#1400 words

[rhythymicwriting]

Date ~ Celty and Shinra

“Go on a date with me just once. If you hate it, I’ll let it go.” His words were desperate despite the cheerful grin splitting his face. Celty tensed. If she had a face, her eyes would be wide and staring at the hopeful man before her. He clasped both of her hands in his own, mocha eyes glimmering at her. One thing she’d come to notice was that Shinra had an eye contact problem. He would stare at her as if she did have a head, making eye contact with eyes that weren’t there. And now, his loving and expectant gaze bore deeply into her, smoke billowing furiously out of her throat. 

Celty took a moment to consider what he was proposing. He always was the type to be that forward, it was one of her favorite things about him, but what if she went and decided she didn’t love Shinra? She wasn’t sure she could hurt him like that and, even if she could, she doubted he’d let it go just like that. The Kishitani’s didn’t ‘let things go.’ Shinra wouldn’t just turn away like that. Though, maybe he should.

They’d known each other for almost twenty years now. Celty had watched Shinra grow into the man he was now. She knew she had a soft spot for him, for the way that he was so insistent and curious, for the way that he smiled and laughed even when others couldn’t, for the way he loved her regardless of her oddities. She toyed with the idea that she might have real feelings for Shinra. 

Slipping her hands from his, Celty typed in her PDA, fingers catching other keys. Shinra’s eager eyes followed her movements. His face lit up as he read the screen. It was a miracle that he could, her message was buried in typos and extra symbols. 

“Celty!” He cried, taking her hands again. Shinra pulled her toward him, spinning the two around the room. “Thank you! I’m so excited!”

Celty scrunched herself further into her turtleneck sweater. The soft yarn was the color of leaves in September and layers of it swam around her shoulders. A cold autumn breeze nipped at her fingertips, chill infiltrating her fingerless gloves. She stood at the bottom of the stairs, leaning against her bike and waiting for Shinra who had forgotten something in the apartment. 

He finally came bounding down the stairs, long white coat trailing behind him. While he’d refused to ditch the lab coat aesthetic, Shinra had decided to leave his at home. In its place he picked a cream colored trench coat that hung loosely around his own turtleneck sweater. He flashed an ecstatic grin at Celty, a cheery bounce in his step. 

“I’m ready.” He sang, stopping before her. “You look really pretty, Celty! I’ve never seen you wear that color before!” He continued to gush over her, butterflies flickering in Celty’s stomach. She elegantly swung her leg over the bike, her PDA shooting out of her sleeve as she settled onto the leather.

Celty typed quickly as she created a helmet around his unwieldy brown hair. ‘You didn’t tell me where we’re going.’

Shinra laughed. “Oh that’s right. Let’s go to the park!” He clumsily climbed on the bike. Celty would have smiled if she had lips to do so. No matter how many times he’d ridden with her, Shinra just wasn’t built for motorcycles. 

Celty’s legs held the bike up firmly, Shinra’s wriggling causing it to wobble. When he finally got settled, his arms slipped under hers and wrapped tightly around her center. His chin nuzzled into her shoulder, his helmet bumping against hers. Celty’s posture shot straight up. Her hands flew off the handlebars, swatting at Shinra’s, who’s adventurous fingers had drifted to her chest. 

She typed quickly while he laughed, holding his hands up in the air. ‘Behave or you’re walking.’

“Sorry, sorry.” Shinra giggled. Celty huffed as she slipped the PDA back into her sleeve and set her hands back on the bars. His arms wrapped back around her, but his hands clutched at his own forearms. Satisfied, Celty retracted the kickstand and took off like a shot, swiftly navigating the streets of Ikebukuro. 

The two soon arrived at the city park. The space wasn’t much other than a fountain and a couple benches, both of which were heavily graffitied, but it was still stunning in the fall. Red and gold leaves cascaded from the trees, dancing through the air before settling onto the paving stones and dead grass. The little oasis was nestled on a lot across the street from strip malls and skyscrapers, a little breath of nature in the midst of the concrete jungle. 

Celty felt herself relaxing more by the second, the tiny change of scenery just what she’d needed. She lingered on the bike a few moments, Shinra already having clambered off. He offered her a hand that she’d bashfully taken. 

He led her to one of the benches. As the two sat, Shinra gestured to a bird resting on the fountain. The bird was small and seemed unconcerned with the people in the area. “That’s a brown-eared bulbul,” He murmured. His voice was strangely soft and Celty couldn’t help but be surprised at his choice of topic. 

‘Since when are you interested in birds?’ She asked, tilting her neck.

Shinra’s response was trimmed with gentle laughter. “I’m not really, I just thought bird watching might be fun.”

‘Where did you read that?’ Celty teased. 

“I read it on some forum,” He confessed, light pink coloring his cheeks. “I honestly couldn’t think of anything you’d enjoy that we don’t already do.” 

It wasn’t until he’d said it that Celty realized how true that was. They did everything together. They played games, watched movies, cooked, studied, everything, together. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d done something without at least thinking of Shinra. 

“In truth, I didn’t even intend to date you.” Shinra muttered, drawing Celty’s attention back out of her head. A pang of disappointment surprised her. Then Shinra turned a brilliant smile her way. “I was just gonna propose. I mean, we’ve already covered the dating part anyway, right?”

A cloud of smoke puffed out of Celty’s throat, surprise and embarrassment shooting through her system. She fumbled with the PDA, trying and failing to type a legible question. ‘Propose?’

“Well, yeah.” Shinra said. His eyes shut, a sweet smile pulling at his lips. “I’ve always wanted to marry you, Celty.”

Heat flooded through Celty’s system, blood rushing to the head she didn’t have. Part of her knew he thought that way and she shouldn’t have been surprised, but hearing him say it like that made her heart race. She had been considering her own feelings lately, but now they had come all the way to the surface. When she heard him say that, she felt…happy. Really happy. Her shoulders tensed, pulling up to her ears. Her sight blurred, the PDA swimming in front of her eyes while she tried to think of something to say. Her attention moved from the device to the man beside her, his loving expression blurred behind tears she couldn’t cry. 

She thought of all the times she’d come home to collapse in Shinra’s arms. All the times she’d been out on a job and gotten lost because she was thinking of him. All the times he’d been off at school or telling her about his freaky friends and she couldn’t bury the overwhelming worry. All the times he’d touched her or said something stupid and it got her heart racing. She thought of laying on the operating table drowning in anxiety and feeling gentle fingers wrap around her own, kind brown eyes capturing her own. She thought about the twenty years she’d lived with him. They really did skip the whole ‘dating’ thing, didn’t they?

Shinra’s expression shifted, his excitement mixing with concern. “Celty? Is everything okay?”

She nodded furiously, gathering him vigorously in her arms. Her heart beat faster as his chuckle sent vibrations through her chest. His arms wrapped softly around her waist. “This is nice. I love when you hold me like this.” 

Celty shook her head, pulling away from Shinra and typing frantically, ‘You’re an idiot.’

“Hey, that’s mean.” Shinra pouted playfully. He let a second pass before he started again. “I know I said just go on a date with me, but I have been wanting to ask you this for a while.” Celty felt butterflies clog her throat when his tone changed. A sweet smile pulled at his lips as he took her hand in his own. His eyes were crinkled from his smile, but they held a certain intensity that kept her cemented in his gaze. His voice was smooth and strong. 

“Celty, will you marry me?” 

[after-witch]

A Snowy Interlude [Yandere Illumi x Reader]

Title: A Snowy Interlude [Yandere Illumi x Reader]

Synopsis: You play in the snow--a rare treat.

Word count: 1418

notes: yandere, kidnapped reader, mentions of past abuse

“Are… you… sure this is… allowed?”

