#Act 3 will be shorter and pretty intense so be prepared

[thatonebirdwrites]

I distracted myself by editing this chapter and getting it up. My cat is dying. It's killing me. My precious boy, my fluffmaster, quarkosaurus... I just. I'm just devastated.

Anyway, this is updated. I still hope to do monthly or bi-monthly updates until finished.

Stay safe folks.

Excerpt:

On day three of dispersing the magical cure, Kara anxiously listened for Lena’s heartbeat. She slept for an entire day, rested the next day, and only today chose to head to L-Corp to work in the labs. Kara was worried that Lena pushed herself too soon after such an exhausting ritual.

“And… you’re not listening again,” Nia said, exasperated. “Come on, Kara, Lena will be fine.” 

“I know, I know.” Kara clung to the pole on the bus. The engine vibrations shook the floor and rang with an irritating dissonance that only she could hear. Chatter from other passengers slid over her senses, and she did her best to ignore them. But that proved difficult if she wanted to continue to listen for Lena’s heartbeat. “She was just so pale, Nia.” The metal creaked under her grip. “I know she rested for two days, but she pushes herself so much.”

“Kara…” Nia nodded at the pole, and Kara loosened her grip, embarrassed. “Look, I’m worried too, but I also trust Lena’s judgment.” 

“I do too!” Kara huffed.

Nia rose her eyebrows. “Right…”

Kara stuffed her phone back in her pocket before Nia could see the half-written text she’d composed for Lena. Trust, she trusted Lena. She really did, but at the same time, she couldn’t shake the feeling of dread.

“Look,” Nia said with a sigh. “I get it. I really do, but Kara, she’s pretty well protected with that sword. And yeah, magic takes a lot out of her, but she jumps back pretty fast with rest. So maybe this is more than just you worried about her health, hmm?”

Sometimes Nia was scary accurate. “Do you have to read me so well?” Kara mumbled.

“You wear your emotions on your face, so it’s not that hard.” Nia nudged her side again. “So how about it? What’s really bugging you?”

“I — you know how we started therapy together?” Kara rubbed the back of her neck. 

“You only mentioned it once. What about it? Did it not go well?”

“No, no, it went well I think?” Kara ran her finger up and down the metal pole. “It’s just… bringing up fear. I’ve lost a lot of people, and sometimes I fear it’ll only show her how broken I am inside. That she won’t want to waste her time with me.” 

Loss had crushed her spirit, left her in a state of desperate need to be in control, which had nearly burned down all her relationships. Before she learned of Argo City’s survival, her heart had been ash. She’d tried to inject life into it, tried to bury herself in her work as Supergirl and a journalist. She’d tried to care for others, but her duty came before everything.

Until Lena. 

For Lena, she’d been willing to risk the city, the world. She needed Lena alive, and with how many times people kept trying to kill Lena, was it any wonder her ears tuned to Lena’s heartbeat? Yes, Lena had that fancy magic sword now, but earthquake man still lurked out there, biding his time to strike and take it. Kara couldn’t let that happen. 

“Kara,” Nia said, gently, “That’s part of what trust is. Trusting that Lena will be there with you. She suggested it right?” When Kara nodded, Nia lightly patted Kara’s shoulder. “She wouldn’t do that unless she cared and wanted to work through this with you. Don’t let your fears dominate you. Fight to keep hope alive. You taught me that by the way.” Nia prodded her shoulder. “So I’m reminding you.”

Yeah, she had taught Nia that, hadn’t she? Kara smiled, sadly. “Thanks. I needed to hear that.” It didn’t fully erase her worry or fears, but it reminded her that hope required work to cultivate. So did trust.

Nia gave her a thumbs up. “No problem. So, good timing for us. Here’s our stop.”

Kara breathed out her worry. Time for more mentoring and finding more trustworthy magic-users. J’onn had worked with her the last two days to hunt down a few, but today, Kara hoped to meet up with their San Jose contacts. In case they knew a few. 

Their footsteps sounded muffled by the press of people, and the clink of the bus’s doors rang far too loudly in the sudden silence. Few people watched them exit, most glued to their phones or reading a book. Others stared out the windows, but an eerie quiet had settled among those still seated. 

Kara’s thoughts sizzled with energy and worries — the current task, Lena’s health, magic in general, and tomorrow.

[intheupside]

What's the secret to Sidney Crosby's success?

Always eat a strawberry PB&J on game day… and have unwavering dedication, unparalleled work ethic, and exceptional talent.

With Sidney Crosby appearing in his 1,200th NHL contest on Saturday in San Jose, I wanted to ask how his game-day routine has evolved in the years since that first one to help keep him playing at such an elite level.

Because as Mike Sullivan said, that’s not an easy thing to do – and it's a testament to Crosby’s drive, his will to win, his desire to be the best, and his willingness to put the time in and make the sacrifices so that he can continue to sustain that type of play.

At first, Crosby laughed good-naturedly – because we all know how superstitious and routine-based the captain is – and half-joked that there might not be much there. Most of it has stayed the same, particularly his on-ice warmup routine heading into puck drop. "Whether it’s preparing for a game or just a typical game day, (my routines) just allow me to feel good about going out there and doing what I need to do," he said.

But there has been a tweak here and there to the captain’s preparations now that he’s 36, particularly when it comes to what he does in the mornings. Unless the Penguins have the day off before a game, the morning skate is always optional – and in recent years, Crosby has chosen to stay off the ice.

“You look to conserve that energy a little bit more,” he said. “As much as I like getting on the ice in the morning, it’s good if you can just take that opportunity to do other things and still get a little bit of sweat – get ready for the night, but still conserve some energy at the same time. It's always a balancing act.”

Instead of skating, Crosby will take his stick and gloves and find a quiet area of the rink to do some solo stickhandling, which helps him loosen up a bit. He’ll also take part in the first soccer game of the day with Bryan Rust, Jake Guentzel, Erik Karlsson, Marcus Pettersson, and Rickard Rakell. Sometimes, Noel Acciari will join them, depending on if they do 3-on-3 or 2-on-2.

“We’re just kicking it around, but it can get pretty intense,” Crosby said before adding with a grin, “Sometimes, I wonder if I expend more energy in soccer than I would in morning skate. It just depends on the day, maybe.”

After grabbing lunch to go, when he gets home in the afternoons, Crosby’s nap has gotten shorter as he’s gotten older. “I used to sleep like, two and a half hours when I was younger. But a little harder to do that now,” he smiled. But Crosby still isn’t a big coffee drinker, since natural adrenaline gets the job done when it comes to waking up. “I feel like I get pretty amped up, so I don't need that. I’ve had some caffeine before, and I don’t think it’s good for me,” Crosby laughed.

When it comes to the food Crosby fuels himself with, on a game day the players have the same menu available to them both at home and on the road for their breakfast, lunch, and pregame meal/snack, so he sticks to his routine for those … down to the strawberry PB&J that HBO filmed him making during their 24/7 Penguins/Capitals Road to the Winter Classic series.

But Crosby doesn’t eat as much steak the night before games compared to his early years in the league, especially on the road. “That changed a little bit. Other than that, as long as it's somewhat healthy, I just try to make sure I get a good meal,” Crosby said.

There’s obviously a lot more that goes on behind the scenes, both inside and outside of a game day, that Crosby does to set himself up for success.

“All the subtle things he does – for me, that's the most impressive aspect of his overall body of work. A lot of it goes unseen,” Sulivan said. “That's why I've always said on so many occasions that it's not by accident this guy's as good as he is. Yeah, he's talented, he's gifted, and all of those things, but he maximizes every opportunity that he has to be at his best. I think that commitment, in my experience of being around the game, has been unmatched by any other player I've seen.”

And that’s because Crosby’s passion for the sport is something else that’s remained the same.

“I love it just as much as I did Game 1,” he said. “It’s a lot of hockey, and just grateful I’ve been able to play this long.”

[whatifyoulivelikethat]

you+me+the Devil, m | myg, jjk | collect

pairing(s): yoongi x reader x jungkook

summary: The mind seeks to understand, to categorize, to make something out of nothing. You are a vessel of this Disorder, driven to collect the final two souls your body is tasked to hold. One, the right-hand of the Devil, Jeon Jungkook. And two, the Devil himself, Min Yoongi. How to obtain them? By fucking, but on the Devil's terms, because when the Devil is involved, his domain regains supreme.

warnings: rated M (18+) for language - if you're religious, maybe skip this one; world building; supernatural and horror (extra arms / hands, eyeballs, mouths); smut (fem reader, unprotected sex (you're getting fucked by the Devil, STIs and pregnancy are the last of your problems), a collar and leash is involved, voyeurism, scratching / marking, choking, nipple play, cowgirl, creampie, m and f-receiving oral, double penetration, (double?) handjob, penetrative sex on top of a puddle of cum on JK's abs, spanking); non-idol!AU - Hell!AU; Devil!Yoongi x chaos!reader x Devil's right-hand demon!Jungkook and switches between their POVs

yes, you read the horror warning correctly

–

you and me and the Devil makes 3 prologue | the summoning | the collection | 666

-

if you get in bed, someone will fall in love

The Disorder is a strange thing.

The world attempts to make sense of and organize things as if it knows. Everything must have a reason, an explanation, a why, until you get deeper and deeper, realizing biology is only chemistry, and chemistry is only physics, and physics is only math, and math is… simply theory. A hope of truth, clawing together the chaos. But the real truth is, all order comes from disorder. To organize means to be disorganized from the start.

Beings of Order are not supposed to touch Disorder, not directly. It trickles down, slowly flowing though, a part of life everyone has, but no one can harness. Senseless moments brushed off as nothing. To encounter such a concentrated form, well, surely, nothing good can come of it.

Then again.

The Devil wasn’t good. Far from it.

Would he learn anything at all? Doubtful. Did he care? No. But he had time. He had forever. And he had souls, for he could consume them, an amalgamation of all the previous consumptions combined. The original Devil. The many faces thereafter. The current, Min Yoongi. If all you wanted was a little piece of one, well, he wouldn’t even miss it.

Jeon Jungkook?

His right-hand demon would lose a soul shard and become yours, just like the rest of them. Infatuated, consumed, blinded. He was a fool for agreeing so easily, clouded by anger and lust. But that was no matter. If eventually the Devil decided he wanted to change faces, it would no longer be a problem.

Yoongi had plans.

He would see them through.

-

You sat in the center of the bed, holding the black goat-man plush to your chest, squeezing his leather hooves, legs tucked under you.

They were at the end of the bed.

Jeon Jungkook, long black hair in messy and tangled curls, clinging to his cheeks and forehead. A cut on his high, tanned cheekbone from fighting the chains, dark red blood coagulated. Sharp jaw tensed, borderline fury and uninhibited deviance. Dark brown eyes with an exquisite shape, forever memorable. His black suit was torn up, blazer and dress shirt hanging by threads and exposing his toned chest. He made no move to correct it.

The Devil's right hand.

Your gaze shifted to the Devil.

Shorter black hair, pointed, more intrusive dark eyes. Paler, standing out against the black. The faintest trace of a smile on pink lips, a face with predatory feline grace. He was shorter than Jungkook, not as heavily built. Slim and sharpened, deadly like a sword. Hands in his pockets, suit pristine. There was no mistaking who was in charge here.

You squished the goat-man to your breasts.

The human heart was beating.

Singing.

Fuck me.

-

"Hyung."

Yoongi was observing you carefully.

"What is she?"

The Devil chuckled. "Does it matter? You love to fuck."

"But she has the soul shards of the five highest ranking demons in Hell," Jungkook hissed in his ear. Goosebumps on his skin at the younger demon's hot breath. Yoongi felt the sides of his lips curve upwards, tilting his head slightly so Jungkook's voice drifted on more of his neck. Still not looking at him, eyes on yours.

You kept pushing the plush into your chest, dark lips parting.

Jungkook stepped closer, body barely brushing against his, body heat radiating. "Why does she have them? Where are they?" he breathed, head lowering, so close his black hair feathered onto the Devil's neck, his lips almost touching Yoongi's skin.

Yoongi's eyes bored into yours, his own flaring with sparks of red. Voice deepening, taking up the whole room. He doubted you would be affected by his persuasive power. It wasn't for your sake.

"Show me the shards."

Jungkook moaned softly in his ear, shuddering.

You smiled that little smile. Yoongi held up a hand, preventing Jungkook from touching him. The younger demon whined, but he paid it no mind. You lowered the little goat-man, placing him on the nightstand.

To watch.

You reached to the high collar, to the zipper of the dress. The pull was shaped like a cross. Yoongi’s smile widened. A cute joke. Down it went, smooth, revealing your neck, waiting to be bitten. Exposing your collarbones, a small tattoo in the center just below them, at the top of your sternum.

Now the Devil was grinning.

An upside-down pentagram with two rings around it. Black. Simple. Most likely christened on that smooth skin before you became what you are now. A sweet little foreshadowing.

Lower.

Then Yoongi’s expression hardened.

Right below the tattoo, there they were. Thin diamonds, needle-like black gems that gleamed red and purple, pulsing as if they were alive, embedded in your skin below your tattoo and above the swell of your breasts. The demon soul shards, five of them in a semicircle, with an empty space at the center and one at the bottom left, not yet filled. Your flesh was indented in those two spots, clearly waiting for Jeon Jungkook and the Devil.

Yoongi raised an eyebrow, removing his hands from his pockets.

They were part of you.

That made you a human, bedded with shards of high demon soul, soiled with Disorder. Yoongi eyes widened, realization streaking through him. Something flickered in the vacancy of your eyes, torn back down by ice-silver. Like a spider’s web suspended delicately in air, you were wound with silken string, demon soul shards penetrating the human shell.

Is that what was keeping you, the Vessel, from collapsing?

The four horns protruded from Yoongi’s head, black-red and wicked. He narrowed his eyes as you lowered the zipper more, revealing the black lace bra molded to your breasts.

“Let me bring part of me to you,” he rasped, the power soaring through him, dark smoke simmering from his lips. He heard Jungkook suck in a tight breath, pressing himself against Yoongi, drawn to the power, intoxicated by it.

The Devil’s voice boomed, resonating to an inhuman octave.

“Domain Expansion: Devil’s Advocate.”

The room rippled, his power manifesting in time and space, creating a pocket of Hell itself. Black shadows wrenched open every crack, snaking out and crawling all over, long spider-liker arms ending in elongated claws, skittering, skittering, rushing towards the bed, pawing at the black sheets. Advancing on you, threatening, more and more and more, black shadows twisting and writhing, trying to get to your legs. The air shimmered with red, almost as if it was on fire.

You tilted your head, pausing.

Seams on the thin shadowy arms opened, bloodshot eyes rolling in their sockets until they fixated on your form on the bed, quivering slits of black pupils surrounded by red irises. The hands sank into the sheets, claws flexing, almost touching you.

But not quite.

“Jungkook, leash her.”

Like a black arrow, Jungkook lunged at the bed, launching himself above the eyeball-covered shadows, crushing them, sending jets of gushing blood across the sheets, soaking them red, and yet the hands stroked his muscular fit body, lingering before he appeared before you, dark brown orbs gleaming with red and black flecks, his power amplified by Yoongi bringing Hell to the surface. His horns protruded from the sides of his head, swirled like ram’s horns, blacker than they were red. They were large and sharp, framing his strong features with more strength.

His hand raised, voracious grin on his face.

“Let’s begin, pet.”

And then it was on your throat, you gasping in his tightening grasp, cutting off your circulation, hands falling into your lap, leaning into Jungkook’s hold. He hesitated, seeing the look in your eyes. They weren’t void of emotion.

An ice-silver shimmered through them, and there was a flicker of something.

Need.

You dug your fingers into the bed and whimpered, catching your lower lip between your teeth, gazing at him with half-lidded eyes.

“J… Jungkook…”

He pulled his hand away, but it was already done, the thick black leather collar on your neck, imprinted with red pentagrams and a silver center ring, black leather leash extending in Jungkook’s fingers, tangling him in it. It had already begun and the lust was brimming within him, insatiable, eager to consume, no longer worried about that small flicker of humanity he might have imagined. To be a demon is to be cursed to feel, emotion and free will entangled, a servant of the Devil but not without indulgence.

Full of sin and prepared to act on it.

Jungkook grinned, long black hair wild and curled around his horns.

“What’s your name, pretty pet?” he purred, flicking his middle finger on your chin, your dark mauve lips parting, looking up at him.

You told him.

He savored it with his lips, already aroused by it. He lowered the hand with the leash, snaking it between your legs, lowering his face to you and your hot breath, moaning at the intensity of the feeling, not quite human, but something more and something familiar, demon lust and human reaction mixed with an unknown drug.

