ☺️🫶

Like STUPIDLY broken; fuck- fucking imagine her with Robin? Stupid dmg, but we don’t know her scaling yet, she just looks actually abysmal AHAHAH especially when paired with Moze (who I’m hella excited for :3)

Sunday has been confirmed by leakers to likely not be in 2.6 or 2.7 and if he were to be in either patches (this is my opinion) it would be 2.7 I think, since either 2.7 or 2.8 will be likely the last patch of 2.x and then it’ll be 3.0 so even more reason for people to save, since 3.0 is pretty much right around the corner :P