Even if it weren’t cold, your words would have come out slow and almost stuttered. But the cold air doesn’t do anything to help the eloquence of your speech, which comes out haltingly, words carefully chosen and accompanied by puffs of your whitened breath. 

Illumi’s face remains, as almost always, impassive.

“What do you mean, allowed?” He asks, finally, watching as you take each piece of winter clothing from the standing butler and slip them on. Gloves, a scarf, a hat, all fitted perfectly to your form. 

It would have been nicer to put them on before stepping out into the winter air, but you hadn’t been outside in months, and you weren’t going to complain about a thing. He did have you step into winter boots first, at least, and a winter coat. 

“I just mean,” you reply, watching as the butler gestures for you to step into a pair of thick, puffy snow pants–the kind you used to wear as a kid, “I haven’t been outside in… a while.” 

Your voice warbles as you hold onto the butler’s arm support and step into the puffy pants; butlers were the only other people you were allowed to touch, besides Illumi. Even then, they knew to never touch first; you could touch them like furniture, like a useful thing. 

Illumi hums. “No, you haven’t. I felt it inappropriate for you to be outside.” 

You don’t comment–you don’t want him to elaborate and change his mind. Or worse, decide that it is inappropriate for a newly-minted Zoldyck wife to step outside the mansion looking like an oversized marshmallow.

Once you’re dressed, the butler stands aside, and you let your gaze wander across the garden. 

It had really been snowing. Illumi had let you sit at the window watching as the flakes fell, thin and almost rain-like at first, but then gradually getting thicker and fluffier as the day went on. It snowed for almost three days straight and now the entire estate looked like something out of a pretty winter story–the roofs all covered in white, the same pretty sparkling white that covered the ground and went up past your knees.

It was all waiting, just beyond the cobblestone path leading back inside the estate. It had been neatly shoveled out and you tried to picture the butlers shoveling it bit by bit, as your neighbors were no doubt doing back home. Well. What had been home, before all this. 

Illumi doesn’t make to move, and you give him an awkward look. 

“Um. So. Can I… go out there?” It’s a silly question, you realize. Why get you all dressed up for being outside if you were just going to stand on the shoveled path? Oh. Well. Actually. Maybe it's not so silly, and Illumi was just being irritatingly over-protective about the cold.

And perhaps you’re right to question it, because Illumi’s eyebrows furrow. Just a little. Just enough to notice.

“Oh,” he says, as if he hadn’t considered it. He pauses, and you wonder if this is it, your time outside will just be spent standing at staring. “... Yes. I suppose that’s all right.”

Something like happiness prickles your chest and you step away from the shoveled cobblestones, boots sinking into the deep snow. The sound of each step is so familiar, so nostalgic; the swish of your snow pants with every movement, the soft crunching of the snow, the way it yields underneath your boots.

Your smile grows without you realizing it as you make your way into the garden, arms out at your sides for balance. How long is it since you’ve been in the snow like this? Even before Illumi took you, it wasn’t like you had the time for it. 

You were a kid, surely. Maybe 12 or 13, the last time it was still considered cool to dress in bulky outerwear and trudge your sled up to the neighborhood sledding hill. 

A sense of wonder overtakes you, and it feels like the past few months are left behind you, standing alongside Illumi and the butler–the training, the pain, the burns, the bruises, the broken arm and fingers. The instructions and etiquette and rules, rules, rules. 

How could they come with you, as you begin to trudge–happy then happier–through the snow? 

It’s so thick you feel like if you fell down, you’d be lost in it. Maybe you’ll sink to the ground. Maybe you could make a snow angel–or a cave. The urge to fall overtakes you as it so often did in childhood and you simply plop backward in the snow. The thump hides the sound of Illumi rushing forward, though perhaps he would have known how to run through the snow silently anyway.

When you look up, you see Illumi, of course. But beyond that is what you’re interested in: the sky above you, all blue and lovely. There’s whiteness, too, the sparkling prettiness of the snow all around you. Some of the cold has seeped underneath your coat and scarf, burning your ears. But you don’t mind.

Of course, you’re eventually forced to acknowledge him, and you finally let your gaze focus on Illumi. He’s leaning down, his hair almost becoming a black curtain.

“Why did you fall?” He looks–almost concerned, you think. “Are you having a heart attack?” It’s funny, really, the way he phrases his so calmly. If you weren’t becoming somewhat decent at reading him, you might think he was joking. 

He’s not. So–

You blink up at him.

Then you move your arms and legs up and down, up and down, making a snow angel underneath you.

Illumi blinks back.

“Perhaps you’ve had a stroke.”

You grin, then, and clutch a handful of snow underneath your gloves. 

“I didn’t, to both. Haven’t you ever made a snow angel?” You ask, curling the snow together, beginning to form a ball and idly wondering if you’re brave enough to do it.

Illumi straightens his back, and looks at the impressions of snow you’ve left behind your arms and legs. He doesn’t seem impressed.

“No. I haven’t.”

Something pangs inside you, and a question floats up: what kind of childhood did Illumi have, anyway? Maybe he never played in the snow. Never made a snow angel, never spent hours digging out a snow cave with friends. Never slid down a hill and bashed into a tree and it hurt but it was fun all the same.

It must have been hard. 

Your fingers curl around your newly made snowball and instead of chucking it as his face, you sit up, and start pulling in more snow to make it bigger.

“What are you doing?”

You don’t answer. Instead you keep going, scooping, gathering, and rolling until you’ve got the makings of a fantastic snowman butt.

“Are you going to answer me?” There’s enough of a sharp pin in his tone and you hoist yourself up, using the round snowman butt as leverage.

“I’m making a snowman,” you answer. “But all I’ve got is the butt.” You gesture to your creation, stalling for the time needed to create the words, to ask the question. Surprising, how hard it is to ask Illumi to do something like this.

“If you want, you could… get some gloves and join me?” 

Illumi looks around you, at the disheveled mess you’ve made of the pristine fallen snow, at the clumps of snow clinging to your snow pants, your gloves, your hat. At the large round ball you’re proclaiming is a snowman butt.

At your face, beaming, carefree, in a way he’s never seen you look since before he took you.

“I don’t mind the cold,” is all he says, before he leans down and begins to mimic the way you scooped snow together. 

It doesn’t hold. He’s awful at it. And you do something you’ve never done before, at least, not on your own initiative–you place your gloved hands over his and curl your fingers in the right way, so that the snow gets packed together properly.

Illumi goes still, and you pretend not to notice, because you think he’d rather you didn’t. 

Instead, you keep on making your snowman, as Illumi slowly but surely gets the hang of it.

“I’m glad it snowed so much,” you say, quietly, cheerily, wondering if a butler could run inside to get carrots and something for the snowman to wear.

Illumi, in response, hums.

It’s as close as you’ll get to agreement. 

[velvetwyrme]

hey remember this au? here's the context for the image with Megatron's spark shfjfbdjd,, i cannot for the life of me figure out how i want to draw the comic pages preceding this, so instead... i wrote it :^)

posts from @callsign-relic's blog that inspired this are here and here

also take some writing snippets that i wrote months ago under the cut because im never going to finish it, but i liked what i had lol.

this is meant to be what would've been the beginning of the fic!

AAAAND also these bits, which I imagine happen much much later.

:]c

[lakesparkles]

I finally finished the first chapter - I'm calling it prologue - of my college AU Thanos Team fanfiction.

For now, I'll post it here under the cut:

Prologue

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.

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Gyeong-su is sure he can change Nam-gyu's life

—

(NOTE: the first thing I want to do is apologize about Nam-gyu because he’s an asshole in this chapter)

 The room was still dark and Nam-gyu wasn't sure why he’d woken up. He mumbled softly, trying to go back to sleep and failing... For some reason. His mind was too groggy to think of anything in that situation.