Jungkook loved to fuck.

“Can’t wait to make you my plaything,” he breathed against your cheek.

You whined as his hand trailed down your ass, pulling out the end of the leash between your legs, gripping it from the front and back, snapping it up into your clothed pussy. A loud, sharp slap cracked the air as it connected, making you moan depravedly and tremble in his hands, your own coming up to grab his torn shirt. He ground the leash into the folds of the clothing, hot friction and unforgiving leather. He could feel it, the pleasure and the pain radiating off you, sparks of heat as you bucked down into the strap, the sweet scent your juices soaking through your panties.

Jungkook inhaled deeply, the taste at the tip of his tongue, shoulders shaking at the scent of sex, invigorating his veins, heart racing. Your fingernails dug into his chest, your eyes reflecting his high, his pleasure in abusing your pussy, tainting you with him in this Hell domain.

The Devil leaned over, tongue sliding out. Jungkook stiffened, biting his lip, watching intently as Yoongi neared, closer and closer to your ear. When was the last time Jungkook was allowed to indulge with the Devil? Even if it wasn’t, it felt like forever ago. Too long. His blood was boiling, singing to the Devil, praying for more.

Yoongi’s dark eyes shifted to him for a moment.

Jungkook’s lower lip popped out of his teeth, small whine in his chest.

-

The Devil smiled knowingly, leaning even farther in so his soft lips brushed against your earlobe, the taste of your skin on his wicked tongue. An interesting taste, but distinctly human. Yoongi sighed in satisfaction, nearly a moan, eyes shifting back to your profile. You were staring at Jungkook and Jungkook was staring at him.

“Five demons this body has withstood.”

The thought made him hard.

“What’s two more?” Yoongi chuckled deep in his chest, placing his hand on your heaving chest, right above the soul shards.

No.

It hovered, the faintest sliver of space between his hand and your breasts. The more he pushed, the more it pushed back, gleaming sparks scalding his palm. Yoongi gritted his teeth, seeing the black tendrils laced with ice-silver snake around his fingers. The scent of burning flesh stained the air. Not holy magic. Something else. Something far less controlled. The Devil could feel pain, but it was nothing more than fuel for his emotions, a means to an end.

You lowered more of your weight onto the leash, moaning as the leather dug in deeper, the scent of sex stronger, rocking your hips back and forth. Yoongi suddenly felt the pain lessen, the black tendrils retreating, ice-silver fading into nothing. His eyebrows raised, fascinated. The introduction of passion and your human body reacting to it. The disembodied black arms around them scabbed around, nonsensical red eyes veering in all directions, crawling across the sheets, desperate to touch and soil the human.

His palm was getting closer.

Closer.

Closer to your chest.

Yoongi’s hand touched your shuddering breast.

Instantly the shadowy, eyeball-covered hands were on your body, clawing at your clothes, caressing your skin, up your back and to your head, pulling you by the hair and making you moan, Jungkook completely letting go of the leash and placing his hands on your breasts, one over Yoongi’s, curling the Devil’s fingers under the lace cup, pulling hard.

Yoongi made no move to stop him.

Jungkook ripped your bra apart, sucking in a tight breath as your breasts bounced free, diving down to latch his lips onto them, his hot mouth to your cool skin, moaning at the taste of human mixed with demon, the five shards on your chest glimmering, his five hyungs infused into this body with the exception of the Devil himself.

“Fuuuuuuuck…”

He shoved his hands under the ribbons of your dress and yanked your body up to his greedy mouth, biting and lapping at your skin, flickering his tongue over your nipples, your hands finding his shoulders, wanton whimpers quivering from your chest to Jungkook’s mouth. He drank it all up, the sweet taste of flesh, the heavy scent of sex, the sound of tainted lust, whining as his shirt was torn to bits by exploring shadowy hands. The Devil’s work. Jungkook looked up to see Yoongi on the other side of you, one of his pale hands in your hair and the other pushing your chin back, his head descending.

“A kiss from Hell, just for you,” Yoongi murmured.

The Devil’s lips on yours.

You audibly moaned right into Yoongi’s mouth as he tilted his head, fitting his lips to your dark mauve ones, soft but rough, tongue sliding in, fucking you with it, slow and maddening, the aphrodisiac of his kiss turning even the most prudish of humans into a sobbing mess, begging and pleading for more.

But, as he suspected, you were no ordinary human.

Your tongue wound around his, pressing your lips harder to his despite his hold on your hair, exhaling in his mouth, intoxicating all on its own, pushing your chest into Jungkook’s face, your arms held back by Hell’s shadows, your muscles tense and shivering.

Yoongi felt it, the hot spark of near pain.

You could break out at any time.

Yoongi broke the kiss, breathing hard, his eyes finding yours. Like small mirrors, they reflected himself back. And yet. There was definitely something underneath that standing water. Poison? Or something else?

Jungkook grabbed your chin and kissed you hard, moaning at your taste and the Devil’s lingering saliva.

“Yes, fuck, yes…”

Your dress ripped apart, the demon hands doing the Devil’s work, leaving red scratches on your skin, Jungkook doing the rest, rough fingers shoving the fabric scraps out of the way, bits of your bra thrown aside, shreds of black adding to the shadows already surrounding the bed. All eyes on you and your exposed body in Jungkook’s arms, his hard bare chest pressing into yours, skin to hot skin, lifting you like a doll, one hand winding around the leash.

Kissing you like he owned you, already his possession by the way you gasped into his mouth, breathless as he took your sweet exhale with his fiery inhale, his fingernails scraping down your back.

“Stop playing around,” the Devil commanded harshly.

Jungkook started, breaking the kiss as the shadowy arms encircled him and you, locking your bodies in a tight embrace. The red eyes in the shadows flickered, blinking, morphing, changing.

Into mouths.

Into tongues.

“H-Hyung…!”

Yoongi smirked behind your head, eyebrow cocked as Jungkook shuddered and moaned, red forked tongues from ghostly arms flickering across his skin, grasping you so tightly that you whined against his chest, the tongues on you too, drenching you in swipes of Hell’s saliva.

As if the Devil himself was licking you, but all over.

“Hyung, w-wait…” Jungkook managed to get out, hands on your shoulders.

Like two star crossed lovers, except one was a demon and one barely had any humanity left.

Yoongi cracked his neck, grinning widely, all malice and no mirth.

Devilishly, even.

“Can’t wait any longer. I just have to know.”

The Devil’s hands swooped down, twisting between your body and Jungkook’s, undoing the button and the zipper of Jungkook’s slacks impossibly fast, the shadows aiding him, pulling them down, ripping apart the underwear, Jungkook gasping as Yoongi’s long fingers closed around his hard, leaking cock.

“Ah, don’t–”

But it was too late, the Devil’s hand wrapped around him, pleasure sprinting through his veins and swarming every nerve, Yoongi’s other hand pushing your wet heat closer, closer, dark chuckles and fiendish words invading his senses, the Devil himself pulling all his strings.

“Ah, I know all the things you like, Jungkookie…” Yoongi drawled, placing the head against your slit, coating it with your slick but not letting Jungkook enter you, making the younger demon growl with want. “I know you love playing with the humans for hours…” Leaning in, putting his face above your left shoulder, hovering with a sinister smirk. “And I know you secretly love it when you’re being forced to do something.”

The Devil’s pink tongue snaking out, licking Jungkook’s cheek, making him moan in your face and lean his forehead against yours, the lust overwhelming, unable to move due to the shadowy mouth-covered arms and the Devil’s power. Your body trembled in his embrace, your whimpers against Jungkook’s lips and Yoongi’s cruel, raspy laughter ringing in his ears as Jungkook’s cock swelled in his hand.

“You just love it when it’s me ordering you around, don’t you, Jungkook?”

Jungkook was staring in your eyes, seeing his own desperation and shameful happiness reflected back at him, admitting the truth because there was nothing he could hide from the Devil.

“Y… Yes, hyung,” he breathed into your mouth.

Yoongi let go of his cock the same time he pushed your dripping core onto Jungkook, sinking you all the way down, two simultaneous moaning screams intertwining and filling up the entire room infested with Hell’s domain.

-

Inside.

You felt it, a tiny pulse.

You looked around in the abyss, not expecting to see anything.

How long had you been here? Ah, did it matter? Nothing mattered. In this world, there was only emptiness. You saw nothing, heard nothing, remembered nothing, cared about nothing. If there was no sadness, there was no happiness. If there was no existence, there was nothing to worry about, cry about, feel pain about. Nothing to live for. Nothing at all.

And yet.

You had sensed something.

“Feels good, doesn’t it?”

You looked up.

Four black horns adorning a head of black hair and fair skin, lips peeled back, eyes glittering.

Menace. Amusement. Glee. Lust. Fascination.

Passion.

Who was that?

You squinted.

You… had eyes.

And suddenly it all rushed to the surface, jammed into sensory overload, tongues on your skin, heat overwhelming, a sweaty cheek pressed against yours, your chest prickling with sensitivity, pain from a tight embrace, and you gasped a lungful of air as you felt the demon’s cock enter your tight, wet hole, saturated with arousal, eye to eye with blazing dark brown orbs surrounded by wet black curls, your pussy stretched too far too fast, but adrenaline adapting the pain into even more pleasure.

Felt.

You could feel everything.

“J-Jungkook…”

Words.

You could hear the demon’s lips curve into a wicked grin.

“I love it when you’re whimpering my name, pet,” he drawled.

There was nothing to wonder about. No desire to know your past or if you had a future, no desire to know why you were here, what was going on, not even the need to know how you were aware of the demon before you and his name, Jeon Jungkook.

There was only one goal.

Chasing all aspects of pleasure and passion.

The shadows around your two retreated slowly, forked red tongues sliding back into shadowy pits surrounded by crevices slashed on black disembodied arms, but none of that mattered as you leaned in to Jungkook’s face, hands rising to grip his shoulders, cracking pleas in your throat at the sensation of being too full and sensory overload dominated by lust.

“F-Fuck me, please…” you panted, adjusting to straddle his lap better, his raw cock twitching against your throbbing walls. “Please, Jungkook…”

His hands were on your shoulders, his head lifting and eyebrow cocking, arrogant expression on his face.

“Of course, my little human.”

He lowered his hips, nearly pulling out, leaving you in a whine, almost empty before roughly shoving himself back in, filling you all the way to maximum ecstasy igniting all of your nerves, your nails digging into his skin and a choked moan as you took it all, straining against the brink of almost too much but not quite.

Utter perfection.

How did he know?

He didn’t.

Jungkook was a demon. And demons intuitively delivered the exact amount, instinctually sensing how the human body desired more, every brutal stroke a delicate balance of pain and pleasure, every rock of his hips matching yours, you involuntarily bouncing on his cock with his hard thighs in between your soft ones, cries bubbling from your throat. Every rush of stimulation potent, Jungkook panting intoxicatingly in your face and you drinking it up like a starved hyena, your hands clawing up, tangling in his hair, gripping the curved black horns on the sides of his beautiful head, staring into his enchanting eyes.

The demon smiled at you, almost lovingly, as he fucked you raw from below.

“That’s it…”

Rising from Jungkook’s left shoulder, four horns and glittering dark eyes.

A devious, open-mouthed smirk.

Your grip on Jungkook’s horns tightened, staring into this new, yet familiar gaze. A smokey whisper, rasp infesting your eardrums, reaching in to the humanity inside you. Your ice-silver irises reflected in the endless darkness of those ravenous orbs.

“Fuck him harder,” the Devil coaxed.

Sin.

“Yes,” you breathed.

Body automatically reacting, crashing your mouth into Jungkook’s, wild kiss punctuated by your hips smacking down hard onto his crotch, walls clenching around his stiff length, his moan and words filling your lungs.

“H-Hyung, fuck!”

You threw your weight onto him, slapping your hips together violently, repeatedly, biting his lower lip and sucking on it, pressing his body into the Devil, Jungkook’s nails digging into your shoulders and his cock swelling inside you. Pale hands coming up to grip Jungkook’s broad, tan shoulders, pink tongue sliding out and stroking the demon’s ear wetly, scorching breath on your fingers.

“Take it,” was the animalistic growl from those perfect pink lips, the low octave on an otherworldly level. “Cum in that pretty little pussy. Warm it up for me, Jungkookie.”

So hard, turning you so wet, greedy kisses and bites not enough, more, more, Jungkook groaning and powerfully thrusting up as you squelched down, splattering your juices all over his balls, pussy throbbing with the intensity of pleasure, staring into beautiful eyes and the hauntingly handsome angles of Jungkook’s face soaked with sweat on glistening tan skin, one of his hands grabbing your head and kissing you back with just as much fervor, filling you again and again, your name dancing on his lips.

“Yes, yes, fuck me, fuck me, you humans are so fucking good at serving us…”

“J-Jungkook, ah, f-fuck… I–”

“Give it to me, give it to me, delicious little pet,” he growled in your throat, harder, faster, rougher, racing to the edge and flying off.

A millisecond of euphoria.

You gasped out his name, saturated in mindless ecstasy.

“Jungkook.”

The Chaos swallowed you up, leaving you in nothingness once more.

-

Yoongi noticed it immediately.

He could feel it course through him, your orgasm explosive and mixing with Jungkook’s crescendo, invading the Devil’s senses and igniting throughout his body, feeding off of every throb of your pussy as Jungkook moaned and pumped you full of his hot cum, packing you with demon seed that your human body could do absolutely nothing with, soaking it into your abused walls, painting your sweetness with his heat.

Demons purely had sex with humans for the sake of pleasure. Nothing could come of it other than the obscenity in enjoying primal passion.

Fucking delightful.

Palpable and intense, Yoongi’s tongue slid out and tasted the air, his hands moving up and caressing Jungkook’s horns, making the younger demon shudder and squirm with pleasure, rutting into you more, squishing his thick cum around inside you, your eyelids fluttering and shivering gasps grasping your lungs.

But your eyes.

While you were fucking Jungkook, your eyes had turned that icy silver.

Now your irises were that reflective mirror.

The Devil felt it.

A pulse.

Jungkook’s naked body trembling against his, tantalizing moan implanted with lust incarnate, lost in the throes of passion, unable to get out until his orgasm was over. His voice sounded thin as if there was pressure in his ribcage.

Yoongi looked down at Jungkook’s heaving chest.

It was glowing.

He couldn’t stop it.

Spider-silk thin strands of ice-silver plunging inwards, needles of power forcing its way inside Jungkook’s chest cavity, all the way in. Yoongi was so close that he himself could feel it, the power of his domain letting him feel everything that happened within, from your passion to Jungkook’s desire, and now he could feel the needles pouring in, chipping away at the vibrant demon soul of Jeon Jungkook.

Collecting.

Jungkook whimpered, head falling against Yoongi’s shoulder, turning his head to kiss the Devil’s cheek.

“H… Hyung…”

The slim, black-red diamond extracted from Jungkook’s chest in glimmering lines of ice-silver, suspending it in the air, so spellbinding that even Yoongi could do nothing but watch in awe, the strings winding around the shard of demon soul and affixing it to your chest, the spot to the bottom left below the center. Six now, the filled semicircle underneath your pentagram tattoo, center empty.

The shadowy arms, covered with red eyeballs and tongues, rose.

Your eyes reopened, cracks of ice silver in those vacant irises.

Now, the Devil, Min Yoongi, understood.

What were demons cursed with?

Emotion and free will.

The Vessel was using the soul shards to stabilize the Disorder. The human body was too weak alone and those high above had nothing to give, for they gave away all they had to serve his father. That’s why you needed demon soul. Not just any demon soul, but the six most powerful ones, driven to finalize your collection with the most powerful of them all to contain what was within.

The Entropy.

The Chaos.

A slow, greedy grin graced his lips.

How interesting.

-

A tiny blip.

You had one piece of knowledge. Six.

In the nothingness, the only knowledge you possessed was the number six.

Six.

Six.

Six.

The resurfacing.

You gasped for air, lungs expanding forcefully, chest burning and heart racing, sensory overload, knowing only what you needed to know, the demon Jeon Jungkook in front of you once again, except this time he was leaning against the headboard, breathing hard, his tan shoulders crisscrossed in red from your nails, his two curved black horns luminous, arrogant smirk on his face.

You were on your hands and knees.

No.

Your arms were being held up by dark shadows of disembodied hands, eyes and tongues surrounding you, shoulders bowing a little from the strain, but not enough to be unbearable.

Jungkook licked his lips, slow, glossing them with wetness.