 Only after a few seconds did he realize his cell phone was ringing, the music irritating his hearing and immediately stressing him out.

 "What is it!?" He complained in a slurred voice, as if the device could answer him. At the same time, he slammed his hand against the cabinet next to his bed, where he remembered leaving his cell phone charging. He needed to wait for his eyes to get used to the light so he could read the name on the screen:

 "Mom," was all it said.

 So he ignored it, suddenly more alert. Why would she even...?

 No. He wouldn't even think about it. It was way too early for that.

 When the phone went silent again, Nam-gyu closed his eyes and rolled over in bed, covering his head so he could fall asleep faster. Fuck it, he still had a few hours of sleep left, he wasn't going to lose them because of something like that.

 Or, apparently, he was wrong.

 Not even three minutes had passed when his ears picked up another noise. This time, coming from the bedroom door. Three quick knocks and then:

 "Nam-gyu. Nam-gyu? Can I come in? I'm going in, okay?"

 No sooner said than done, his door was opened completely. Nam-gyu growled, removing the blanket and sitting on the bed:

"What the hell... What time is it?" He asked, still reluctant and barely able to open his eyes due to the sudden light.

 "Uh... 5:15 am?" Gyeong-su asked more than answered, walking towards his bed.

Without saying a word, Nam-gyu laid down for the second time. But of course his friend didn't accept that, pulling his arm and continuing: 

 "No, no way! You agreed to this yesterday!"

 "I didn't-"

 "Of course you did! It was last night, man! There's no way you don't remember, get up!"

 "Today's Sunday!"

 "That's exactly why!"

 "Fuck you!"

That didn't work and, when he realized, Gyeong-su had already pulled him out of bed and placed him standing next to himself. The little shit was now smiling proudly, his hands resting on his waist:

 "I programmed an entire map for our route today. You'll like it, believe me! Did you know there's a forest behind that pharmacy? The one right behind the-"

 Nam-gyu got tired of hearing it, going straight out of the room. At least this time, Gyeong-su got the message and shut up, just following him down the narrow hallway. It was the least he could do, considering he was dragging Nam-gyu for a "morning walk" (he had called it that, not Nam-gyu).

 He walked straight to the bathroom, pausing at the door for just a second. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed a movement in front of him: it was almost imperceptible, but he was sure it was Se-mi entering her own room, slamming the door shut. This irritated him, to say the least. Nam-gyu took a step back, getting closer to his friend:

 "Why did this bitch come to live here if she doesn't even have an ounce of manners?"

 "Hey, it's not nice to call-"

 "Shut up. Have you even talked to her? Does she ever leave her room?"

 "I thought you'd think that was a good thing," Gyeong-su shrugged, "so you don't have to look at her face."

 "Clever," Nam-gyu gave a rare compliment, closing the door behind him. As he went to the bathroom and returned to his room to change, he kept thinking about Se-mi.

 He and Gyeong-su had rented the apartment two months ago, which meant that neither of them really got used to it yet. Nam-gyu had known the other for years, but he wouldn't describe him as a close friend. It just so happened that they both needed to share a rent, and even then, they realized that their money wouldn't be enough anyway.

 In order to avoid having to move into a tiny, one-room place, they sacrificed one of the bedrooms in their current apartment and tried their luck. He would never imagine that a woman would offer to split the cost of the bills, but Se-mi was apparently desperate.

 Maybe. Nam-gyu knew very little about her.

 They went to the same university, were close in age, and that was where his knowledge about the woman ended. Se-mi didn't talk much, staying locked in her room during the rare moments she was home. It didn't take a genius to guess that this would never work out. He was surprised she hadn't given up since the beginning of the two weeks she'd been there.

 Yeah.

 Nam-gyu shook his head to clear his thoughts. He didn't even care that much about the bitch in the first place. She was a total jerk, that's what.

 So he focused on the closet in front of him, choosing a random black T-shirt and pulling it over his head. Once he was dressed, he fixed his hair with his hands and tucked a few strands behind his ears.

 Then he crossed the hallway for good, heading for the kitchen. As if on autopilot, he opened the door of the fridge and picked up a bottle of whiskey. His throat was dry, but before he could unscrew the cap, the bottle was taken from his hands.

 "Hey!" He exclaimed.

 "No, no, no!' Gyeong-su held it up high so he couldn't reach it, even though the other was struggling beside him. He hadn't even noticed him approaching. "You made me promise not to let you drink it for breakfast!"

 "I never said that!"

 "Yes, you did. Nam-gyu, it was last night!"

 "If I don't remember, it's clearly not what I really wanted."

 "You were in a really bad state, man. Cold sweat and everything. You looked me in the eyes and said, 'I can't live like this anymore, Gyeong-su, you need to change my life,' and that's what we're going to start doing from today!" He told everything with dramatic gestures, which indicated that that wasn't really what had truly happened.

 For some reason unknown even to him, Nam-gyu gave up.

"I promise" Gyeong-su ran after him after putting away the whiskey and grabbing a bottle of water in its place. "I will change your life!"

For both their sakes, Nam-gyu kept his opinion to himself.

---

 "Oh wait, man, I forgot my watch!"

 "Can't you just go without it?" As soon as Nam-gyu finished his sentence, Gyeong-su had already run into the apartment once again.

 They hadn't even been out for 30 seconds.

 With a sigh, he leaned against the wall, taking advantage of the free time to light a cigarette and place it between his lips. His vision was a little blurry as he looked through the small window on the other side of the hallway. It was a simple view, just a tree branch moving with the wind. Maybe it was slightly colder outside.

 Whatever. His head hurt, it felt like it was about to explode.

 Had he really talked about all that with Gyeong-su last night?

 He tried his best to clear his memories, but all he remembered was the two of them sitting on the couch. It didn't seem like a serious conversation, his mouth even hurt from laughing so much at that time. Was Se-mi there? Somehow, she was there. Maybe to tell them to shut up. Or... Did she stay longer? Did she talk to both of them? No, it couldn't be. Se-mi had never acted like that before.

 He was probably making a funny face as he tried to remember. When he came back to reality, he realized that someone was staring at him.

 "What is it?" Nam-gyu asked, raising his chin, trying to look intimidating even though he wasn't very successful.

 The boy in front of him straightened his posture as if he’d been startled.

He never saw him there before. He was short and wore a navy blue sweater. If that wasn't enough, he had a kind of pathetic look, as if he was about to faint.

 Nam-gyu just took a drag on his cigarette, pretending to ignore him.

 "Eh..." The other man spoke in a low voice, however, after a few seconds. "Do you know where apartment 75 is?"

 "No," Nam-gyu replied with a small smile.

 "Do you live here? In the building, I mean. It's just that I'm new and I forgot..."

 "Did you forget where your own apartment is? Seriously?"

 "I've never been here in person, this is the first day I've..."

 With each passing second, Nam-gyu found it more amusing, without even trying to hide it. As soon as he pushed himself off the wall, he pointed to the number on the door right next to him: 75.

 "Have you thought about taking a vision test? " He asked the boy, still in a good mood.

 The other didn't share the same feeling, mumbling an apology under his breath and unlocking the apartment to go in. Why had he even apologized to him?

 Weird guy.

 He'd been distracted by that for so long that only then did he notice how Gyeong-su hadn't come back yet. Nam-gyu peeked inside his own dark apartment, part of him barely able to resist the urge to just run away and come back there only at night, when his friend already forgot all that nonsense.

 He regretted not having followed through with the plan as soon as Gyeong-su appeared in his sight, straightening the watch on his wrist and letting out an exclamation:

 "Hey, no, no!" He wasted no time in trying to take the cigarette from Nam-gyu's hand. "That counts too, you made me promise not to let you smoke in the morning as well!"

 Nam-gyu elbowed him lightly, making it clear how he didn't care. So much so that he soon changed the subject:

 "What took you so long? Were you chatting with the bitch?"

 Gyeong-su gave him a reprimanding look as soon as the two began walking down the hallway. With that alone, Nam-gyu knew he’d hit the nail on the head.

 "She’d just woken up," Gyeong-su admitted. "She wanted to know how the TV remote worked, can you believe it?"

 "So she talks to you," Nam-gyu raised his eyebrows, genuinely surprised and a little betrayed. Gyeong-su didn't say a word, just sighed. The two reached the top of the stairs at the end of the hallway, Nam-gyu taking the lead to go down two steps at a time. Now that he wasn't facing the other, it was easier to ignore the discomfort and finally ask:

 "I talked to her yesterday too, didn't I?"

 "You really don't remember anything?" Gyeong-su followed closely behind him, dragging his entire arm along the railing.

 "I remember some things," Nam-guy raised his chin, half telling the truth, half lying. "We laughed for a long time."

 "Yeah! Because of you, man!"

 "Oh yeah..?"

 The two finished the two flights of stairs, arriving at the first floor. Gyeong-su was distracted for a few seconds, checking if there was any new mail for their apartment and realizing that the mailbox was empty. Shrugging, he walked back to Nam-gyu's side so they could leave the building. "You told me a lot of things! Like that time a guy at the club almost got you fired because he mistook you for someone else."

 "I told Se-mi that!?" This time, he didn't even think to hide his shock. Gyeong-su found it all very funny. He put his hand in front of his mouth to laugh lightly.

 Wait.

 "You're making it all up! That's it, isn't it?" Nam-gyu started to get suspicious, hating how he felt slightly embarrassed now.

 "Of course not! All of this happened for real, you can ask Se-mi."

 Then Nam-gyu realized it was better to concentrate on his cigarette, walking quickly and straightening his hair once more. The actual best thing would be to stop thinking about it. Either way, he knew he wouldn't be able to remember everything. So who cared?

 He looked around, trying to distract himself. There were only trees, buildings and houses, nothing too impressive. The wind blew hard against the branches. It wasn't necessarily cold, but he was starting to regret not having put on a coat. Maybe he should go back and get one, it wasn't like he was that far from the apartment. And he always felt more comfortable when he wore long coats, in the first place. Not that he has any insecurities about his arms, of course. And he would never feel comfortable having a conversation like that with someone he barely knew, especially with... Her.

 God, he was really bad at that.

 Why couldn't he stop thinking about that bitch?

 He let out a loud groan, making Gyeong-su jump in fright:

 "What the fuck are we doing out here!?" He spoke louder than he should've, letting out all the frustrations he was feeling since he woke up.

 Gyeong-su stared at him at first, with his eyebrows raised and his eyes slightly wide. He received that same look countless times before, and Nam-gyu didn't appreciate it. He knew it was his friend's silent way of saying he was worried about him. As if Nam-gyu were just a lost puppy.

 "I already told you," Gyeong-su began, in that slow and serious tone, speaking as if Nam-gyu was too dumb to understand simple sentences. "You told us some stories and then out of nowhere you complained about how shitty your life is."

 "I didn't do that."

 "Nam-gyu! Same thing again? You did! You spent like two minutes straight just talking about how the lowest point was having to share an apartment with people like us. We were pissed! You belittled my work-"

 "Rightly so. What work?" Nam-gyu rolled his eyes.

 "Hey! And Se-mi too, especially her. You said that she only didn't have a decent life because she was a disgusting prostitute who wasn't even good enough to get clients to rent a small studio apartment."

 "Okay, I believe that part."

 Gyeong-su rolled his eyes, but smiled slightly:

 "Why are you like that with her? Only with her? Did she do something to you?"

 "Yes," no.

 "What?"

Nam-gyu didn't feel like answering, so he didn't.

---

Nam-gyu had no idea what he was expecting. He felt like an idiot once he realized that part of him almost wished Gyeong-su was right. That they would leave the apartment, walk around and something would suddenly change. He woke up with that weird weight on his chest, and that made it hard to concentrate on anything else. His head was also throbbing and he would occasionally sip from the bottle of water that Gyeong-su carried in the side pocket of his backpack. Both of those things, however, could easily be explained by the hangover. He was more used to waking up like that than not, that almost becoming his usual.

 But the weird feeling on his chest? That was rarer. Or at least it used to be. Until he moved to this apartment. However, once again, he was starting to get used to it.

 Shit. He shook his head and looked up. Then at Gyeong-su.

 "Look, look!" His friend skipped ahead of him and pointed down the ravine they were walking on at that moment. "You can see our building from here!'

  "Wow." Nam-gyu said sarcastically.

 Gyeong-su lowered his head, still smiling a little:

 "Can you at least pretend to be having a little fun? I'm feeling a little bad now."

 Nam-gyu opened his mouth, ready to give any answer that would make him shut up again. Why he didn't, was a mystery even to him. For a second, he sighed softly. Maybe it was because of the isolated environment, far from anyone else who could hear him. Maybe it was because, besides Gyeong-su, he had no one else to comment on that matter.

All he knew was that the words that came out of his mouth were:

 "My mother called me this morning."

 Gyeong-su's entire posture changed. He lowered his shoulders, becoming more serious despite grunting an "uhhhh", waving one of his hands in the air.

 As Nam-gyu already said, he and Gyeong-su had never been very close. They barely knew about each other's personal tastes or how they lived before that shared house. All Nam-gyu knew about his new friend was about the stupid games he played live for a bunch of idiots who donated money to him. And all Gyeong-su knew about him, apparently, was about his mother.

 "What the hell, man," He tried to comfort Nam-gyu, placing his free hand on his shoulder. "Do you want to talk about it...?"

 "With you? Obviously not!" Then Nam-gyu returned to his normal behavior, rolling his eyes. He was almost offended that the other even considered that possibility.

 To keep the uncomfortable conversation from going on, he started walking again. The entire path in front of him consisted of the same thing: trees. He only knew where to go because of the thin, straight path beneath his feet, probably formed by the amount of people who preferred to take shortcuts there rather than walk through the buildings and convenience stores.

 The sun escaped through the yellow leaves, and now it was less cold, fortunately. He felt slightly more at ease, until Gyeong-su took the lead with quick steps and went back to narrating everything he saw, pointing out every useless detail like a tour guide.

 Nam-gyu raised his eyebrows, pleased that the other ignored the previous subject so easily.

 "I'm just waiting for the moment when you 'change my life'" Nam-gyu let himself laugh a little at the situation.

 "Calm down," The other said with a confidence disproportionate to reality. "You need to be a little more patient."

(NOTE: This chapter was basically nothing, this is why I'm calling it "prologue". It'll only make more sense once there are more chapters, the sole reason for all these scenes was to introduce Nam-gyu's life. And because I think it's funny to note how grumpy and different he is when he's with anybody else other than Thanos)

[ddagent]

"Meeting Again After Years"

Matching March Day 10

Margo Madison arrived at Lyndon B Johnson High School at an hour that her former classmates would probably call fashionably late. In actuality, Margo had spent the last hour on the phone to Houston, checking in on every conceivable project NASA was running and that Margo had even the slightest oversight over, in order to avoid attending. But Emma had, eventually, put her foot down. You're going. It will be good for you. There's more to life than what's going on in space. Margo thoroughly disagreed. But, to avoid her assistant setting her up on a blind date, Margo had agreed to attend her high school's thirty year reunion.

God help her.

The Alabama high school had not changed much in the intervening years. The football field was well-kept; the grounds neatly mowed every Wednesday. There was a little more budget to be found in the Science labs compared to other high schools this size – but only because of the university, and Margo's own, annual donation. There was no sense of nostalgia. No walk down memory lane as Margo retraced the old halls towards the gymnasium. This was a building. She had attended it for four years. Some of the people had been nice. Some of them had not.