“Pretty pet,” he purred, gripping the leash and tugging on it, your breath dying in your throat, circulation cut off by the leather cutting into the sides of your neck. “Don’t waste any of it now, or you’ll anger him.”

Dancing fingers sliding up your hips, the space in between your legs achingly sore and full, but demanding more punishment, unable to look back to see, but already knowing who it was. You whimpered in your throat, shuddering at the light touch.

Jungkook quirked his eyebrows. “You’re right, little pet.” He yanked your body to his lap, jerking you forward unforgivingly, forcing you to stumble, the hands on your hips holding you up, your arms jostling in the grip of the shadows, their forked tongues swiping across your skin.

“That mouth needs something to fill it too, doesn’t it?” Jungkook drawled dangerously.

Your eyes widened, the scent of sex attacking your nose.

“Down,” he snarled.

You gasped, the grip on your neck lessening, Jungkook’s large hand fitting behind your head and forcing you to lower, your open mouth suddenly filled with his already rock-hard, cum-covered cock, yours and his, sex painting your tongue, swallowing his huge length in one gulp, tip engorging in the back of your throat, filling it to the brim of near-choking, but not quite.

Leaving you on the edge.

The edge of too much and not enough.

Perfection.

“I love to fuck,” Jungkook sighed above you, audibly savoring the feeling of your tight mouth around his length, your shaking eyes looking up at him. “And I’m the second best at it.”

He was.

You didn’t have to wonder. You just knew.

He leaned down, his thumb caressing your forehead. “Guess who is the best, pet?”

You yelped around his cock as forked tongues brushed against your flesh, shadows squeezing and kneading your beasts, latching onto your already hard nipples and stimulating them, pinching and tugging at the sensitive nubs. Jungkook’s naughty smirk was right in front of your face, his hardness twitching and pulsing in your mouth, those hands on your hips tightening, the velvety hard head of another cock skimming your cum-soaked folds, slicking with your juices.

Jungkook’s long fingers curled in your hair, gripping your scalp.

His voice a silvery, perilously low octave.

“The Devil.”

The familiar, raspy chuckle drenched in deviance.

“That’s right.”

Jungkook pulled out and roughly thrust in your face the same time the Devil slammed his cock into you, your eyes flying wide, Jungkook’s previous orgasm stuffed back into you by a different cock, slippery lewd squishes of too much thick liquid expanding your walls. Your pussy and mouth both clamped down on the two cocks, Jungkook’s swollen head ramming into the back of your throat, the Devil…

Holy shit, the Devil.

Whereas Jungkook’s cock responded to your body’s needs and kept it at the teetering maximum of lustful pleasure, the Devil had you suspended on his puppet strings, slow pace agonizingly teasing an orgasm out of you, fast pace tearing another out, rough pace amplifying yet another out, every one feeling like an eternity and leaving you craving more, the true meaning of insatiability, moans vibrating Jungkook’s throbbing length as your pussy convulsed from back-to-back orgasms. The surrounding shadows with bloodshot red eyes were watching you as forked tongues and shadowy hands caressed your trembling body all over, two mouths specifically latched on your nipples and one on your clit, rippling against the sensitive bundle of nerves, soaking it with saliva and sucking on it, all while Jungkook fucked your face relentlessly and the Devil drilled you from behind, grunts, groans, moans, mixed together, stifled by cock and accented by wicked slaps of flesh on flesh, all for the pure intent of only obtaining carnal pleasure and nothing else.

Unconstrained ecstasy, pure sin.

And you, suspended between torture and pain of overwhelmed senses.

“So fucking good…” Jungkook panted, black hair sweaty and sticking to his clenched jaw, dark brown eyes glinting with madness, thrusting wildly into your puffy mauve lips while harshly clutching your head, the shadows holding your body and taking the force of his movements off your neck so he could enjoy the delights of abusing your mouth without causing you pain, therefore allowing you to serve him as he pleased, keeping your throat tight for every punishing slide of his thick cock down the wet hole.

“You take me so well, little pet, almost like a demon, but human mouths are always better, so compliant and subservient. Demons are selfish, only looking out for their own pleasure, but your kind… Your kind is always begging to serve and be used.”

Jungkook caught his lower lip between his teeth, the mole underneath bouncing your vision with every plunge of his cock between your lips, large curved horns on the side of his head surrounded by long black curls, deliciously muscular torso right above you, tattoos on his right arm and shoulder flexing with his movements, the epitome of sex.

The entire time, the Devil’s cock was forcing you to new levels of pleasure you didn’t even know existed, blazing hot and intense, the ever-changing pace almost frustrating, but, somehow, he always knew what to do, speed up or slow down, harder or softer, the Devil’s trill sonata a complex and intricate mess being played, your pussy acting as the violin, coating his cock with Jungkook’s cum and yours, so much that it was spilling out and splashing onto your thighs, dripping down in sloppy squirts.

“You going to cum down that pretty throat?” the Devil drawled, his words resonating in his domain. “I want to watch you fill it up with your delicious cum so you can show me, Jungkookie.”

The young demon shuddered, intoxicated and driven by the command, his breathing swallowing, desires brimming to the surface, your name bubbling off his lips and your throat painfully sore but, oh, so good, so satisfying to be used like a toy, leather leash and collar on your neck jangling, inflamed clit pulsating as you came again with a feral moan around Jungkook’s stiff cock, pushing him over the edge with your suppressed cry, spilling into your throat with thick salty strings of his orgasm, shooting streaks all over the insides of your mouth.

“Don’t swallow,” he gritted out, jerking the last few spurts onto your tongue before removing his cock, smearing residual cum on your swollen lips. “Fuck, yes.”

He snarled and grabbed your chin, other hand on your chest to push you up, up, forcing you to arch your spine to an almost ridiculously painful level, the Devil’s pleased expression halfway in your vision.

“Open,” Jungkook growled.

You opened your cum-smeared lips, showing the Devil the thick white coating the insides of your pink tongue and abused throat, barely able to breathe, almost choking on Jungkook’s orgasm.

The Devil grinned.

“Swallow.”

You did in noisy, desperate gulps, sucking in sweet air, only for the circulation in your neck to be cut off as Jungkook hooked a finger on the collar ring and yanked it forward, his other hand and the shadows preventing your body or head from moving as he did so.

You could feel it, the Devil’s cock jolting, hitting you so deep and so satisfyingly that your eyes rolled back, vision spotting with black, completely and utterly consumed by the bodily pleasure of being forced to take exactly what you asked for.

Your name, so soft and sharp, driving deep into your pounding, rapid heartbeat, soaking your body with unholy touch, craving to be broken.

“Take it.”

The faintest of gasps, nerves a flaring wildfire as the Devil thrust his orgasm into you, euphoric in simply being pumped with his seed, the hold on your neck suddenly gone, air smashing into your lungs and the rush of oxygen making your lightheaded and dizzy, your body flinching as it attempted to drink it all up, shocks tearing through your system, forked tongues lapping up what was slipping out and another thicker, wetter tongue.

Jungkook on his belly, needy wanton moans in his chest, sucking the mixture of cum – you, himself, and the Devil pouring from between your joined crotches.

-

The ice-silver tendrils creeped from your chest, but shadowed hands forced them back.

Pain.

Yoongi could feel it in midst of the intense orgasm, the pain of his power being disintegrated, but he was no ordinary demon, he was the Devil, and no power, not even the Disorder, was going to take a shard of his soul without a fight.

No.

He pushed back against it, forcing his will upon the power unknown.

You will get your payment.

The pain subsided a little, layering with the shivering tremors of your pussy barely able to hold all that cum. Yoongi clenched his jaw, feeding on it all. He pulled out of you, his cock smacking Jungkook in the face, smearing the demon’s lips and cheeks with his still hard length, feeling the desperate tongue lap at him eagerly before he pulled away, hearing the explicit squelch as Jungkook’s mouth latched onto your pussy, devouring the cum from three beings trapped inside you.

Not until I’ve had a decent meal.

Your irises remained infested with ice-silver.

The Chaos, merely at bay, waiting for him.

-

Jungkook shoved his tongue into your sensitive hole, licking and suckling on your engorged clit as well as eating the delicious nectar, lustfully groaning at the taste of the Devil, you, and him, so flawless, a meal incomparable, his blood singing with joy.

No drop was to go to waste.

He would grovel at the Devil’s feet to have this taste forever.

-

Yoongi grabbed you by the hair and pushed you down, kneeling over Jungkook’s hips, letting the younger demon do whatever he wanted down there. He had more pressing matters.

He lowered himself, lifting Jungkook’s still-stiff cock, and dropped his dripping cock and balls on top the other, hissing in satisfaction as his hard length rubbed against Jungkook’s. Underneath you he heard a throaty, gleeful moan, your body shuddering as the sound went through you.

“Hand,” Yoongi commanded.

He grabbed your hand that his servants freed, wrapping it around the two cocks with his own long fingers, rocking his hips back and forth, too much fluid and too much slick making everything slippery, flickering tongues from the shadows adding to the mix, licking at the purple-red heads, adding saliva to the mix.

Your eyes were glued to this downright obscene display of indecent passion, mauve lips wetly parted, gasping with tremors of orgasm, two hands around two cocks and surrounded by shadows with tongues and eyes, Jungkook’s uncontrolled moaning stifled by your lush hips sitting on his beautiful face, his hips still humping your joined hands and smacking his balls into Yoongi’s, begging the Devil to let him cum and for Yoongi to cum all over his stomach as you came on his face.

The Devil chuckled.

He and you pumped together with Jungkook’s thrusting, his eyes roaming all over, drinking in the sight of his favorite demon and his new shiny toy.

No, not a toy.

His possession.

He lifted his free hand, cupping your chin forcefully, staring into your eyes.

Ice-silver, reflective glass, the original human shattered, so thoroughly intertwined and blended together with powers unknown that it was hard to tell what was what, impossible to know if they even could be separated, and Yoongi, the Devil himself, having no personal reason to bring you back from whatever you were now.

The greater good?

Heh.

The Devil cared not for such things.

“Cum for me,” he breathed hotly to your lips.

You blinked hard, gaze unfocused, the edge already in your sights, headed straight for it at an impossible speed. He watched as you tipped into free-fall, eyes rolling back, whining and moaning hoarsely as you came for the umpteenth time, soaking Jungkook’s face with your orgasm, the younger demon yelping and his cock jerking, spurting cum over his stomach with Yoongi’s mixing at the same time, the Devil sharply hissing as his cock violently shivered and pressed against your palm, shooting thick strings of white all over those sculpted abs.

Yoongi clenched his jaw, the ice-silver needles sprouting from your chest once more.

“Your… name…” you whispered, whole body trembling.

Yoongi exhaled hard, locking his glare with your fucked-out expression. The power pierced him, a bizarre feeling of euphoria and excruciating prickling, pressure unbearable, the threads of the Chaos stumbling through the massive collection of souls within him. Skittering, frantically searching.

Pain.

But not from him.

From you.

Your shaking hand rose, your voice thinning out, anguish coating your features.

It was killing you the longer he hesitated in giving you a name.

The Devil could give you any name of the souls within him. The lesser ones, the insignificant ones, the pathetic ones. The contract did not specify. That was his loophole. The ice-silver threads were tearing you up from the inside, pouring more and more into him with every second that he waited. Your fingers brushed against his cheek.

“H…”

Something shimmering in those eyes.

“He… help… me…”

The power within the Vessel a vehement storm, sadistically demanding the contract to be sealed. You were going to die if he withheld a name from you. The Devil reached up and touched your hand, holding it against his cheek.

He smiled softly.

Yoongi would not let his precious new possession die so quickly.

“Hold on,” he rasped.

The Devil pushed back.

He forced it out, taking the pain and using it to fuel his power, pushing it back, back into you, your airless shrieks trapped in your chest as the six black-red soul-shards gleamed, radiating heat.

Helping him.

Even now his six closest confidants were helping him, their small bits of demon soul rushing to his aid, collapsing onto the power of the Disorder, forcing it back, buying him more time.

Yoongi chuckled.

Guess they really were his friends.

-

Whatever pain you felt became a distant memory the second the Devil lifted your hips from Jungkook’s face, arms wrapping around your body, his knees sliding up a little to hover your two bodies right above the cum puddle on Jungkook’s stomach. The demon beneath you panted, fucked-out, still shuddering with aftershocks of orgasm.

You held his face, looking deep into dark brown eyes full of the knowledge of every sin known to mankind. His lips curved into a sly, open-mouthed smirk.

“You’ve been so good,” he drawled. “Such a resilient little thing.”

Everything was sore, throbbing, muscles burning with exertion, and yet you still wanted more, caressing the cheeks of the Devil with your fingers, leaning against his body for support.

“After this, I think we should be a little closer, don’t you?”

Your body was lowering, abused pussy meeting his hard cock once more.

The Devil wasn’t done until he was done.

And those shadows of arms ending with claw-like fingers, covered in eyeballs and mouths? Always willing to lend a hand, encircling around your bodies, holding up your weak human body so the Devil could fuck you.

“Let’s be together for all eternity, you and I.”

You whimpered as you sank down again, so wet and slick that he slipped in easily, hardness swelling against your trembling walls.

“A contract?” you croaked, barely able to speak at this point.

“No, my pet,” the Devil lured, drawing you into him as he rocked his hips, lowering the two of you on the mess of cum on Jungkook’s abdomen, smearing your thighs in it, sticky and strong-smelling, Jungkook losing it under you, scooping up the demon seed to coat his fingers and palms. “Not a contract. Just a promise. Dedication.”

Now Jungkook’s hands were covered in the Devil’s cum and his own.

He began to spank your ass with every rough thrust of the Devil’s cock burying in your velvety folds, adding stings of pain to the devastating pleasure.

“You have dedication, don’t you?”

Dedication?

Slap! Thrust. Slap! Thrust. Slap!

The Devil leaned forward, raspy laugh deep in his chest.

A trickster’s kiss capturing your swollen lips.

“Faith, if you will.”

Your body instinctively bucking back into the Devil’s cock, Jungkook hitting you repeatedly, cum caked to your ass and thighs, pussy spasming and drenching the impossibly hard and thick cock inside you, taking it all with fierce enthusiasm, now throatily moaning to the bruising pace, ensnared in his words. Fucking you, punishing you, freeing you, violent hard thrusts, smacks on hips on hips and hands on hips, flesh singing with feral pleasure, Jungkook’s nails tearing at your skin and leaving red scratches with his stinging, cum-stained palm prints.

The Devil’s hand closed around the collar around your neck and you felt the leather melting away, disappearing, joining the mass of shadows around you. The black spidery arms flared out, circling around the Devil’s head like black fire, surrounding his four hours as his fingers gripped your neck, his left hand splayed on your back as he choked you.

The shadows opened.

Red eyes with black slitted pupils, watching everything.

Slashed mouths with black lips and forked red tongues, grinning.

They closed in, wrapping around your joined bodies, long predatory fingers tangling in your hair, hands clutching on your breasts, pointed nails clawing at your thighs and leaving red scratches, the Devil’s hot breath in your face as he smirked, wide and open-mouthed, canine teeth glinting ominously, driving his punishing girth into you as Hell’s shadows pushed you back down, Jungkook’s nails digging into your ass and his lustful, throaty moans ringing in your ears as he relished in the feeling of the Devil fucking you on top of him.

Your head clouding, circulation thinning as the pleasure thickened, rising to an impossible crescendo on a scale no longer known to man, consumed by lust and shadows, covered in cum, vision blurring, sound intensifying as one of your senses faded.

All Hell breaking loose.

“Do you have faith in the Devil, human?”

You scarcely managed to croak out an answer.

“Yes.”

A millisecond of euphoria.

A growl so deep it seemed to reign and command all souls within his presence.

“I am the Devil, and my name is Min Yoongi.”

-

Yoongi let it happen.

He set his jaw and shot into you, once more cramming you full of his cum, the pleasure of your orgasm amplifying his own, savoring the addictive high as the ice-silver filaments crowned from that center point on your chest, eagerly darting forward and plunging into his.

For a moment, he felt nothing.

He looked into your eyes.

You reflected ecstasy.

Then he felt an overwhelming pressure, sedation, and a crushing weight mixed with high-voltage passion, shattering through him, the unknown power pinpointing exactly what it needed and knocking on the door of the current soul embodying the Devil.

He was already waiting patiently.

The tendrils of ice-silver became your hands, cupping together, begging.

“Here.”

He ripped it himself, breaking off the thin diamond-like shard of black-red, a piece of his soul that he handed to the waiting hands, knowing he was forever bound to you, forever drawn to you, the Vessel, the Entropy, the Chaos.