Honestly, Margo did not understand the desire to look back when the path forward offered all kinds of exciting possibilities.

That was, unfortunately, not a sentiment her classmates shared. As she stepped foot inside the gymnasium, decked out in the school colours, it was clear so many of her peers from the class of '60 were reliving their glory days. The football players were in faded letterman jackets, guts creeping over their waistbands as they fumbled with the half-deflated pig skin. The cheerleaders were discussing their families and whatever pyramid scheme they were selling door-to-door. The outcasts were playing up their achievements and how much they had outgrown high school in a desperate attempt to win the approval of their peers.

And Margo Madison, head of NASA, went to the free bar and got herself a drink.

She had taken two sips when one of her classmates ventured over. Fuck. She was hoping to remain undisturbed. "Margie Madison!"

"Margo."

"Yes! You!" It was Christie, head of the Yearbook committee. The '60 volume was safely ensconced in her hands. She then flipped it open to Margo's entry: a small photograph of a teenage girl, long red hair over one shoulder, wishing she was back in the classroom instead of in front of a photographer. "You had that strange message for your comment."

Margo took a sip of the whiskey the bartender had (no brandy, apparently). "It's geo-coordinates for Houston, Texas."

Christie nodded, blankly. "Okay. And here you are in the school orchestra, and President of the Engineering Club, and here you are with Sergei—"

Margo faltered for a moment, before eagerly ushering the yearbook into her own hands. Sergei Nikulov. God, she hadn't thought about him in years. His mother had worked at the university as a visiting lecturer, so Lyndon B Johnson had had a Russian student their senior year. Tall, blond, with an easy laugh and a calm disposition. Nothing rattled him. Not when the football players strung him up on the field and swaddled him in an American flag. Not when he joined the school musical and his co-star fell off the stage next to Margo's piano. Not even when Margo gave him the hardest equations she could devise, as the President and VP and only attendees of Engineering Club.

"—you two were pretty good friends!"

There had been the possibility of more than friends, Margo remembered. A spring of stolen kisses after a Valentine's Day prank. A polite yet eager invitation to Prom. A virginity taken under the stars. But then Margo had gone off to college and his family had moved back to Russia and she had never seen him again. Huh. I wonder what he's doing now.

But Christie would not have those answers. If she didn't know Margo was head of NASA, she wouldn't know anything about the internal workings of Roscosmos. So, she shrugged. "I guess."

With no gossip shared or secrets revealed, Christie ploughed on. "So, I don't see any ring. Are you married? Divorced? How many kids? I've got three." She then tugged out her purse and began pulling out professionally shot pictures of all her children. "This is Amy, and this is Bradley, and this is—"

At some point, Margo lost interest and began working on ideas for the Mars habitat in her head. Christie lost interest in Margo, too, and went off to find another target. She kept at the bar, and sipped her inferior whiskey, and spent time calculating how long she could feasibly stay here and not endure the wrath of Emma Jorgens. Occasionally, she would hear a Margo! and face the awkward small talk of someone she went to high school with impressed that she had met the President and was running NASA – but was so sorry to hear she wasn't married.

"One more, please." Three drinks. Sipped slowly with nibbles foraged from the dessert table. That's how long she had to stay for. "Thank you."

"Margo?"

Dear Lord. But when she turned around, it was actually someone she wanted to see. Actually wanted to catch up with. "Sergei?"

"I cannot believe you are here."

They embraced awkwardly, as two people who had confessed their teenage love to each other under the stars, only to be torn away by circumstance, could do. There was a little grey in his blond hair, now, and his beard. Lines around his eyes and mouth where he still smiled. And a bare line around his finger. "It's good to see you, Sergei."

"And you, as well. It has been...thirty years?" He laughed readily. "I cannot believe it. And you are running NASA, as you always intended you would. Your Mars program is rather exciting from what I have seen so far."

Her fingertips pressed nervously to a spot behind her ear. "You...you know I'm head of NASA."

Sergei grinned. "Of course! One cannot be anyone in the aerospace world without knowing who Margo Madison is. First woman in Mission Control, first woman in charge of JSC..." He tailed off. "I must admit to keeping up with your career. I had always hoped you would do wonderful things, Margo. And, like our capsule design, I was proven right."

Margo shot him a look. "Seriously? It's been thirty years; how have you not realised that my design was the better one." But he was laughing again and she couldn't help but laugh, too. "So, what about you, Sergei? You always wanted to work for Roscosmos."

"I did. For a number of years. But my time in the US did not allow me to advance." He shrugged. "It is no matter. My mother got a job in Cambridge and we moved to the UK. I now run a small aerospace firm in London. Cardinal Aerospace. Perhaps you have heard of us?"

She had heard of them. Small was not a word she would use. "I hear you're making a Mars bid."

"You hear correctly." He leant in closer to her, as if sharing a confidence. "Perhaps we can give NASA a run for Mars."

"We're not adverse to a little competition. If you can keep up."

And all of a sudden it was like they were eighteen again, in a sun filled classroom after school, debating schematics and calculations and failed prototypes and Sergei was staring at her as if she was the answer and she was staring at him as if he were a ticking clock, only allowed seconds before she had to return to the work, her great plan to run NASA. But now they were older, of course. Wiser. Everything that had prevented them from exploring this outside the halls of Lyndon B Johnson High School didn't exist any more.

So, Margo made a decision. "Can I get you a drink?"

"Yes, of course. Uh—"

"My hotel has an excellent selection of brandy."

Sergei beamed, delighted at her boldness. "Well, it would be a shame not to sample them. After you, Margo."

The class of '60 didn't notice them leave. They hadn't really noticed them while they attended Lyndon B Johnson High, after all. There was a little gossip from the staff at the hotel bar but no one recognised Margo Madison after all these years, and no one recognised Sergei Nikulov, either. But she did. He was exactly the same. Older. Wiser. Hers.

[writeouswriter]

You know what, this "actually writing" thing is really fun, someone should tell my adhd that 'cause it still doesn't believe me.

[damthosefandoms]

been thinking a lot about cherrycola who were friends in early elementary school because they didn’t know about the “great tulsa divide” yet and soda was just a silly chatterbox who couldn’t read or write very good and cherry was a real bright little girl who didn’t like getting in trouble but loved helping her classmates—her friends—and they used to end up always sitting next to each other in their classes every year and it was great for a while, until they grew up. and anyway here’s a little wip from something I’m writing about that:

———

“You write pretty good for a soc,” Soda comments later that day, as they work on their short stories. The assignment was to write five chapters, each at least two paragraphs long, about an animal of their choice. His is about a horse that runs a little slower than all of its friends, but makes up for it by being such a great friend. Cherry’s story is about a cat who wants to be friends with a dog. They have to read each other’s stories today, then edit and revise them with a partner.

(Well, now there’s one group of three, since Dally hasn’t returned from the office yet, but that isn’t Soda’s problem.)

Soda and Cherry work together as usual, being desk-partners and all, and he’s about a paragraph into her story when he decides to bring it up. He can see all the red pen she’s covered his own notebook in, and he wants to get ahead of it, change the focus to her before she can point out his mistakes. It’s only because it’s been on his mind all day it kind of just slips out.

“You write pretty good, for a soc.”

“For a what?”

Cherry’s green eyes blink at him and he wonders why it has to be green that people associate with the word go. Like, sometimes it feels as if he can just say anything to Cherry Valance, like he can just get away with it. He can’t. He should know better.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean—”

“No, I heard what you said. Sodapop, come on. That whole thing is so silly. I thought you knew that.”

He opens his mouth to respond, to say it’s not, that he’s seen firsthand as they’ve gotten older how different their lives really are. How she couldn’t laugh at Dally causing serious trouble. How he can’t laugh when he hears kids who he knows Cherry hangs out with telling Two-Bit to go back where he came from, as if he wasn’t born on the same cursed East Tulsa soil as Sodapop and his brothers were.

She’d never say anything like that; but then again, what does Soda know? He only sees her at school. Outside of that, they don’t exactly hang around the same playgrounds. He bets the swingsets in her neighborhood aren’t broken or have the chains wrapped around the top bar.

So he just shrugs. He glances at the chalkboard, where their teacher’s cursive twists and turns in front of his eyes, the same way the butterflies in his stomach are doing gymnastics right now. He tries to remember how they were supposed to phrase their peer-review comments and questions.

“I guess so. Sorry. Uh, I was curious about the part in your story where—”

“My story’s fine,” Cherry snaps, and she pulls it away from him. “You wouldn’t get it anyway.”

She’s blushing like she’s embarrassed, and Soda doesn’t understand why. He hasn’t even finished reading yet. He thought it was so interesting, how the other cats wanted the main character to stick with her own friends, but she wanted more. She wants to be friends with everyone, dogs, cats, rabbits, whatever. Soda might not be the best reader but he thinks Ponyboy would’ve loved it.

Heck, he loves it so far. It just doesn’t seem realistic, but that’s why they’re writing fiction stories, isn’t it?

[yellowcry]

Realizing that you have new fixation is so damn weird. Like whadyall mean my brain doesn't think about encanto like constantly wtf

[skeletal-butterflyy]

D&D subtext in Stranger Things

Highly, highly requested analysis (no it’s not) of some interesting things I noticed going on with D&D in stranger things. This includes my personal thoughts based on my credentials of; having watched the show more times than i can possibly count over the past 7 years and current knowledge of DnD classes, worldbuilding, monsters, character creation. I’ll have this on the pinned post on my blog and i’ll add a text break because it’s…a lot.

Misc. :

The show starts with and is based off of Dungeons and Dragons, a table top rpg that the characters like to play. In the first season we don’t get much insight into the boys characters or the game itself, it’s used as a device to further the idea that these kids are nerds, they play a nerdy game that involves fantasy and math. As the show progresses it continues to be used to push across certain ideas, like establishing each character in the party and in season three showing how the game might represent the boys as social outcasts and their childhood.

DnD, is used throughout the show but we get to see actual play of the game in season one and four. It’s also used as a way to name the monsters they face (the monsters do get the right ideas across but the game and show versions are actually quite different from each other, especially the demogorgon)

In season 4 the idea of satanism connected to DnD really interested me. Why was everyone connecting DnD to satanism? I mean we know that everyone thought that Eddie was killing all of these people but that doesn’t mean that his club had anything to do with it. The duffers interestingly incorporated the real stigma that was widely held in the 80s against the game. At the time people were going on witchunts against anything regarded as being possibly related to satan. The most interesting part about all of this though is that, Dungeons and Dragons was made by two very devout christian men, Ernest Gygax (one of the founders) was even a Jehovah’s Witness! The two being christian’s though, incorporated a lot of religious themes into the game including clerics and paladins (calm down you fiends i’ll be getting to that) who carry a lot of religious themes and monsters that may represent demons. Outsiders might have seen a game presenting such themes as a mockery of their faith or a way to promote satanism simply by having monsters.

Characters:

I want to preface this by saying the classes that I’ll be talking about aren’t actually time period accurate. The boys would have been playing D&D 1e which had the three classes of : Fighting-man, magic-user, and cleric. While the classes listed are from D&D 2e which didn’t come out until 1989. Anyways.

In season 1, in the first scenes of the show we get to see what is the middle of DnD session before it gets interrupted. We get the basic ideas of their game across, Mike acting as DM presenting the adventure he created to his players while the rest of the party waits in anticipation for what they have to fight next. We also get to see some of will’s drawings of the party and his character

Keep these pictures in mind.

In season 2 when mike and max are arguing in the gym we hear mike say, “I’m our paladin, will’s our cleric, dustin’s our bard, lucas is our ranger and el is our mage.” At first glance it seems like nothing, oh he’s just listing off the party members and their roles and how max doesn’t fit into the party. But when you look at it properly it’s so much more.

Lucas and Dustin could not be more perfect for their chosen classes. Lucas is a ranger which means the ideal stats to be highest would include dexterity, constitution, and wisdom. Dexterity refers to, in this case the hand eye coordination and general reflexes. Constitution refers to a characters stamina and toughness, and wisdom is well, wisdom. Sounds like a certain character that has quick reflexes, has a tendency to take punches pretty well, and has good problem solving skills huh? All of these apply to lucas quite well, AND his weapon of choice is a ranged weapon, the slingshot (wrist-rocket you know what I mean), it’s really quite perfect. As for Dustin, he’s said to be a bard and the highest ideal stat for that class is charisma. Dustin has been proven to be very charismatic, he gets along with people and he can very comedic. Another thing about bards is they will tend to be very eloquent, inspirational, and persuasive, it comes with the territory of having a high charisma score, and we know dustin has a way with words. Dustin’s known for being a an eloquent and persuasive character; he convinced Mike to make up with Lucas after their fight in season one, he convinced a hesitant Mr. Clarke to tell him how to make a censory deprivation tank, he convinced steve to join him in looking for dart, and convinced erica to go through the vents (sort of). So, it makes complete sense for dustin to be a bard.

Taking a look at Mike’s character, his class also makes a lot of sense. Mike plays a paladin when he’s not the DM. A paladin is a “devout warrior” they fight with a cause, to serve their patron deity. They’re often compared to knights because of their values and the armor they usually wear. A paladin is the perfect representation of mike, especially for how will described him during the painting scene, he’s a leader and will throw himself in dangerous situations for the sake of the party, like when he jumped off the cliff for dustin.

Now, remember how will’s drawings, specifically of his character? Remember how mike said that will was a cleric? Will’s character is complicated. Will’s character being a cleric doesn’t make sense but makes so much sense at the same time. His character doesn’t look like a cleric. Clerics might be spellcasters but they don’t traditionally carry a staff or wear robes like we see will’s character does. He wears wizard clothing and has wizard abilities, not to mention in the first scene we see him play DnD and attempt to cast fireball, a spell that is most commonly associated with wizards and sorcerers and he does not seem to get his magic from a deity like a cleric traditionally would. (Clerics can cast fireball but only if they are part of the light domain) So, his character seems to be more of a wizard than a cleric, which is odd.

My theory relating to Will’s character:

Looking back at what mike said, Will’s character class doesn’t make much sense. But, I personally feel like Mike wasn’t being totally honest. First, he listed el, who they might consider to be part of the party but she doesn’t have an actual role in the game, but of course she would be the magic-user/mage. I think that mike made the list based on his feelings about the party specifically regarding will and el. El has powers in real life so it makes sense he assigned her the role of mage, and replacing will for him to become a cleric. It’d be interesting if Will was simply a cleric in mike’s personal thoughts about the party because it would make it so mike views them as very close. Paladins and clerics are very similar in relation to the fundamentals, a paladin is a warrior that swears an oath and serves a deity while a cleric is the servant of a deity that heals and fights. Basically, a cleric does more spell casting and less fighting while a paladin does more fighting and less spell casting. Since the two are so similar it would give a lot of depth to the characters being best friends, who have a much deeper understanding of each other than the rest of the party would. And even if he wasn’t simply a cleric in mikes mind and will the wise is actually a cleric, this would still show that the two having a much deeper connection and understanding of each other was hinted at from the beginning.

[robbingprince]

For a little while

Laurent told his first lie at three years old, when Auguste asked where the bug had come from, and Laurent pointed at the window.