His now.

“And this.”

He pressed a little something into it.

“It’s yours.”

The ice-silver snatched his soul-shard and vanished.

-

The darkness closed in, leaving you trapped in nothingness once more. The Chaos received what it needed. There was no need for your consciousness any longer, for the Vessel was complete. The nothingness just was and you were in it.

Silence.

Complete and utter silence.

Then.

A pulse.

-

You opened your eyes.

Everything hurt.

Everything was sticky, covered in cum.

Everything was scattered everywhere, bedsheets and clothes shredded, shadowy arms swaying this way and that, no longer covered in strange eyeballs and mouths, simply all-black and waiting for command.

Why?

You felt something soft tucked into your arms.

Your eyes lowered, seeing the black goat-man plush cradled in the crook of your less cum-coated arm. A pale hand took yours and placed your fingers on the leather hoof. You stroked it, almost innocently.

“Would you like to come with me?” said the deep, raspy voice.

Your eyes flickered to your chest. Six black-red demon soul-shards surrounding a bigger, more lustrous, and sinister-looking one. It sparkled red and purple. Something was trapped inside it, glowing violet from within. It seemed to pulse, slowly, following a unique rhythm.

You looked up.

Into Min Yoongi’s dark, dark eyes.

You felt a strong grip on your shoulders from behind, matched by a teasing chuckle as a playful chin resting against your shoulder. Your eyes flickered to your right, seeing the hand tattoos on that hand, feeling the hardness of the body of Jeon Jungkook behind you. He held you to him, tracing the curve of your neck.

Yoongi held his hand out, smirk on his lips.

You took it, affirming your desire to follow, even if it meant going to the depths of Hell itself.

“What did you do?” you breathed.

The Devil shrugged.

The domain around you was collapsing, but not melting away. Instead, it seemed to cave inward, bowing from strain, surrounding you, Yoongi, and Jungkook, swallowing the three bodies and the goat-man plush in your arms. Yoongi drew close to you, lips on your lips, half-lidded eyes smoked with arousal.

“I gave you a small shred of my heart, pet.”

The fist-sized muscle pounded in your chest as the surface disappeared and the Devil dragged you down to Hell with his right-hand demon.

“Now you have emotion and free will.”

Yoongi pressed his lips to yours, kissing you deeply as the world around you turned into everlasting flames.

-

666 You never know what is enough unless you know what is more than enough.

--

masterpost

[allen-desu]

Intrigue: A Canute and Thorfinn Character Study

Canute had learned to do one thing above all else- discern men. It was simple. Either he should be wary of a man or not, and of those he was wary of, who should he make face with.

But then there was Thorfinn..

Very mild Thornute | Vulgar Language | Canon Compliant (Volume 3 specifically) | Spoiler Free

Brushing off my Tumblr to post this somewhere, best read on mobile.

-

Canute often found himself studying Thorfinn. In fact he was now, stealing glances of him while riding in a wagon through Wales. His nerves were getting the best of him and not wanting to think of signing a treaty without his father present, Canute instead tried to place Thorfinn to keep his mind occupied. The Prince found him to be a most intriguing character, and one that often eluded any solid characterization. It was egregiously annoying; for you see, growing up in the bloodbath of regal politics, Canute had learned to do one thing above all else- discern men. It was simple. Either he should be wary of a man or not, and of those he was wary of, who should he make face with. Granted, Canute had Ragnar, and therefore he never had to put this skill to a real test for his vassal always fought on his behalf, keeping the young Prince’s best interests in mind. Nevertheless, his cautious observation skills were more often than not proven correct as the time revealed untrustworthy men to Canute.

But then there was Thorfinn. There are always exceptions to any and every rule, but even that logic still couldn’t stick Thorfinn under a neat label inside the Prince’s mind. The boy was not like the men he traveled with. Yes, he did the dirty killing, but he did it in a way that oozed indifference. Thorfinn killed swiftly and acted as if each man was a simple stepping stone to the fight being over, for the killing to be over. While the others he traveled with had a sick enjoyment for the act. Thorfinn did not socialize with the Askeladd’s band. He did not share in their spoils, including that of food and drink. Instead the blond hunted his own food, collected his own water. Only rarely did he ever get what he needed from what was plundered. Those rare instances were either when it was offered to him while marching, or on late and loud evenings, while the rest of Askeladd’s band made themselves merry, Thorfinn would slip some goods from tables abandoned for the night.

So, no, Canute would not label him as part of the band. This conclusion was frustrating, for if Thorfinn was not one of Askeladd’s men, why was he one of Askeladd’s most trusted pawns? Perhaps part of the answer was in the word “pawn” itself, but Askeladd was a cautious man as well. So much so that Canute knew it would bode well for him to try and keep tabs on what the man was thinking. So what was his reasoning to keep Thorfinn- who literally wanted him dead for some unknown reason to the Prince- under his thumb. The young blond was skilled and dangerous to have around. How did Askeladd tame-

Ah.. perhaps that was it.

Thorfinn was like something wild, pacing in its cage and waiting for its chance to do something about its keeper and free itself from its confines. Tamed to compliance, but would still happily bite the hand. Something akin to a wolf perhaps.

Canute looked up from his thoughts over to Thorfinn who was leaning on the opposite side of the wagon, his gaze far off and his eyes hard. Feeling that the Prince was looking at him Thorfinn shot daggers at Canute . Seeing the dirty teen do this with the image of a wolf in his mind nearly tempted Canute to chuckle and he swiftly hid his face from the other in case the temptation won him over. He could hear Thorfinn scoff and that was the end of the whole exchange. A lone wolf in an unfamiliar pack. The young Prince was satisfied with the description for the young warrior.

Canute was no longer satisfied. Thorfinn was his guard and, surprisingly, was taking the job seriously. He seemed not to care, was quick with sharp words at either Canute, Ragnar or Father Willibald. But on more than one occasion, the Prince would catch a small glimpse of Thorfinn nearby, seemingly disinterested, but close enough to come to aid or rescue. Any time he was not lurking and couldn’t be seen or found, a few hours or less after the fact, the shorter blond could be seen emerging from the tree line, a rabbit or more hanging over his shoulder.

In fact, this had just happened and Ragnar had convinced Thorfinn to add the rabbit to the meal he and the Prince were making.

“Highness!” Ragnar had announced upon entry. “We have beans, cabbage and a hare!” As he listed the items, Thorfinn had walked in behind him and closed the door to the cold. Canute was surprised to see him, tensed and annoyed, looking very out of place in the little home they had… procured.

“ A hare?” The Prince asked, ignoring how his own bout of tension was threatening to rise in his shoulders.

“Thorfinn caught it.” Obviously. “We’ll put it in the soup.”

“Well done.” As if Thorfinn needed or wanted praise for a deed he probably found to be child’s play. “Bleed it and skin it so we can wash the meat.” Truth be told, Canute wasn’t expecting for Thorfinn to just comply without some remark, and he surely wasn’t expecting Ragnar to take the rabbit from Thorfinn to do the task instead. It was jarring seeing his caretaker grab the rabbit from him, as if he had just seen Ragnar take a kill from a wild animal. At least that’s what flashed through his mind when the moment started. However, as it happened in real time, Thorfinn let his catch be taken and he was left to simply stand, awkward and unsure.

Canute, stirring the broth in progress mindlessly as he watched on, couldn’t help but consider Thorfinn for a long moment. This boy in front of him was no lone and wild wolf. The moment his gaze was felt, however, the creature came back and Thorfinn found a spot off to the side against the wall that he could sit at and brood.

Once the soup was done and the table was set, Canute and Ragnar somehow coaxed Thorfinn to join them at the table. The tension in the boy’s shoulders was palpable and Canute couldn’t help but take notice of it, trying to further categorize it. When Thorfinn actually acknowledged the meal in front of him, however, his demeanor changed. It was quick, merely a fraction of a second, but the Prince saw it- tried to burn the image into his brain to try and decipher later.

Ragnar’s compliments of the meal they prepared took Canute’s attention and he took this as an opportunity. Agreeing with Ragnar, “The rabbit made it work.” He looked to Thorfinn, “I’m tired of salted meat. You have my thanks.” There was no answer from the shorter blond, he just continued to look at their spread on the table and look lost. Almost as if he didn’t think it was real. The thought threatened to furrow the Prince’s brow. It made him realize yet again, Thorfinn was not amicable with the men he traveled with. When was the last time anyone showed this young man any kindness? When was the last time Thorfinn had the simple pleasure to share a meal with someone at all?

“What’s wrong?” Canute spoke, aiming to pull Thorfinn out of his stupor. “Eat up, you caught the rabbit.”

It seemed to do the trick, for Thorfinn picked up his bowl and spoon and tentatively took a bite. The look on his face, before it was hidden behind matted bangs, was one Canute would very much like to see again. Anger and/or indifference seemed to have a constant monopoly on Thorfinn’s features, but that one, quick moment of.. surprise? Or maybe he was just pleased with the taste of his meal. Either way, the emotion fit his face better, let the ridges between his brows smooth out for a second. Genuine, that was the word. Thorfinn seemed more genuine in that one instant than he did the entirety of the time that Canute had known him thus far.

“Pretty good isn’t it?” Ragnar mused, though the Prince couldn’t quite tell if he had also caught the glimpse of surprise from Thorfinn, or if he was just rearing up to dote and brag on Canute’s cooking talents. “Catch us a deer next, and we’ll really have a meal!”

“...” Not a real reply, but the young guard had acknowledged Ragnar. Thorfinn continued to eat, and almost absentmindedly, “I thought you noble types had everything cooked for you.” It wasn’t a question, a simple statement of thought, but Canute thought he would answer it anyways.

“I enjoy doing it.” The Prince began, “I don’t normally get the chance. Only Ragnar knows that I can cook.” A pause and Canute laid his spoon down in his bowl for a moment. “Do not tell anyone of this.” Thorfinns reply was instant and disinterested.

“Why not?” Followed by, “Who cares?”

Not sure what persuaded him to do so, but Canute began to tell Thorfinn of his father’s, the King, displeasure in the fact that he liked to cook- that it was a frivolous and useless skill to have. Though the shorter blond’s face was as neutral as ever, he did slow in his eating to listen, that alone made Canute feel as he wasn’t wasting his breath, that it was worth having someone other than Ragnar know of how intensely inadequate his father found him to be. Ragnar seemed to be confused at his tellings though. He was obviously not expecting his Highness to share. Giving his Highness an odd look he decided to try and lighten the Prince’s mood, though Canute wasn’t in need of it.

The two of them held their own conversation from there on out, speaking about different dishes Canute could prepare, or what Ragnar could teach him about new dishes he had yet to prepare. The mood in their little borrowed house was light. It was familial in its own way. The young Prince would glance over to Thorfinn every once in a while and was pleased to see that the ever present knot of tension in his shoulders was slowly becoming unraveled. The guard ate and listened.

Something in Thorfinn snapped and Canute shuddered because of it.

What happened in the next instant was too fast for Canute to follow in real time. Thorfinn had gotten up, more like sprung up, and was immediately at the door one of his signature knives pointed at someone’s throat. Had the man had worse reflexes, he would have impaled himself on Thorfinn’s steel. Ragnar was next in the initiative, questioning both Thorfinn and the man on what was going on.

“Agh- I’m on your side Thorfinn!” So it was one of Askeladd’s men. “I’m just bringing a message…” Despite this, it still took a long moment for Thorfinn to remove his knife from the man’s throat. Ragnar took the lead from there and was questioning the newcomer on Canute’s behalf, but Canute himself was still trained on his short bodyguard.

Thorfinn was still tense, still alert and ready to strike, but his initial instinct was slowly recoiling back into its original state. It was interesting to watch the slow movement of his shoulders and back muscles through threadbare clothing. However, Canute’s gaze was felt and Thorfinn shot him a look that could kill. Oddly enough the look from the dirtied blond softened a little, as if he was reminded that Canute was still there and his presence wasn’t something he should be afraid of. The thought struck the Prince as oddly satisfying. He wasn’t able to really dive further into that train of thought, however, for the man brought news of the English advancing on the hideout they had procured. Canute’s shock couldn’t beat out Ragnar’s rage. Heated words about Askeladd and his poor decisions were spoken, and then, just as suddenly as they had come, the man was gone, Ragnar following after him.

The little house was now too still and too quiet until it was broken by Thorfinn huffing through his nose.

“Can’t even manage to close the damn door on their way out.” He muttered, moving to do just that so the winter’s day wouldn’t try and suck any more of the hard earned heat out of the house. With the door closed Thorfinn relocated to his new post beside the door, leaning against the wall. The Prince watched him do this and suddenly Thorfinn was glaring at him again. “Have I fucking done something?” The shorter teen hissed.

“What?” Such an elegant reply, good job Canute. Not that Thorfinn gave two shits about that kind of thing.

“You’ve been staring. Like a lot.” Thorfinn turned to fully face Canute, leaning only one shoulder on the wall. “Still mad, Princess?” A smirk. Of course that’s what he would call him, but Canute realized he was talking about their squabble in the wagons the other day. “I don’t give a rat’s ass who your father is or who’s womb you crawled out of.”

“Still have the vulgar audacity to speak to me like that, but no.” Thorfinn raised a brow at him. “It was more of a shock than anything else. I don’t particularly mind that you speak so blatantly.” No matter how sharp the words, unfortunately. It seemed that the shorter blond did not have a reply for that and instead just refocused his attention to the fire instead. Canute also took this moment to recollect his thoughts. He knew Ragnar was angry, he warned Askeladd about the very problem at hand. Askeladd had paid him no mind at all. Still, the Prince was worried. Ragnar had left in the heat of the moment to a battlefield only to argue with the man leading the defensive charge. Not to mention, his soup would be cold by the time he came back. What a waste.

Perhaps the moments before Ragnar’s return wouldn’t entirely be a waste, though. Not if Canute played his cards right. He wanted to understand Thorfinn. Never before had he met someone that has proven themselves to be so complicated, especially since at first Canute thought him to be a simple brute among other simple brutes. Why was Thorfinn here, why was he in, but yet not considered, part of Askeladd’s band? What happened to him? The short blond hates the man, yet follows him around the country and overseas. He even follows some insane orders with the promise of some kind of reward.

Thorfinn let out an aggravated noise and was suddenly leaning over Canute, hands flat on the table with a bang.

“You’re doing it again. Quit.” The shorter teen growled. Canute blinked owlishly at him. What? Oh, had he been staring again? Nevertheless he continued to study Thorfinn, which was quickly making his guard’s blood boil. Then Canute stood forcing the other teen to stand back a bit and look up at him. He knew that Thorfinn was shorter than him, but it was still amusing to actually see it. Thorfinn carried himself to be larger, more intimidating. Said young guard was now glaring up at Canute through his dirtied bangs. “What?” He hissed.

“You confuse me, Thorfinn.” The Prince replied. Thorfinn also had a fair amount of confusion mixed in with his usual anger, and that fact pleased Canute a bit- at least the feeling was mutual. “I’ve just been trying to figure you out.”

“Well stop.”

“No, I shan’t” Canute replied swiftly. Thorfinn was prone to argue, but nothing came out. The Prince could take a guess as to what he was thinking. That the person in front of him was the same as the shy and bumbling Prince that was showcased and dragged around all of England these past few weeks? Yes and no. There was nothing political in this task, Canute had nothing to fear if he took a misstep. No repercussions. This was a purely selfish motive in which he had no problems pursuing as long as it was kept private. “Also it’s not that I can not, it’s that I will not”

“You…” Thorfinn struggled. “That doesn’t make any sense.”

“To you, perhaps not.” This reply really made Thorfinn angry, Canute could see it in the way his whole body tensed, gearing up to fight. Part of him wanted to see if his guard would actually hit him. However, before either of them could think through what they wanted to do next, for some odd reason, Canute had moved and held Thorfinn’s face in his hands. Both teens were now wide eyed and tense. Why did he do that? When did he do that? Just now? A moment ago?

Canute was the first to settle down from the shock of his own actions, and instead of pulling away like he thought he would, the Prince settled into the position. He let his hands feel the warmth of Thorfinn’s jaw and slid down to where his thumbs were still on the other blond’s face, but the rest of his fingers curled delicately around his neck. He knew his hands must have been cold, he was prone to be, but the proof lies in the fact that Thorfinn’s skin puckered into bumps right before he shuddered just slightly.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Thorfinn asked, his voice surprisingly tame. He was definitely still angry and on edge, but thus far it seemed as if Canute was not in danger of being bitten by the wolf that accompanied Thorfinn’s anger.