He was not supposed to leave the nursery, for some reason or other. But his minder had her attention caught elsewhere, and it was a brilliant day, and… well… Laurent was not, yet, the most obedient of children, for anyone but his mother. Or Auguste.

Auguste, who was staring at the window Laurent indicated. It was large and ornate, with a latch that would take two grown men to maneuver. It was also currently closed. Laurent’s boots had left a mud-trail of little prints from the garden door all the way to the sofa.

“I see,” Auguste said with a smile. If Laurent was three, he must have been fifteen; instead of berating him for the world’s-most-obvious-lie, he picked Laurent up in his arms and laughed.

“It’s a very interesting bug,” he said.

Laurent nodded. Wisely he added, “Blue.”

“Yes, quite blue, with funny little eyes. It doesn’t have wings, by the way.”

Not seeing how that was relevant for anything, Laurent said, “An antenna.”

“Hmm, you’re right. Do you suppose it used the antenna to fly in?”

Laurent squinted, bemused, having already forgotten what he said, but alert enough to know he had made a mistake. Perhaps… oh, right, the going-outside when he wasn’t-supposed-to.

He said, “Bugs have six legs.”

Auguste looked up in amusement. “Is that so?”

“Yes! Six.”

“Did you read that in your little book?”

His Little Book was the largest tome on the shelf and a running joke for Auguste, for it was, obviously, too big and too heavy for Laurent to even hold, let alone read. Not that he hasn’t tried. Several times.

“No. That one.” Jerking his chin in possibly the right direction of the bookcase. “Down, bug!”

“Yes, Your Highness,” Auguste laughed, and ruffled his hair as he put him back on the floor. “This humble brother-bug will forever obey the young prince.”

Laurent waved a dismissing hand, already attuned back to his miniature conquest. “Auguste is not a bug,” he said still, out of a sense he could not yet name.

“No? What am I, then?”

A pest, sitting there with his legs crossed, innocent and brilliant as though he didn’t have his tutor pulling hair out in clumps. Laurent huffed. “Horse,” he said with some confidence.

“Horse?” he was shouting, laughing so hard. “Your Royal Brother, a horse?”

“Mm,” Laurent said, satisfied. The bug was blue, and interesting, but he looked up to Auguste’s face with a grin. “Big horse.”

The grin was returned. “Which would make you the small horse?”

Laurent gave it some thought, then nodded heavily. “Pony,” he corrected.

“Of course. The horse and the pony.”

“Fast,” Laurent nodded, back to his bug. Perhaps Auguste will take him to the stables again, and he could meet his new foal, only recently born. Laurent was assured they will, in the future, become the best of friends.

Of course, he already had a best friend, and a bug, but a pony would be nice.

“The fastest,” said Auguste, about something. “Will we go a-galloping down the fields?”

“Yes.”

“And trot up the mountainsides?”

Laurent squinted, feeling somewhat toyed with, but he still said, “Yes.”

“And… canter… to the seaside?”

“Yes!” rising to his feet, excited, “Seaside!” he meant to convey something about whales, an animal new and mystical he met the previous night in his book, but fell short on the vocabulary.

Auguste didn’t seem to mind. “Very well,” he said, smiling, “to the seaside it is. We shall go soon. Perhaps once the Kemtpian ambassador finally leaves.”

“Yuck,” Laurent agreed, nose scrunched. The ambassador was a prince-cousin of theirs, much, much older than Auguste, meaning ancient, portly and overly-familiar, with the tendency of spitting as he spoke. He had constantly-sticky hands; Laurent looked back to the bug, forgetting already. His head was small at three years old.

“Is there anywhere else you would like to ride, brother?”

He considered the question, then said, quite reasonably, “Moon.”

The moon, he had been informed, was made entirely out of cheese, and Auguste loved cheese above all other foods. It would be a good trip there, faraway enough from sticky cousins. Perhaps they could take Mother too. She liked cheese, Laurent thought, frowning to himself. Didn’t she?

Auguste, on his side of the sofa, was expiring: red-faced and shaking, his lips tightly clenched, eyes shining. After a long moment of the seizure he said, “Moon?”

“Moon,” Laurent confirmed.

“We will—ride—to the moon?”

“With forks,” Laurent said, continuing the plan faintly-hatched in his mind without having to explain. Auguste will understand, of that he was certain. If he will survive whatever was currently killing him.

“Forks,” Auguste nodded, hand on his chest, for some reason panting for breath. “Yes, of course, all the forks in the kitchens.”

“And a basket,” Laurent added thoughtfully. If Mother was too unwell to come, they could bring back some cheese for her.

“Of course!”

He was—oh, laughing again. Auguste was too easy to laugh. Laurent would take offence if he wasn’t very used to this.

“Basket,” he said, conveying that this was a serious matter with his brows, “for Mother.”

The look on Auguste’s face now was not something Laurent could name. He said, “All right,” softly, still chuckling helplessly to himself, then slid down to sit next to Laurent, to run fingers through his hair. “A basket for Mother.”

Pleased to be understood, Laurent left preparations to him, and turned back to play with his new acquaintance. Only, when he looked down, the bug had already crawled halfway through the room, as if to run away.

“Oh,” Laurent said, immediately upset. “The—”

“It’s all right,” Auguste said. “Our friend the bug has someplace else to be.”

Reasonable. Hurtful still. Laurent asked, “It will come back?”

“Maybe.”

Something was thumping in his ear. Perhaps his heart, rattled and suddenly scared. Or perhaps Laurent was not three anymore, and he knew, all too well, that this memory had an end.

Child-him was in tears, unaware, probably, of why he was so agitated. Auguste said, somewhere distant and very nearby, “But wasn’t it good? To play with it for a little while.”

“Y-yes,” said Laurent, because he was an obedient-enough child when Auguste was involved, and because, at his core, he was not a liar. It was, good. To play for a little while. It did nothing to console him, though, and so he kept blinking away frustrated tears.

“Perhaps,” Auguste said, whispering conspiratorially in his ear, “another bug-friend will come through the window, if we opened it.”

Logical and very resourceful; even in his tantrum Laurent saw the merit in such a plan. That Auguste was referring to his first, pathetic lie, didn’t even occur to him, having all but forgotten it. He didn’t know, then, that this moment was crucial.

Auguste took his hand, and together they trotted to the window. The latch was too heavy for them alone, and so a servant had been summoned to assist, and with Auguste they managed to open it. The air outside was summer-bright, smelling faintly of lavender and orchids, of grass and of peaches, of Auguste’s leather jacket and the sweets in his pocket. They looked outside.

“How about that fly?” Auguste asked, trying for conciliatory, still probably giggling. Laurent wasn’t happy with the substitute, but the fresh air had its effect on him too, and the garden was endlessly interesting. He began pointing at things, asking Auguste every manner of question he could think; quickly enough they forgot to look for a bug.

It was an impossibly pleasant afternoon. Auguste should have been taking his lessons. Laurent was supposed to—do something, probably, but his minder had been dismissed by the Crown Prince and did not dare interrupt, and in his nursery wing they had their own, separate world.

They ended up back on the sofa, with Auguste reading out from the Little Book, something Laurent very seriously tried to follow. Failed spectacularly. It did not seem to matter. Neither brother noticed the little blue bug flying serenely out the window, but even if they did, it would not have changed a thing.

Crucial, but not for the lie. Even for a little while—it was so, so good.  

[foxqueen211]

My favourite part of Shadowpeach Fire Within one-shot im writing

[sorenssword]

i am punished by love (fanfic wip preview)

“𝘕𝘰!” Rayla screamed, guttural and unholy. She bolted upright in bed, gasping and panting as though she had just run miles and miles on end. Her hands clutched at the fabric of the shirt on her chest as she repeatedly breathed in and out in attempts to regain control of her breathing. She held her face in her hands, trying to focus entirely on the way air went through her lungs - and not on the awful nightmare she just had.  