“Indulging, just let me for a moment.” Canute replied softly, as if trying not to spook Thorfinn away.

“...the hell does that even mean?” The guard muttered in reply. Canute laughed lightly, amused.

“Don’t think on it too hard,Thorfinn.” No reply to that, but the dirtied teen in his hands didn’t pull away either. Good, that was good.

Now that Canute had somehow managed to get them into this situation, he took as much time as he damn well pleased to study the other boy. Not that he was naive enough to believe that staring at Thorfinn would somehow unlock his secrets, but he did think it would help. Thorfinn was a recluse. No one ever got too close to him and he would never let them, so the fact that Canute was quite literally in his personal space seemed like a major victory.

Thorfinn had hard light brown eyes, but if the fire flickered right they were more like unearthed amber or sweet honey. They were nothing like the Prince’s own eyes, a sky blue. The sky may be vast, but Thorfinn’s eyes were deep. What was that saying? The eyes were a window into the soul? Canute could readily believe that looking into Thorfinn’s.

Next Canute took note that, under all the dirt, Thorfinn was tired. He had coloration and lines on his skin that a boy of their age shouldn’t have. Did he ever sleep through the night? His guard was always up late and always up early, always seen at odd hours thinking about something far away... or a time long gone, perhaps? Beyond what dirt and sleepless bruising lay on his skin, was what lacked beneath it. Thorfinn was a genuine threat on the battlefield, how could someone so strong have such gaunt in his cheeks? He knew Thorfinn fended for himself, but from what he has seen, he does a rather good job at it. Granted, he doesn’t eat square meals. Canute thinks that just earlier was the first time he’s seen Thorfinn eat anything green, or not meat related. Still, a soldier's diet of salted meat and wine wouldn’t result in malnutrition. Was malnutrition why he was short? Just… Just how long had Thorfinn been taking care of himself? The men didn’t bat an eye at Thorfinn’s presence. In fact, while marching and the men told old stories, Thorfinn was in a good many of them. Years? Had it been years since Thorfinn had a meal like the one he had today?

“I don’t need your fucking pity.” Thorfinn’s voice startled the Prince. Was he making a face of some kind?

“I didn’t mean..”

“Save your breath, I don’t care.”

Canute thought it was best to not reply, so instead he wiped some dirt off of Thorfinn’s face with one of his thumbs. With a fresh bath, a sturdy brush, and some new clothes, Thorfinn could be considered handsome.

He wondered what Thorfinn was thinking. Was he actually trying to decipher Canute in turn or was he just waiting for the Prince to be done? Canute also wondered, truly, when was the last time Thorfinn was shown kindness? Affection? Perhaps he wasn’t a lone wolf at all, but something lost instead. When one finds themselves abandoned in one way or another, in an unfamiliar place, one must adapt. Did Thorfinn just adapt to killing? Fights because he has to? It was frustrating going through all these thoughts himself, but Canute knew for a fact that Thorfinn would not simply answer any questions that he asked.

Perhaps… Perhaps Canute could be the one to show him kindness? Maybe he could properly tame the wolf that was Thorfinn’s anger, and find the lost person it was protecting. Thorfinn was so hard to get close to though, even today he had been reluctant to simply share his rabbit and then a meal. So what could the Prince do? He thought of this and that, feeling Thorfinn’s pulse through the fingers on his neck. Absentmindedly he rubbed his thumbs in time with it, studying him. Again Thorfinn couldn’t suppress a shiver and again Canute was moving without thinking at all.

He had pressed their lips together. Why? Not even God above would know. Thorfinn’s lips were chapped, still and shocked against the Prince’s own, but he was warm. Unfairly warm and it seeped into Canute. He could stay this way for a long while if he was completely honest with himself, but one kiss was enough. A gesture of both kindness and affection that Thorfinn could seek out from him if he chose to do so if he ever needed to feel wanted. So Canute pulled away, but instead of the awkward moment he was expecting, strong hands pulled him back in at the hips. Thorfinn had leaned back up and continued the kiss.

The taller blond was not expecting this, but then again he was also not expecting to have kissed Thorfinn in the first place either. His pale hands slipped from Thorfinn’s face and neck and instead slid so Canute could rest his arms on his guard’s shoulders. The hands on his hips were most likely bruising him with how tight they held him, but that was part of what he liked about this moment. Thorfinn was holding him and kissing him like this was something he desperately needed. Canute returned its ferocity and leaned in, making Thorfinn crane his neck at an odd angle, and then ran his tongue over the shorter’s lips. Again this was something neither of them were expecting, not experienced enough to really know what they were doing at all to be honest.

However, surprisingly enough, Thorfinn had again let it happen, letting Canute test the waters. So he did. Canute pushed his tongue into the other blond’s mouth. He felt Thorfinn’s tongue with his own, the roof of his mouth and back of his teeth. It was oddly exhilarating, even more so when Thorfinn mimicked Canute and did the same to him.

As Thorfinn kissed him Canute moved them, pivoting them so Thorfinn was between him and the table. The shorter blond grunted when it happened and turned his head out of the kiss to look at their new position, to which the taller blond took as a chance to place kisses to Thorfinn’s jaw and neck.

“Don’t think that I’m just going to bend over like some paid whore.” Thorfinn muttered, his voice was a little deeper, thicker, Canute couldn’t help but like it, but also couldn’t help the laughter that bubbled up from him.

“I wasn’t really planning on it.” He mused, resting his head in the crook of Thorfinn’s neck. Canute watched as Thorfinn reached for his low ponytail and played with the strands tentatively. It almost seemed as if he had been wanting to do so for a while but never had gotten the chance to do so until now. Canute kept that nice little thought in mind as he placed more kisses up Thorfinn’s neck, trailing back up to his mouth.

The two of them kissed some more, each exploring at their own paces. Canute also let his hands wander; Thorfinn was all muscle and bone and very thin. The prince knew that one day, if Thorfinn’s disinterest in his own health didn’t kill him first, that he would be properly strong, with healthy muscle, and a fuller face. At least that’s what he hoped for. Thorfinn did not explore the way Canute did, but his grip remained tight and would squeeze him whenever Canute did something he liked. At some point their hands inched a little higher.

The heat between them slowly, so very slowly, faded and they were back where they started, Canute cupping his face. After a few moments that stopped too.

“Did this ever happen?” Thorfinn asked, voice quiet. Canute blinked at him, it wouldn’t bode well for him if Thorfinn ever told anyone of their little venture, but he was honestly surprised that the other cared at all. But more than that, Canute was surprised to see that the anger that was seemingly permanent on Thorfinn’s features was gone. In its place was something the Prince could not identify, but he would burn the image in his brain. Hard eyes were gone, in its place was only honey and a fair amount of color in his cheeks.

Canute decided he would be the one to give Thorfinn the kindness he deserved. Even if it was just in small doses, seemingly meaningless gestures.

“No.” He replied, leaning down to press a kiss to Thorfinn’s cheek. “But it could happen again if you want.”

The shorter blond huffed and made a gesture for Canute to move. He did and Thorfinn moved towards the door. Canute had expected him to leave, but instead he had taken his previous makeshift post at the door. “Whatever, your Highness”

The Prince took his place back at the table, smiling to himself. That response certainly wasn’t a no. He had more thinking to do.

[weaverofthreads]

On the process of writing a novel...

Ok, so this began as a DM to a very dear friend who had said they were super excited to work on a novel of theirs that they'd abandoned for years, but they felt a bit lost when looking at the project again. They had "too many characters, too many intrigues" and they didn't "know how to create order" for all their ideas. They didn't know "what to keep, what to remove, what to change" and wanted to know if I had any tips.  

I began to reply in messages and then realised I needed to make a whole post out of it, so here it is! All 3k words of it. This is for you, darling! I hope it helps.

Things I found extremely helpful when planning my novel for NaNoWriMo this year, after also taking some time off from it.  

Most of this comes from Alicia Lidwina’s Four-Part article on her NaNoWriMo prep process, and setting up a writer’s notebook, for 2018. You can find the link to the first part here and I highly recommend you check out the whole series of articles for a more in-depth read. 

Content of this ‘essay’: 

Preparation, Groundwork, and Materials

Project 'Stats' & Overview  

Mood, Moodboards, and Key Imagery

Things to Consider, and Important Bullet Points

Get to Know Your Characters  

Chronological Order

Tangential and Preceding Events

Basic Premise, Plot Definition, Sub Plot Ideas  

List of Locations

Scenes

Chapter Outline

NaNo Plan

Additional Notes and Tips for Writing

Ok. Let's begin.  

First of all, I'm not saying that this is the only way to write or organise a novel. It can be tackled in as many ways as there are writers in the universe. This is just the method I used to get my ideas crystallised and organised. 

Preparation, Groundwork, and Materials.  

Take your preparation seriously. I bought a cheap but still nice A4 sketchbook with blank paper for maybe £2 at the local hobby store, and used it solely for the purposes of being my Novel Notebook. It doesn’t have to be a pretty, perfect, Aesthetic(TM) journal at all. Its function is to act as a route-guide through the process.  

I bought a cute sticker from Etsy and used it as the front cover design so that I liked the book and that it felt a little bit special, without being too intimidating to put a mark in. Then I left the very first page blank, and opened it to the first double page. On the left, I wrote ‘Contents’ and then moved on to the right and wrote ‘Project Stats and Overview’.  

I used a pen that was comfortable to write with, which for me was important. I’m a very tactile person, and having nice paper and pens (not necessarily fancy), made the process feel good.

Project Stats and Overview

This is the bare bones of the book, and includes details such as:

Project Working Title: (in my case it’s Weaver of Threads)

Targeted Wordcount: (to give yourself an idea of the scope, but it’s not necessary. For me it’s 50-100k)

Genre: (for me, fantasy)

Series: (will it be one book or more? For me, probably more than one, and at least two).  

Inspiration: (here you can jot down all sorts of things which inspire your world and your writing, and it can be anything. In my case, I began with “density and lore, and feeling of being grounded in a real world from LOTR and Tolkien.” And I went on to include other writers and novels in the fantasy genre, as well as elements from our own world, such as Mongolian herding communities and way of life, the history of the Persian Empire, and Renaissance Florence!).  

Project Timeline: Give yourself a structure, and be realistic. If you know you’re a slow writer who’s prone to distractions, be generous, but if you’re someone who responds well to short deadlines, tighten the time frame up a bit. I said “November 2020 - November 2021 for the whole manuscript” because I know I’m a procrastinator who gets dejected if they shoot past intense deadlines….

Editing Deadline: December 2021-January 2022. I know I can edit fairly quickly, so I made this one much shorter.  

Main Requirements Prior to Starting: What do you need to get sorted before you can get going? It could be purchasing a laptop or figuring out a magic system. In my case, it was the latter.  

What Happens in your novel?: This is not ‘what do your characters do?’, but what, in one sentence, actually happens in the book. For Fellowship of the Ring, you could say ‘a diverse group of people assemble and set off together with the goal of destroying the Ring’. LOADS more stuff actually takes place, obviously, but that’s probably the key thing that happens in that book. So, write the same thing for yours. I’m not going to tell you what happens in mine, because that would spoil it :).  

That took up the first A4 page of my writer’s notebook, and after that, I moved on to Mood and Key Imagery. 

Mood, Moodboards, and Key Imagery

On the left hand side of the page, I wrote down the words and concepts that sprang to mind when I thought of the novel itself. These were in no particular order or placement — just a random cloud of ideas in a rough column on the left hand side of the page — and they included: history, mystery, love, friendship, betrayal, nostalgic, homesick, sense of belonging, sense of place, searching, closeness, secrets… etc. etc.

Then on the right hand side, I wrote down five key words that I wanted to associate with the novel. These would form the ‘visual aesthetic’ in the background of my mind, and could be very easily expressed with a moodboard.

This same process (writing down words and creating a moodboard) could be achieved on a website like Pinterest. Take your time with it, find the right visual clues that really match the essence of your story, and create a final mood board with a limited number of panels that will be your novel’s ‘true north’ when it comes to feelings. If you're artistically inclined too, you could draw sketches of things relevant to your world too.  

While this stage is really important for solidifying the feeling and mood of the novel, don’t get stuck here and spend forever procrastinating on Pinterest or whatever. Once you’ve crystallised that ambiance, it’s time to move on. It’s also perfectly fine to come back to this at a later stage if you find yourself running out of inspiration or drifting a bit. Daydreaming, drawing, mood-board-ing are all great ways to work on your novel on days when you don’t feel like writing.

Things to Consider:

Alicia Lidwina asked herself some questions which helped me get past the ‘block’ that I’d created when thinking about the novel, and those were:

What scares me about this story? (in my case it was the scope of it - it was easy for me to get lost in over-thinking tiny details and get too overwhelmed to handle the big picture)

What will readers take away from it? (in my case, I hoped that it was a sense of friendship, people from desperate cultures finding common ground, and a sense of being grounded in a real, tangible world.

What is its selling point? (essentially, why would an agent/publisher choose yours over the next one in the pile?). Don’t be bashful about this. This is your notebook, so if you’re proud of a feature or aspect of the story, write it down. In my case, there is no ‘Big Bad come to destroy the world’, no Chosen One who is the only one who can stop it. There is an antagonist, but it’s on a personal scale, and that’s the selling point. It’s about two people going on a personal journey to uncover a lost piece of knowledge that’s arguably not all that world-changing on its own, but which means the world to them.  

What will be the three biggest issues in writing the first draft? Identify the three biggest roadblocks, and then take a bulldozer to them. For me, it was time management, getting mentally stuck, and the sheer darned effort of it becoming overwhelming!

Important Bullet Points  

These are five key facts about your novel, distilled from the sections above. They include: What’s at the heart of the story? How long is the story? What’s the narrative focus of the story? What are the maximum number of main characters? And the maximum number of supporting characters (this obviously doesn’t mean you can’t have other, less important characters too!)?  

Relationship between the two main characters is forefront

50-100k words

The novel’s focus is on the characters’ main goal (had to be more vague here so I didn't give it away)

2 main characters

3 supporting characters  

If you find you’ve got too many main characters (not necessarily a bad thing to have a lot of characters - look at A Song of Ice and Fire after all!), then figure out whose story you want to tell here. You can always write another story with other characters in a connected novel, or a sequel. You don’t have to tell everything all at the same time.  

Speaking of characters… 

…Get to Know Your Main Characters:  

Here you can write character sheets for each of your main characters and cast. There are hundreds of these templates available on the internet, asking questions like ‘how would your character react to [insert event]?’ etc. to get to know your character. If this isn’t your thing (it isn’t mine) then at least write down some useful information about them. Rough height and weight, hair, eye and skin colour, general temperament, and any other defining physical or mental traits. 

Next came the Chronological Order

This does not have to represent the final order of the novel’s structure, nor the order in which you write the manuscript, but you need to know what happened within the timeline, and when, in order to be really clear when you’re telling the story. You can write the manuscript out of order, and you can tell the story with flashbacks or in a different order, but you need to have the underlying chronology securely in place so that your writing makes sense and so that you don’t confuse yourself or the readers in the process.  

Preceding and Tangential Events

These don’t need to be in the novel itself, but it may be important to define the sequence of events that also led up to the moment where we pick up your story, and what is happening elsewhere so that you can be sure of these too. In my case, I defined the events that concerned one of the supporting characters’ lives so that I knew how and why they were at the point they are in the story. It relates directly to - and heavily influences - the events of the novel, so I needed to have this person’s history nailed down as well, even though I don't tell it all explicitly in the book (because that would be unnecessary and a bit dull).  

Basic Premise, Plot Definition, and Sub-Plot Ideas (plus writing a synopsis)

Alicia Lidwina defined the story premise helpfully with the following formula:

Story Premise = Main Character + Desire + Obstacle

Pick a different colour for each of these components, and write a short paragraph to explain them in the context of the novel. Alicia Lidwina used the following:

[Main Character] “Harry, an orphan who didn’t know that he’s a wizard, [Desire] got invited into Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry and wanted to live his school life to its fullest, [Obstacle] but a certain Dark Lord who killed his parents is trying to rise into powers again and kill him in revenge.

Do this for your novel, and keep it really short.  

Plot Definition: This is even shorter than that! It’s a single sentence!! It’s most closely tied to the desire of the character, and lies at the heart of the story. It’s most likely a distilled version of the ‘what happens in the story’ from the Project Stats page, so check that to see what you wrote there.  

Sub Plot Ideas  

Five bullet points (no more) for things that are happening concurrently and which are related in some way to the main story. For me, Kae and Tomas are doing their research, so that’s the main theme, but beneath that there are a few other related incidents.

Writing a Synopsis - developed out of the points in this section, and includes:

Who the main character is

What the stakes are (the story premise is your guideline)

What the main plot line is

How the MC resolves the problem in the main plot line

How the book ends.

List of Locations  

Start with the main ones and add to it as you go on. Write a little bit of information about them so that you have something to refer back to. I also drew a big old map which I found very helpful and also really fun to do.

List of Scenes

It’s very important to map out every single scene that happens in the novel. Use your timeline to help with this, but remember a scene is not necessarily a chapter. You can have more than one scene within a chapter, but try not to have too many.  

I used small post-it notes (sticky notes) and wrote down things like “M joins K’s clan at the fire and K learns about magic” and “K studies at Citadel, intro to Citadel, magic, and characters” as separate scenes. Once you’ve written down everything that is going to happen (this will take some time! Get a drink and some snacks ready, and go slow), you can stick them into your notebook in the order you’d like to tell the story. Some chapters may have just one scene, while others may have two or three. I didn’t have more than two in any of my chapters, and actually ended up splitting some scenes that I’d made too vague in this section into more chapters. It doesn’t have to be set in stone, but it will form a road map.  

Additions and Notes:  

I left a section of the Scene Outline bit of the notebook blank for things to add in as I went along. I haven’t used it yet, but I might.  

Chapter Outline

I arranged the scenes into the chapters already by sticking them in order, but you could do a chapter outline separately after this. It’s up to you. 

NaNoWriMo plan:  

I did this back in October, and wrote down the main goal for nanoprep, which was to finish the background info. Breaking that down further, I listed - magic (how does it work exactly), geography, and politics. 

After that, it was just a case of writing the 1667 words a day. *spoilers, I got distracted and didn’t do NaNo this year* . What I should have done, was break it up into chunks and write down my goals so that I had something tangible to use as a road map, and I will be doing that now for the novel as I take it up again outside of NaNo. Having check boxes and manageable goals really works for me. Find what will work for you, and if it turns out not to, adapt!

Some final pointers and tips:

Set regular goals for yourself. Whether you work by saying ‘I’ll write 1000 words a day’ or ‘I’ll write something every day’, make a structure for yourself. If you slip and miss a day, week, or month (I didn’t meet NaNo this year because I chose to work on another project instead *slaps forehead*), don’t beat yourself up. Writing is a craft and it takes a long time and a lot of discipline to master a craft.  

Your first draft does not have to be good. At all. Your first draft is just words on paper. A first draft is the block of marble taken from the quarry, and subsequent edits and reworking is the process of carving the sculpture itself. The editing that is done by the publisher or the professional you employ to edit it for you later, is the final polishing. Don’t be demoralised if the block of marble seems very rough when it first lands in your studio. That’s ok!  

Take regular breaks. Writing is hard work, and most people can’t concentrate on something successfully for longer than 55 min's, and if you’re doing that, you’re already doing really well. Personally, I’m at 15-20 on a good day. Write in little sprints of ten minutes or so, and then get up and stretch, look out the window, maybe leave the room, come back in with a fresh approach.  

Stretch your hands, and wear wrist braces when you work. Seriously. I gave myself tendinitis on my first major project, and couldn’t use either hand properly for weeks. The ones I have are these, and they allow me to work safely for much longer.  

Keep hydrated. Have a bottle of water on the desk in front of you between your arms as you type and sip it, otherwise you’ll forget. 2 litres a day is usually recommended, but know your body and drink accordingly.  

Treat yourself. Whether that’s something as simple as a decadent hot chocolate after your first chapter/chunk/sprint is done, or a new notebook or a pen or that sticker set you wanted on Etsy or literally anything nice, reward yourself for the hard work you’ve put in, with tangible things you can look at or experience and say ‘I have that because I did the work’. It’ll help with your sense of achievement, especially if the project is a long one.  

Join a local writer’s group for feedback. With the current Covid-19 chaos, this is probably not possible right now, but getting constructive feedback on your work from someone who hasn’t been cocooned in the project in the way you are, but who respects you as a writer and wants to help you grow, will be invaluable. It’s too easy to exist in a little isolated bubble and think you’re doing ok, when in reality you could be creating bad habits which will be difficult to break later. By these, I mean things like ‘filler words’ you don’t realise you use, or other pit-falls it’s easy to tumble into when you can’t see the wood for the trees…It’s intimidating, and it might take some courage to work up and do, but I promise it’ll help you grow. You don’t have to do what the people suggest, but it’s great to get outside opinions all the same.

Submit work to writing competitions. This will help with showing agents and publishers later down the line that you’re not only committed, but hopefully talented, and will help you to push yourself. Use the world of your novel for the setting, and get to know it by writing short stories on the competition’s theme set there.  

Read. Read the writers you admire, and read them ‘actively’ - figure out exactly what it is about ‘that’ sentence that made you shiver, and use the same techniques in your own work (don’t plagiarise, obviously, but if it was alliteration that made the sentence work so well, use it yourself! Perhaps it was the metre of the line? Great, now you know a rhythm that will drive a sentence forward or slow it down etc.)

Enjoy it. If you’re not enjoying what you’re doing, it’ll show in the work. Take a step back if you start floundering, and ‘interview’ yourself about why it’s not fun any more. Refer back to the sections in the notebook that helped to clarify the plot/process, and see if you’ve wandered away from them. Make yourself answer questions like: ‘What is the main reason I don’t want to do this?’ ‘What is the character’s motivation?’ ‘Should I scrap this section?’ (don’t delete it, but cut and paste it into another ‘scraps’ document, and then start afresh from the last place you were happy with. Nothing is wasted - it all goes into building the world and getting to know the characters, even if it doesn’t get explicitly told in the finished product, so don’t be afraid to do that last bit).  

Good luck!

I hope you found this helpful, and if you have any questions or things you’d like to add to this, please feel free to send me an ask here on Tumblr.

If you’re a new writer hoping to get an agent or publisher, you might also find this post on ‘talking to a published author’ helpful or interesting.

If you would like to keep up to date with my own novel’s progress, you can follow me here on Tumblr, as well as on my writing Instagram @rnpeacock

[yandearest]

May The Odds Be Ever in Your Favor (Hoseok x Reader Hunger Games AU) Chapter 2: Training Day

Summary - Living in District 4 you never thought you would have to worry about being selected for the Hunger Games. With a training centre right near the dock of the houseboat you lived and fished from, your district was known for volunteers who trained their whole lives for a shot at glory and riches. But at age 18, your name is called and no girls volunteer to take your place. Your devastation is answered when Kim Namjoon volunteers for the males shortly after. Tall, muscular, highly intelligent and charming, the years of diligent preparation have bestowed Namjoon with the expectation of being the next District 4 champion after Finnick Odair last won 3 years ago.

Fishing for a living has granted you skills with a knife but, as your mentor Finnick is quick to describe, your beautiful face may well be your best asset.

Upon arrival in the Capitol you are quickly faced with the reality that Namjoon may not even be the biggest danger inside the Arena. Especially when you capture the obsessive attention of District 2′s own volunteer, and killing machine, Jung Hoseok. Hope soon fades from ‘survival’ to ‘the mercy of a painless death’ but Hoseok certainly has other plans.

Pairing - Hoseok x (fem)Reader

Genre - thriller, angst, yandere

Word Count 7.2K

Warnings - [in later chapters] major character death, graphic depictions of violence, swearing, obsession, dubcon-smut (smut will be marked so reading is optional), gore, unrealistically beautiful oc because I’m a sucker for that shitty trope and want to live vicariously through my writing (sue me)

The following is a dark fic featuring a yandere character, violence, obsession, and coercion. By no means does writing about this in a fictional setting condone any of those behaviours, much like Stephen King writing horror doesn’t mean he approves of psychotic killers in reality. Please avoid reading if any of these warnings makes you uncomfortable.

Previous Chapter: 1

Cross posted on A03 so people can subscribe for updates/notifications

Training began the following morning at 10am, although when you woke for breakfast at 8 Namjoon was nowhere to be found in your living quarters. Finnick informed you that Namjoon had left to begin early as you elected for a bowl of cereal instead of the array of foods presented on the dining table. To anyone else the spread of pancakes, syrup, pastries, bagels, bacon, eggs, sausages and other delicacies you weren’t even familiar with would have appeared mouth watering. But in your state it all just looked like cardboard. You didn’t trust yourself to be able to keep anything down but knew you had to at least eat something so you wouldn’t pass out later.

You tried to make the most of the one on one time with Finnick, listening as he talked about the range of stations that would be inside the gym. For the most part he seemed to suggest being a shadow to the rest of the careers, “play along and act dumb so they think you trust them and are too stupid to make plans for yourself”. Your best bet of survival relied entirely on them underestimating you and you being able to correctly time when to stab them in the back (literally) before they disposed of you.

Once you finished barely eating, you dressed in the capitol provided athletic wear; a fitted black T shirt with decorative panels of silver and gold along the sides and the number 4 emblazoned on your sleeves, along with a pair of just-below-knee-length black leggings that also featured the same silver and gold design as a strip on the sides. After tightly lacing up your sneakers, and tying your hair into a high ponytail, you took the elevator from the floor of your living quarter down to the basement where the gym was located.

You had no idea what you were expecting, perhaps something similar to the warehouse gym back in 4, but the spacious room that you arrived in was definitely not it. To start with, despite being under ground beneath an apartment complex, it looked like it could easily fit at least five warehouses inside the space. There were so many stations set up you wondered how it would be humanly possible to even attempt all of them within your three-day time limit. There were more weapons here than you had ever seen in your entire life combined; what appeared to be a parkour racing course, a rope climb, fire making equipment, a knotting station, something that looked like a paint set up, a tablet with symbols (what use that was supposed to bring you had no idea) and many other things you weren’t sure of. A large digital clock was mounted in the middle of the wall at the back, near a rock climbing wall, displaying the time as 9:45AM. You tried to swallow down your nerves as you scanned across the room looking for Namjoon. You found him easily at the weight section, bench pressing a large barbell you didn’t care enough to read the weight on. It seemed like a pretty basic scare tactic of trying to intimidate the other districts with his strength, but it didn’t have any impact on you because you were already aware.

“What’s muscles over there trying to prove?” a sudden voice at your side caused you to start, whipping your head to see Krystal next to you. She didn’t quite smile but there was an amused look to her eyes and a little quirk to the corner of her mouth.

“Holy shit please don’t sneak up on me like that in the arena, I will literally die of a heart attack” you exhaled with an awkward laugh at the end.

“Wouldn’t be the most painful way to die in there,” Krystal retorted with a shrug. She looked different compared to last night, but you supposed you could say the same for everyone if you compared them in an elaborate costumer to their gym wear. Her sleek black hair had been braided into two French plaits down the back of her head and secured into twin buns on the bottom.

“Touché,” you agreed but quickly moved to shift the topic away from you dying. “To answer your question Namjoon’s probably trying to intimidate some kids into thinking he’s going to bench press them to death.”

Krystal gave an amused hum before gesturing towards her fellow district mate Yoongi who was lazily sitting against the wall nearby. Training hadn’t even started yet and he looked like he’d much rather be asleep. It was hard to think of him as the confidently spoken cape wearing tribute from yesterday when he was now slumped against a wall. If anything he looked quite adorable.

“We just got here, have you seen 2?”

“No, I just got here myself, Namjoon came early to get extra training in”

You looked around the warehouse again trying to spot a familiar head of copper hair or Athena’s cropped blonde pixie cut but couldn’t see either of them for now.

“If he wants to wear himself out before we even get into the arena that’s his business, but if he pulls a muscle or drops a barbell on his head, I’m not carrying him,” Krystal muttered as Namjoon grunted lifting his weights up a final time before slamming them back on the rack.

“Agreed.” You murmured whilst Namjoon finally spotted you were here and nodded towards you and District 1 in recognition, before walking over. Krystal and yourself both gave half hearted waves in reply, Yoongi looked like he had actually fallen asleep and didn’t do anything.

“Hey,” Namjoon greeted wiping his forehead on his shirt sleeve and taking a drink from his water bottle. As much as you had made light of his workout before the fact he was barely out of breath after lifting more than twice your body weight was pretty intimidating. “Have you seen 2 yet?” You were about to tell him what you had just told Krystal when a raspy voice spoke from behind you

“Speak of the devil and he shall appear.”

Turning around you saw Hoseok and Athena walking out from where the elevators were nearby. Athena looked almost unrecognizable in comparison to her warrior outfit and smoky make up from the night before. Her short hair was pushed back with a headband and her face much rounder. She was definitely shorter without her heeled shoes and her body type much curvier than what her costume showed. Whilst Athena, Yoongi and Krystal all looked softer without their costumes and make up Hoseok somehow still managed to radiate the same aura from the tribute parade. His form fitting T-shirt and pants (in the same design as everyone else’s) accentuate his lithe build. The tights he wore showcase the definition of his calves and thighs, along with how long his legs were. The definition of his abs could be seen through the black shirt and his biceps were on display. It appeared he didn’t need any bronzing powder or contouring make-up to sharpen his facial features; his high nose and cheekbones were still just as prominent and his jawline just as sharp. He ran a hand through his hair, which was disheveled from not being styled, but somehow still managed to look good anyway.

When you make the mistake of looking into his eyes you can see that there was definitely no make up involved in the intensity of his stare from yesterday, it��s still just as unnerving this morning. The corner of his lip pulls up into a smirk as he sees you assessing his appearance and he has no shame running his eyes over your body.

“Nice of you to show up,” Namjoon grunted, clearly not impressed with the way Hoseok was staring at you again.

“Relax we’ve still got five minutes until we’re officially mean to start” Athena said as she stops beside Namjoon. She strikes up a conversation to try and distract him like Hoseok had told her to do. Why exactly she was following his instructions she didn’t really know, but she didn’t particularly care to upset him at this point so she simply played along. Namjoon was easy enough to engage, all she did was ask him what he had been doing to work up a sweat and he immediately leapt into a description of the circuit he had been training.

Hoseok moved to take the spot between Athena and yourself.

“Morning love,” he whispered under his breath, touching your elbow gently and leaning down slightly in a way that’s only intended for you to hear. You shudder at the feeling of his warm breath ghosting against the shell of your ear and curse your body for it’s unconscious reaction.

He pulls his hand away just as quickly, not wanting to draw unnecessary attention, but wishes he could maintain some form of physical contact. ‘There’ll be plenty of time for that in the arena,’ Hoseok assures himself watching as your cheeks flush that same rose color they did last night. He can’t explain why, but something so simple as your blush makes him feel ecstatic. Oh the things he would do to you to see what else makes you flush that pretty color for him again.

“Hey,” you reply, trying not to break the eye contact out of fear it could be taken as a sign of weakness. He’s tall so you need to look up, but you’re not that short either so it’s not a high angle. You’d estimate the top of your head reaching around his nose if you had to guess.

“I’ve been dying to ask this since seeing you yesterday, but what is an angel like you doing at these games?” his voice is still low, but not as quiet as before, as Namjoon continues to elaborate on his morning work out whilst Athena pretends to care.

“Uh same reason nearly everyone else here is, my name got pulled out the bowl,” you tried to casually respond with a shrug but knew the devastation would have been showing in your eyes. There were some things you just weren’t capable of hiding, and your fear at your situation and imminent death was one of those things. “And you?”

Hoseok frowns and you wonder if you somehow said something wrong but then he softly shakes his head.

“Volunteer,” he states and you swallow with a nod, unconsciously shifting backwards a little. His very appearance is lethal so it really shouldn’t be a surprise at all that he’s signed himself up to slaughter people like you, just the same way Namjoon had.

“Right, I mean you’re a career,” you shrug again looking across at Krystal, Athena, and Yoongi, wondering if they were volunteers too.

“Hey,” his hand was back on your elbow again, he didn’t give a shit if the others saw him. The feelings he was already experiencing towards you had just been intensified immeasurably by the fact you were innocent in these games. He didn’t know how to possibly describe it; all he knew was that from all the words that existed, in all of the languages in the history of mankind, there would never be a way to explain it.

He saw the tremble in your body whenever he looked at you, the shudder earlier when his breath met your ear, surely you had to feel something towards him too. There was no possible way that these emotions he was experiencing could be contained in just one body, you had to be sharing this experience. Was this a ‘soulmate’ that he had only read of before in passing regarding outdated literature? He had never been the kind to believe in fate before, as far as he had trained his whole life to believe, his only destiny was to win the games and bring honor to his family. But as you stood before him, for only the second time in his life, he just knew that you had been preordained for him.