Nightmares were nothing new to her. She could handle this. She would get over it. She 𝘩𝘢𝘥 to. 

“Rayla?” Callum said groggily. He was already sitting up in bed beside her, rubbing circles on her back in attempts to soothe her, despite him barely being awake. Rayla ran her hands down her face.

[flavourlessfiction]

Alright, it's JayTim Hunger Games AU yapping time 2.0, I wanna talk in more detail about the districts I would say characters are from and a little bit of the back story.

I answered an ask about Tim, Jason and Cass earlier, and I'm gonna talk more about them too, particularly Tim, because he's probably got the most fully fleshed out backstory by way of Janet having one than the others.

This is long as fuck too but includes Bruce and Dick as well so extra lore drops that isn't just Jaytim related

First and foremost, Bruce is from District 3, with Thomas having been an inventor of some medical technology that was widely used within the Capitol. This gives him some acclaim within the district, and he develops other tech before he and Martha are executed due to an accusation of rebellion. In truth, the capitol demanded the impossible of him and he didn't have the capabilities to invent what they wanted.

When Bruce is 16, he wins his games that are two years before the quell. His arena would be a mutt heavy arena and also involve cave systems, think Jabberjays replaying his mother's screams as she died in an echoey cave.

Bruce would absolutely be a favourite, however, he'd navigate the captiol in a politically savvy way that would enable him to not be victimised to the same extent as other victors, largely because he's a favourite of Ra's and in particular his daughter Thalia who despite being several years younger than Bruce was very determined to make other's know he effectively belonged to her. However, Damian isn't in the picture until about 13 years after his games.

The Drakes are from District 6, which I was looking up details about the districts, and I did not realise it was so massive population-wise. Anyway, Janet was born into a lower-middle-class merchant family, and at the time of the Quarter Quell, six does have two living victors; however, they're both old and do die within five years of her winning.

The circumstances of her Quarter Quell is that the reaping pool is from the children of the wealthy families of the districts, as a reminder of who funded the rebellion basically trying to sow further class divide. And it's kind of bullshit she's in the pool because the population hub they live in her family is barely above water but in a different hub they would have been considered a very wealthy family. Janet is 18 when she's reaped and she wins the games largely from hiding and managing to charm her way into getting many sponsors prior to the games which sets her up to take out the remaining tributes.

It's not until after the other victors die that she realises she needs to marry to protect herself and she marries Jack, who is the mayor of the population hub that Victor's Village is in. This does piss off the district a little bit only because it's perceived as Janet pulling the ladder up with her.

It takes a few years to conceive, but Tim is eventually born 8 years after her games and she's heavily pregnant at that year's games, to the point there is a betting market going if the baby will be born in the capitol, which he is. Tim's early childhood is pretty average, Janet's a loving mother despite her trauma, Jack gets a C- as far as parenting goes, he kinda just doesn't care. And the only outwardly weird thing the district sees about their family dynamic is that even when Tim is as young as 5, he and Janet are constantly seen running, and at really bizarre times.

Like it could be 3am in the dead of winter and there's Janet running with her kid again. And whether it's conscious or unconscious, Janet does teach Tim a bunch of survival skills she learnt in her games, which is hugely contrary to her stance once he's reaped.

But the reason she refuses to mentor him is because Janet knows she's not being punished, she's been an exemplary victor, which she does the math and knows means that Tim is supposed to win the games, which with a Quell upcoming and also a few comments Ra's has made in the past she's like fuck no my kid is better off dead than being in a mother-son victor combo. Her delivery of that decision to Tim was not quite so nice.

However, Ra's sees through what she's doing and has her poisoned three days into training, right in front of Tim, which results in Bruce and Jason becoming his and the female tribute's mentors. I'm not gonna talk about Tim's arena right now, though, because it could be its own post.

Jason comes from 8, Catherine works in a fabric dying factory, which is considered one of the worst jobs in the district due to health complications and also the pay is awful because it's just treated as entirely unskilled. As a result of the constant handling of toxic chemicals, she contracts a respiratory condition and becomes addicted to pain medication, both morphling and attempts and natural relief.

At the time of her death Jason is 10, Willis is still being a menace and just a super shitty criminal but it means Jason is able to continue living in the home and is assisted by a few neighbours but when he's 12 Willis is executed and he's evicted from his home and dumped in a lost boys home, forced to take out tessarae, but he learns how to fight in the home.

He's not reaped until he's 17 and his games is brutal, the cornucopia doesn't have any weapons, and really only contains basic survival supplies such as ropes, shelter supplies and minimal food. So the tributes are expected to make their own weapons or beat each other to death.

Which unexpectedly plays into Jason's hands. However, in the finale he dies shortly after he kills the other tribute, a favourite and possibly the first female victor in years. However, Jason just barely survives her so the capitol revives him, and not only is the capitol pissed to be denied their female victor but also Jason initially can barely function after they revive him. Which delays the ceremonial aspects for a few weeks, and when Jason returns to 8, he isolates himself, constantly questioning whether he's now a capitol mutt and if his thoughts are his own.

By the time his victory tour rolls around he's doing a little better but constantly feels like he's having out-of-body experiences because everyone seems to be talking at him rather than to him even in the districts. That is until he runs into Tim at the dinner in district six. Which is kind of by chance because he's definitely not supposed to be there but Janet's kinda gotten him in every year.

But they first meet in a side room Jason escapes into and at first its kind of awkward and Tim attempts to leave until he lets the intrusive thoughts win, point blank asks Jason if he died after winning and if he did what that was like. Which Jason's like what the fuck the nerve of this kid but does entertain it at the same time.

At the dinner they do get to talking and flirting even more and Jason is left thinking that it's pretty cruel that he got to meet someone who ultimately treated him like a person, maybe even sneaks a kiss, despite his completely bizarre/rude first question, but he'll probably never see him again. Couldn't be more wrong now could he?

Now I am fully on board with @caitwritesao3 saying Dick would be an equivalent to Covey, for this because his family is in District 7 at the time of the hard separation of the districts and that's about as far as you can get from 12 distance wise I don't know if I'd define them as Covey specifically.

Dick's very much a Finnick Odair type, wins at 14, is considered incredibly charming and immediately becomes a capitol darling. Dick uses his acrobatic skills combined with his trade skills learnt in 7 to win and is gifted an arena with forrests that allows him to surprise attack tributes which enables him to take out the career pack solo.

After his win, he tries to refuse the capitol favouritism, which results in his parents being killed, however, the lesson he learns from that is to fall into line and do what they want, still when he gets a girlfriend from his district, which is the head peacekeepers daughter, she gets reaped that year when they're both 18.

This girlfriend is Barbara who he mentors to a win, except she suffers some severe injuries which leads her to being wheelchair bound part-time almost to further the punishment for daring to date Dick, however they do enough that she is still capable of walking so long as it is for short periods and for ceremonial events, and is the last female victor before Cass.

I'm totally down to share more, possibly force myself to be a little more containe,d because this is over 1400 words, hence why I said feed the demon, because I'll share so much about this well-thought-out AU to bully you guys into bullying me into writing an actual fic

[cruel-hiraeth]

by the grace of a higher power i will finish yuuta pet fic this week 🙏

[rabbitindisguise]

oh man it's rough when people are doing PSAs on the issues of eating disorders and I'm like. damn and I'm eating such few calories because I'm poor and live in california

EDIT: it gets worse! $142 aka one half of max benefits decrease in my snap benefits next month! Jesus Christ

[stray-somnium]

so i am on a mission to get my animation degree with 1sts while writing every essay i possibly can on homestuck

we are on our way boiiiiii