At his age of eighteen he had experienced love in some capacity before, his parents, his sister, a few close friends and a couple of girlfriends here and there but none of those emotional connections compared to you. Surely you would feel the same way about him too, but of course as the poor reaped tribute that you were, you were too afraid to be able to focus on him right now. He was furious you were even here, how dare none of the other female trainees from 4 volunteer to save your precious existence. How cruel the forces of the universe were, for gifting him with an angel only for her to be so close yet still so out of reach. These intense emotions were far too much for one person to ever experience alone, so somehow he must be possessing part of your emotions for him, because you weren’t capable of focusing on anything more than survival right now. His poor defenseless angel, how much you needed him right now.

That must be it. A trial from beyond these games where he would have to earn not just this victory but a way to make you experience your love. There had to be a reason why you were here, it’s because it was for him to prove himself worthy of you. Oh how he wishes you could have met outside, after his victory tour when he went to 4 and he could just pick you from the crowd and make you his. But that would’ve been too simple. Yes, a love like this only came once in a lifetime, he was certain, and he would need to move heaven and earth to somehow save himself and you. But there had to be a reason that the universe had put you together right at this very moment. There had to be a way for him to save you both, and he knew he would kill anyone and everyone who got in his way.

“I promised you last night, I won’t hurt you, and I meant it,” he said, squeezing your elbow – not tight enough to hurt – as if trying to implore you to believe him. His hand felt warm and his hold was firm, shooting a tingling sensation down your spine. You tried to suppress the physical affect his touch was having on you, knowing nothing good could possibly come out of any attraction. You hated just how strongly your body was reacting to him, wondering why the hell he was trying to flirt before he would inevitably try to kill you, and why your body was liking it. But even though you were a tribute, ultimately you were still only human.

“Hoseok, you literally volunteered to kill me, it’s fine,” you began as a small voice internally added ‘well it’s not fine really but that’s besides the point’. A look you couldn’t read flashed in Hoseok’s eyes and he opened his mouth to say something, but you continued on before he could speak.

“I’ve seen enough of these games to know how the career pack works. I’ll help you guys and when it comes down to the end I’ll just try as hard as I can. There’s only one winner and look at you,” your eyes were on his torso because you couldn’t bring yourself to maintain the eye contact as you spoke. The outline of his pectorals and abs that were visible through the fabric of his shirt, compared to your barely toned figure in comparison, did all the speaking in that regard anyway. Looking down at his grip on your elbow, you could see how the fingers on his large hand nearly wrapped all the way around your arm. His own biceps would easily be twice the size of yours.

“Look at Namjoon,” you subtly gestured to your much larger district-mate, “and then look at me.” You weren’t exactly unfit, all the years of physical labor from working on your family’s boat had helped give you some muscle definition, but it was nothing compared to a trained killer.

“You don’t have to lie to me.”

“I’m not lyi-”

Hoseok’s objection was cut off by an announcement coming from the other side of the room. It was now 10 am and everyone had to attend a briefing in regards to how training worked. Hoseok scowled at the interruption before quickly dropping your arm to avoid suspicion from the others.

“This isn’t over,” he whispered, as you followed with the others to where a dark skinned woman stood in the center of the room. She introduced herself as Atala and ran through the basics of how the next three days would work. Her commentary about dehydration and infection being as much of a danger in the arena as the weapons was particularly interesting to, you wondered if Namjoon had spent as much time on his survival skills as he did on his fighting in the old warehouse back at 4. You doubted it. You also noticed a window on the wall that your back had been facing when you entered the room, where a room of mostly men in suits with eccentric beards and wild colored hair styles were sitting on lounges. Atala introduced them as the game makers who were here to observe, sending a shiver of disgust throughout your body.

Before being allowed to focus on the stations of your choice there was a tribute wide assessment on four of the obstacles: Monkey bars, a fire making station, a memory game (which explained what that strange tablet thing was) and a one on one physical combat match with a Capital trainer. The monkey bars were first and tributes were to perform in the order of their district numbers. You were mildly surprised by how Yoongi went from appearing lethargic to swinging across the bars with ease, but as a career it wasn’t entirely unexpected. Krystal and Athena both had no trouble and Hoseok flew across the rungs twice as fast as the others. You swallowed a nervous lump in your throat when your turn came, feeling the pressure of being in a career district and having all eyes focused on you. Upper body strength had never been your strong point, and you knew the furthest you would probably be able to get was around the half way mark. The girl from 3 had struggled and fallen off nearly immediately but you still didn’t want to fail, especially not with Namjoon breathing down your neck behind you. Back at home you had needed to climb around the boat before in order to make repairs, which suddenly gave you an idea.

Jumping up to reach the bar, you used the momentum to swing your legs through and up onto the next bar in front. Hooking your ankles under you pulled your legs through the gap until you were hanging by your knees. With your weight now more evenly distributed you were able to pull yourself up and awkwardly climb over so you were then on top of the bars. From there you tried not to look down at the long fall onto the thin mat below and crawled your way to the other end before lowering yourself back down when you reached the other side.

“Unconventional, but effective” the person who was responsible for measuring the times and taking notes muttered as they scribbled down something on their clipboard.

“Not bad, spaghetti arms” Athena nodded her approval, her own arm muscles were probably close to the same size as Yoongi’s.

“Gotta know your own strengths and weaknesses,” you smiled back with a shrug. Your time was much slower than the others – Namjoon racing across the other side in a speed to rival Hoseok, right after you were done – but it was still better than not even being able to complete the course at all.

The other assessments were pretty much non eventful with predictable results. You performed decently in comparison to other reaped tributes but were definitely lacking compared to the rest of the careers. You could also detect a bit of rivalry beginning to brew between Namjoon and Hoseok as they tried to one up the other. Hoseok was the faster of the two to light a fire but Namjoon was quicker in being able to solve the memory puzzle. Both of them landed ‘lethal blow’ scores against the capital trainer in their sparring match (you had managed to land a simulated hit of the heel of your hand to the capital trainer’s nose which had counted as an ‘incapacitated blow’ – not a bad score).

With the mandatory grading over you were then given individual feedback along with suggestions on recommended training stations before breaking for lunch. After all the exercise you couldn’t help but feel much hungrier than you had before during breakfast, and helped yourself to a sandwich, along with an apple and a bottle of water from the provided catering. The feedback had been handed out on a card, in order of the district number, before you were dismissed for lunch, and you didn’t pay attention to where 1 and 2 had walked off to. Wanting to be alone anyway you walked around a corridor into an empty hallway and took a seat on the floor against the wall. Leaning back, you raised your knees and rested your elbows on your legs as you scanned across your feedback card. You noted there weren’t any grades or scores, but merely recordings of the time it took for you to complete the activity and a short written assessment next to each. At the bottom were the suggestions for which areas to focus on over the remaining days.

Your evaluation had described you as ‘a dark horse’. The Capital had picked up on the career’s alliance and noted that you were the physically weakest of the six members, however they gave you commendation for unconventional problem solving during the monkey bars. The primary suggestion was focusing on weapons based training in order to stand a chance of survival when the time came for the careers to turn against one another. There was also a suggestion to train more on agility based exercises that played to your existing skills, rather that bothering with weights or physical strength stations that would be impossible to build in such a short time.

“How did you go?”

The sudden voice and presence at your side, whilst you were intently focused on reading your card, caused you to jump and nearly swallow your last mouthful of sandwich down the wrong way. You managed to just catch it with an awkward choke, reaching for your bottle of water to swallow it down properly. To your absolute humiliation, you looked up to see Hoseok standing above you with an amused look on his face.

“Uh, fine I guess,” you muttered, fiddling with the card in your hand as he sat down beside you. “You?”

“As expected,” was all he replied with. You nodded awkwardly. You had seen him perform before you in all of the tasks and sail through each of them with ease. ‘As expected,’ meant nothing less than perfection for him. You couldn’t help but wonder if your death was going to be by his hand, and if that would just be ‘as expected’ for him as well.

“Let me see your card.”

You opened your mouth to protest, but the words were caught in your throat (much like your previous mouthful of sandwich) as Hoseok easily pinched your card out from your fingertips and passed you his along the carpet in return. Frowning, you picked his up, to at least pretend it was a mutual exchange.

“Did you swap cards with the others?” you asked, wondering why he was interested in your report. You skim read across his, finding commentary about Hoseok’s speed, skill and lethality, along with a note stating him as a lead contender, nothing that you weren’t already aware of.

“Nope,” Hoseok dismissed, lips pursed as he read your card much slower.

You frowned at this, passing his card across the floor and reaching over to try and grab yours back, only for Hoseok to lazily lean to the side away from you, with a hint of an amused smile. You let an annoyed huff of air out.

“So why are you reading mine then?”

At this Hoseok paused to raise an eyebrow and make eye contact with you over the top of your card in his hands.

“Because I don’t care about the others.”

He found the stunned look of confusion on your face to be absolutely adorable.

“But…” you paused, not even knowing what to say. Shouldn’t he at least care for his own district mate? Granted you didn’t care much for Namjoon but you were at least somewhat going along with him for the sake of presenting a cohesive alliance. And if he didn’t care about the alliance then what was he doing here with you? The implication of his statement was quite clear that he somehow cared about you, so what had you possibly done to warrant his apparent attention.

“Why?” was all you could eventually ask.

He lowered your card to the floor and slid it back towards you, leaning across with it. You predictably reached to pick your card back up and he instantly took the opportunity to put his hand over yours. You flinched and attempted to pull back, but his grip only tightened, forcing your hand to remain below his much larger one.

Your pulse began to rapidly accelerate. You knew he couldn’t harm you, not until you were in the arena. But to be alone and so easily caught and toyed with, by someone much more powerful than you, was frightening. You looked up from his hand to his handsome face, trying not to tremble as Hoseok stared back with a lazy smirk in place. The thumb on his hand over yours was softly stroking the skin around your wrist and you could swear your heart was pounding so fast he had to be able to feel your erratic pulse.

“Because I need you to be with me at the end.” His husky voice was a low murmur, as he leaned in closer again. Your hand remained clasped tightly below his 

“So you can have an easy kill, because I’m weaker than the others?” you frown, knowing your assessment would have told him as much. But Hoseok was quick with a denial.

“No.”

“Then why?” You pushed, growing frustrated with his indirect answers and your hand still trapped in his. Hoseok only tilted his head to the side and released a sigh, looking highly amused.

“Don’t you trust me? You know I’ve promised not to hurt you darling,” his low voice grew quieter still, barely above a whisper, causing you to lean in so you could hear him better.

“Darling?” You balked at the endearment. Whatever answer you could possibly imagine coming out of Hoseok, it definitely wasn’t that. “Hoseok I don’t know what kind of game your playi-”

“You’re not a game to me.” He cut you off before you could even finish your sentence. Undeterred you rushed to speak again.

“But we’re literally in The Hunger Games and one of us is going to have to kill the other. And you and I both know how much easier it would be for you to kill me, than the other way around.”

“Oh so you find the thought of killing me unbearable?”

He quirked his eyebrow with a smirk and again you tried to yank your hand back in annoyance, but he only moved his grip further up to clasp tightly around your wrist. His long fingers easily wrapped all the way around, as he then pulled your arm back towards him, causing your upper body to lean further forward. Unconsciously you let out a breathless whimper in shock, your faces now so close you could feel his breath fanning across the side of your cheek.

“I… I don’t even know how I can kill anybody. You’re the volunteer here and clearly the better fighter between us so you would easily kill me in a final two,” you whispered, trying to turn your head away from his, only for the side of your face to press against the wall.

“Oh but darling you’re wrong, to kill you would be to kill myself.”

The hand that wasn’t pinning your wrist to the ground moved to cradle the side of your face, his fingers threading into your hair and thumb running along the top of your cheekbone.

“Hoseok, stop.” You raised your free hand to push against his chest, but he was solid as a rock and didn’t even budge. Instead he only curled his torso in towards you, pinning you in place against his body and the wall. You whimpered in fear, eyes scanning the hallway trying to find a way out, only for Hoseok to press his nose against your temple and lips to the shell of your ear.

“You may not even know it yourself but I can feel it in your pulse how your heart calls for me. Every beat I feel beneath my fingertip sings to my own, that already belongs to you. If you were to die, my heart would have no need to beat without the one it beats for.”

His deep voice was a seductive purr as his breath against your ear sent a shiver throughout your entire body. His hold on your face forced you to look back into his eyes once more, which held the same intense passion you had seen in them last night.

“How c-can you even say something like that, it hasn’t even been a day s-since we met?” you choked as you felt tears beginning to sting in your eyes.

“Because I felt it the second I laid my eyes on you, and seeing you again this morning only made me feel a hundred times stronger.

“Please stop, I’m going to be dead in a week so can you please just not turn my life into some sick joke,” it was all you could do to beg as the first tear spilled from the corner of your eye, his thumb below easily wiping it away.

“I’m. Not. Joking,” he hissed, each word punctuated by his fingers burying into your hair and clenching tightly at the roots, causing you to gasp as more tears spilled out.

“You’re hurting me,” you whimpered, the hand on his chest reaching up to try and pull at his hand that was holding onto a fist full of your hair. His grip instantly released, his hand moving to grab onto yours and thread his fingers in between your own, before squeezing tightly.

“Not as much as you hurt me whenever you try to deny me,” he retorted, pulling your hand to his lips to place a kiss upon the back.

“What do I possibly gain from a game perspective to choose you as my final partner? You said it yourself that you’re the weakest so that means I’ll need to protect you from the other four when the alliance turns. And believe me princess, I will. I’ll slaughter every one of them in cold blood. I’ll snap the neck of anyone who so much as harms a single hair upon your head. I’m going to kill them all for you baby, and I’ll make you watch so you can see just far how far I’ll go for you.”

“Why are you doing this to me?” you whispered brokenly, tears spilling freely from your eyes now.

“Because,” Hoseok dropped your hand to grab ahold of your chin as his lips moved in closer. When he spoke you could feel them brushing against yours “you’re mine.”

But before Hoseok could firmly press his lips to yours in the kiss he longed for, a sudden shout broke the atmosphere he had worked so hard to build.

“YN!”

You never thought you’d be relieved to hear the sound of Namjoon’s angry voice barking in your direction, but his appearance around the corner and into the hallway caused you to exhale a long breath you didn’t even know you were holding.

“What are you both doing here?” Namjoon growled, angrily striding towards you as Yoongi, Krystal, and Athena followed behind him.

Hoseok, who had his back turned to their direction, scowled in anger at the disruption, before quickly masking his face to a neutral expression. The sudden change in demeanour causing you to flinch.

“I found this one here having a bit of a breakdown over her report card,” Hoseok said, lazily getting to his feet and shooting you a wink as your jaw dropped in shock at his smooth and blatant lie.

“No! I- I…” You immediately went to protest only for the words to be caught in your throat. It would just be Hoseok’s word against your own. And who would believe you? His words were so insane you could barely even believe what he had just been saying.

“It’s ok YN,” he purred, as the others walked over towards you. You angrily got to your feet wiping your eyes, not wanting to be a crying mess on the floor in front of the whole group. “I was just telling her there’s no need to worry. First day freak outs can happen to the best of us.”

“I’m fine,” you scowled, crossing your arms and glaring at the floor and seeing the damned report card laying on the carpet.

“I just wanted some time to myself and if anything having someone around only made it worse” you bit back.

“Very well then,” Hoseok smirked raising his arms in a mock surrender gesture and waving his hands theatrically. “Excuse me for trying to be a good teammate.”

“I didn-” before you could rip into him, you were interrupted by another.

“Can you all give me one minute to talk to my district partner,” Namjoon grunted at the others. He didn’t bother waiting for an answer, grabbing a hold of the top of your arm and dragging you further back up the hallway. You didn’t know what was worse between him bossing you around since the train ride or Hoseok’s crazy confession, but what you did know was that if anyone else tried to manhandle you again you were going to take your chances on your own in the arena. It had only been one day and you were rapidly growing sick of this alliance. You’d rather die with dignity on your own than be dragged around like a dog’s chew toy.

“Let me go,” you hissed, when you were far away enough not to be overheard, grabbing his hand and ripping it off your arm. Namjoon just rolled his eyes before staring down at you from his tall height.

“What the fuck was that about?” he asked.

For a moment you breathed a sigh of relief. Trying to convince Athena or District 1 about Hoseok losing his mind would be one thing, but Namjoon was your own team mate. You vaguely knew each other from growing up in the same town. Maybe he might actually believe you. Glancing back to the others you saw them chatting amongst themselves, Krystal was now holding your report card and Yoongi gave a dismissive shrug to something Athena had just said. As if sensing your gaze, Hoseok glanced across to make eye contact. The corner of his lip curled up and he cocked his eyebrow smugly as if to say ‘go on and tell him, see if he believes you’. You scowled at him before turning back to Namjoon and grabbing a hold of his arm (missing the way Hoseok’s nose twitched in annoyance at you initiating the physical contact with another man).

“Namjoon, please, you have to believe me,” you began, instantly lowering your voice as you squeezed his bicep imploringly – your hand didn’t even wrap halfway around the much stronger boy’s arm.

“What happened?” he asked bluntly, eyebrows narrowing into a frown.

So you told him. Speaking as quietly as possible and trying to rush through the details as fast as you could, you hurriedly told him about how Hoseok had found you alone and stolen your card, before pinning you against the wall, claiming you were his, and threatening to kill all the others. You finished by telling him how it was only through the rest of the group showing up when they did, that had stopped Hoseok from kissing you.

“It was humiliating,” you hissed out, trying to choke down the lump in your throat that had built up as you were recalling what happened.

“I don’t want to be in the career pack anymore, I can’t do it, not with him.”

You looked up at Namjoon, begging him with your eyes to believe what you had just said.

“Are you out of your fucking mind?”

You dropped his arm and visibly recoiled as if his words had physically hit you. As far as you were concerned he may as well have.

“Some pretty boy spouts some Romeo and Juliet bullshit so you want to leave the best chance either of us have for surviving this thing? How can you actually be that stupid?!”

You were fuming. How dare he just dismiss what had happened to you like that. You had taken a leap of faith, hoping that as your own team mate he would believe you, and instead he had virtually spat in your face as a response.

“I’m not stupid Namjoon!” You sneered. “The one year my name gets called out is the one year no girls volunteer because they knew that you were going to. If the girls who have spent their whole lives training know they can’t beat you, how the fuck do you think I feel right now? Maybe it’s easier for you because you’ve actually got a chance in these games, but I’m going to die. And none of this is my choice, you actually chose to be here! You were the one who said on the train that you wanted us to join the career pack, so I did! And now I’m the one being harassed, not you! Stop treating me like a child because I’m not just a pawn you can tell what to do until you decide to kill me.”

“If you don’t want to be treated like a child then stop acting like a pathetic fool over the first boy to give you some attention. Do you think your pretty little face is somehow special enough for Hoseok to actually fall in love with at first sight?”

“Of course not!”

“You should be thanking me for pulling your head back in from whatever deluded little fantasy he’s trying to spin. Are you that stupid you can’t tell he’s just trying to divide us so you want to work with him instead of me by the time we get to the end game? At the very least you and I know each other and I guarantee you, in that arena it’s better the devil you know”

You wanted to point out how you were the one to tell him about Hoseok, and clearly were trying to work with Namjoon instead, only for him to berate you, but logic was out the window by this stage.

“Is it? Cause it sounds to me like you’re just keeping me around until you decide to break my neck when it’s convenient for you,” you snapped instead.

“That’s how alliances work sweetheart. You watch my back in the pack to make sure 1 or 2 don’t just slit my throat in my sleep. I drag your ungrateful ass around and make sure you aren’t taken out by some amateur who wouldn’t know the difference between a liver and an intestine. Is that how you want to die? Bleeding out for hours after being stabbed by an untrained idiot and spending your final moments in agony? Would you rather die by someone beating your head in with a rock because that’s the only weapon they know how to use? Let’s see how beautiful you are with your skull smashed in huh. Or do you want to go from starvation or hypothermia because you’re lost and all alone?”

You were absolutely stunned. He was expecting you to just follow him around the arena like a little puppy, where the only incentive for doing so would be his definition of a merciful death? Before you could tell him where he could shove his alliance, your argument was cut off by the approaching voice of Athena.

“I don’t know what kind of little lover’s quarrel you two have got going on here” you could swear you heard a warning growl from Hoseok “but get your shit together. We can’t have infighting in the alliance, especially before we even get into the arena. You,” a point at Namjoon, “stop treating her like shit. And you,” a point at you, “Stop looking like you’re about to cry. You’re a career for fuck sake, a cold blooded killer. Even though you’re obviously not, you at least need to look like one to scare off the other tributes otherwise you’re going to be the lowest hanging fruit they try and pick off first.”

You stared blankly back as Athena kept talking. The other tributes. You had been so preoccupied thinking about Hoseok and Namjoon’s cruelty, you hadn’t even considered your position without them. By now you were established as a career in the eyes of 18 other tributes, regardless of if you wanted to be one or not. From the past years of the games you knew that the other districts would take any opportunity they could to eliminate a career that somehow wound up on their own.

You were completely and utterly ruined no matter what direction you chose to go.

“Hoseok, Namjoon, you two are coming with me to the obstacle course run for a few hours. We need to do some teamwork after you two had your little dick measuring contest before in the graded courses. You two need to do something to make it look like you’re unified because right now because that’s something other tributes can exploit. Krystal, YN, and Yoongi will go to the rope tying station so YN can help us with knots and show off that she’s actually needed in our alliance to the others”

Namjoon nodded curtly whilst Hoseok clearly looked more annoyed at the idea of being split from you and having to work with the Namjoon. However, he quickly covered his expression and nodded as well. Athena gave each of them a shove on the shoulder to get them moving and they walked off out the hallway and back into the training compound.

You took a deep breath, grateful to have a break from either of their presence before looking between Yoongi and Krystal. They didn’t seem particularly interested in you, their sharp eyes and beautiful features were relaxed into a neutral expression that only suggested boredom. That was perfectly fine with you. As a fisherman’s daughter you were indeed well versed in knots and grateful for the reprise which would allow you to spend some time on something you were actually confident with.

“Alright, show me where the knotting station is”

Note: This story was originally a one shot in my mind and has now reached a planned 6 chapters. Aha. I suck.

Ideally I wanted the 'before the games' section to just be one chapter, but found it was starting to get too long after this reached over 7000 words and I still have the other training days, final assessment/grade out of 12 and the interviews with Caesar to cover (those will be in the next chapter, with the games starting in the update after)

The concept of the assessment came from the 1st movie where Atala (the woman who does that ‘in 2 weeks most of you will be dead’ speech in the training centre) mentions a mandatory assessment, so I just worked with an idea from that.

This chapter hopefully showcases more of Hoseok's Yandere nature along with establishing just how much or a horrible character Namjoon is (I swear I'll do a better fic of Namjoon as the lead soon).

[xlovelybeanx]

✭ This show has completely wrecked my mental game up - so you know what I have to say to that?

...

✭Let’s write cute fan fiction about it in hopes that it’ll cure the sadness right out! (I doubt it..I have been crying over it for the past few months.)

✭Spoilers ahead! If you have not seen past episode 9, please do not read. If you still wanna read, that’s completely fine <3!

✭Also this is my first time writing something like this! I hope you guys like it.

——————————————————————————

Title: “Smile, my sunshine.”

Ship: AshEiji

Summary: Ash’s mind had been torn apart from that night - the night where he had to do such a disgraceful thing to his best friend - and has been restless ever since. Luckily, Eiji knows the right way to keep him happy.

WARNING: This is a tickle fic! There are mentions of death, and grief. Please be mindful when reading! Also, art doesn’t belong to me. (I wish I could draw like that.)

——————————————————————————

“Oi, Ash.”

Eiji pounded on his door once more, his tone growing frustrated with every time he had to come back and pound on this stupid door. The frown on his face was clear to see from miles away and his eyes were narrowed so low that he was afraid that he might end up breaking the door with how intense he was staring at it.

There would be no need for him to feel this way if somebody - Ash Lynx - would actually get up and go on with his day. Of course, if Eiji was in that situation, he wouldn’t want to get out of bed either - but Ash couldn’t act like the world was ending. He had to live on because life was ... just worth living.

And because somebody made breakfast, Eiji thought angrily to himself before grabbing the knob and twisting it harshly. Walking into the younger male’s room, everything looked ... almost perfect. Bed was made, curtains were semi-open, and the rest of his stuff was laying in a neat pile - just the way Eiji liked it.

But that lead the question - where was Ash?

Eiji almost went to call out his name, but stopped as he heard the soft trickle of water coming from the shower. Slowly making his way to the sound, he opened the door to find a sleep deprived child sitting in the tub with only his black underwear on. ... the elder’s eyes almost filled with pity. Walking over, the black haired boy tried to figure out what’s going on.

“Ash, talk to me.. did you get any sleep last night?” he asked, petting the top of his head softly. The blonde shook his head, a blank stare still stuck on his face.

“I couldn’t,” he admitted, wiping his eyes with a force that was even surprising to him. “...I c-couldn’t.. think about anything but him, Eiji...” the younger broke down in sobs, covering his face with his hands, feeling the soft patter of water on the back of his hands. It somehow seemed to comfort him, if only a little.

It would make sense that he didn’t get over Shorter’s death that quickly. But to think, for a guy to be almost broken over something he watches everyday - it tugged at the black haired boy’s heartstrings in a way that nothing has ever done before.

“...you should’ve just talked to me,” Eiji mumbled into his ear, closing his eyes as he rested his head on his shoulder. “I’m here for that reason, you know.” Ash looked up, his jade green eyes filled with an indescribable pain.

“I know..” he said, wiping the last of his tears on his wrist. The other nudged Ash’s arm and pointed toward the door. “...why don’t we cuddle so you can fall asleep?” He immediately shook his head. He looked as if he was going to die if he fell asleep - hence him sitting in the tub and hoping that it kept him awake.

“I’m not leaving you in the tub.” He crossed his arms, standing back up. The other leaned against the wall, blinking a couple of times to force himself to stay awake. Ash immediately looked up at him - there was a bright aura coming from him, as if he was the embodiment of sunshine itself. The other exhaled quickly, standing up with shaky legs. “..woah! Woah, careful now,” Eiji said, grabbing on to Ash’s arms when it seemed like he was going to fall.

“...I’m okay,” he said as he wrapped an arm around him. “Sit down,” Eiji ordered him as he sat on a seat they keep in their room. The younger obliged, reluctantly, watching as he got a towel from the bathroom and started drying his hair.

“...you’re depressed about ..it, aren’t you?”

The question caught Ash by surprise.

“...of course I am. .. he’s always been my best friend - I don’t think I’d be who I am without him. ...but when I saw you getting attacked by him, I knew I couldn’t just.. sit there and do nothing. I-It was so hard to pull the trigger. ..I almost couldn’t do it..” before he had realized it, the gang leader had been throwing out his feelings to the boy who stuck by him the entire time. “...I know I didn’t know Shorter that well,” Eiji started, finishing with his hair and moving down to his body. “...but I could tell how much he meant to you. Probably much more than me,” he said jokingly, hoping to brighten the mood. The blonde’s expression hadn’t changed from the sad frown he had on since he shot Shorter.

... what could I do to make him laugh, Eiji thought as he continued drying. Then he hit across something - something spectacular - and if it was true, well, maybe he would be able to get Ash out of this depressive situation that held him hostage.

“Ash~?”

“Eiji,” he mumbled, trying to be snarky and failing.

“Can I do something?”

“...sure, go ahead,” the blonde yawned as he stretched upwards, his whole body arching into the best stretch he’s ever had. This is when he took the time to seize his opportunity.

Eiji’s fingers travelled directly to his ribs, soft and delicate not to hurt him but to drive him wild with laughter instead. The reaction was instantaneous; Ash let out an unmanly squeak while one arm shot down to protect himself, the other to cover his mouth.

“...ohohokay, mind explaining that noise, Ash?” Eiji couldn’t keep himself from laughing like an idiot - the gang leader’s face was entirely red and he shook it, unable to say anything at the moment.

“Playing the strong, silent type, eh? Lucky for you, I win tickle fights with my sister all the time so I’m prepared. But the real question is, are you?” From Ash being so weak from not sleeping all night, he was actually quite surprised when the elder picked him up to the best of his ability and threw him on the bed, sitting on his waist with a snarky grin on his face.

“Ash, say, do you think you can smile? Just for me?”

“...please don’t,” Ash mumbled, his eyes closed and his whole face bright red - he didn’t want to know what came next.

“Don’t what?”

“Tickle me!”

Eiji’s grin only widened as the boy fell right into his trap. This is exactly where he wanted him to be - and he was playing right into it, too.

“Tickle you? Well, why didn’t you just say so?”

And so 10 fingers descended on the blonde’s poor ribs, ever so gently scraping across each and every singular rib.

“..h-hey! Waihihihit-! Stahahahap that-! N-No!” Hysterical giggles poured out of the blonde’s mouth. Eiji was so surprised by his squeaky laughter that he almost just stopped tickling him to begin with - ...he found it honestly quite cute. The way his head was thrown back, the bright red blush on his face.. it was so cute.

“...oh? What’s wrong? Does it tickle? How badly? On a scale from 1-10?” The teasing tone dripped with every word he said, and it didn’t stop there. “..broken already? My little sister can handle more than you. Beaten by a girl? Seriously? That’s pretty frustrating isn’t it?”

And it made it 100 times worse.

“CUHUHUT IHIHIHIT OHOHOUT! EIHIHIJI! F-FUHUHUCK! STAHAHAP!” The blonde was now squirming profusely, shutting his eyes tightly as tears pricked on the corners. Oh god, what had he found himself into it? Him? Tickled to death by the weakest, most kind, most gullible person he knows? That’s just unfair at that point.

“..hmm, I wonder what happens here.” Eiji quickly stuck his hands underneath of his arms, expecting a small reaction. The reaction he got was anything but small.

Ash shrieked, his hands collapsing on his most sensitive spot and trapping his friend’s hands there. Eiji’s eyes widened in surprise, smirking along with his friend who was basically getting tortured in front of him. “Ah, Ash, ...I can’t do anything when you trap my hands like that, you know. You have to get them out.” He said, wiggling his fingers faster.

“YOHOHOHOHO BIHIHIHITCH! FUHUHUHUHUHUCK!! STAHAHAHAHAHAP!! PLEHEHEHEHEHEASE!”

“...hmm, let’s see, are you happy yet?”

“YEHEHEHEHES! FOHOHOR GOHOHOHODS SAHAHAHAKE, YEHEHES!”

“... and are you gonna come straight to bed so you get enough sleep?”

“I CAHAHAHANT- I HAHAHAHAVE A JOHOHOHOB!”

Eiji dug his fingers into his friend’s underarms, furrowing his eyebrows. Ash jerked, throwing his head back once more as his whole body shook with ticklish agony.

“I said... ‘are you gonna come straight to bed so you can get enough sleep?’”

“FIHIHIHIHINE! WHAHAHAHATEHEHVER! NOHOHOW PLEHEHEHEASE STOHOHOHOP!”

And just like he said, the other stopped with no hesitation, leaving a bright red teary-eyed man laying there, gasping for breath. “...w-whahat.. the hell, Eiji..” he mumbled, covering his face.

“Your laugh is quite cute,” Eiji said softly into his ear. “...Don’t expect me to forget about this~!” The other laid down on the bed, pulling the blonde to his chest as he pet the back of his head, watching him melt into his touches as if he were some sort of animal.

“..can I ask you a selfish favor, Eiji?” Ash whispered, burying his face within his chest. The other nodded, smiling softly.

“...stay.. by my side. Please.”

“You don’t have to worry- even if the world turns it’s back on you, I’ll stay by your side. Forever.” Ash slowly closed his eyes, drifting into a peaceful sleep as he felt satisfied with the answer he got. Eiji leaned down and gave him a kiss on his forehead - something he’ll forget when he wakes up but something Eiji will treasure forever.

“.... always smile, my sunshine.”

——————————————————————————

Hope you enjoyed this! I’ll be doing more in the future when I get more confident. .. thank you for reading! <3.

[welcometomy20s]

January 10th, 2021

Action Button Review

Review

Tim Rogers reminds me of Hank Green. They are about the same age, they look about the same age which is a combination of young and old that feel eternal. They also have the same length of experience in writing in online spaces, interest in Japanese media, and apparently have Crohn’s disease? In summary, he might be the closest equivalent to Dave Green that exists in the real world. Well, I guess Dave Green is not apt, as Dave Green is not special in a way, while Tim Rogers is special, but his speciality comes from his failures rather than his counterparts' success.

Tim Rogers is a hypothetical Green brother who did not decide to publish that book. He’s a hypothetical Green brother who went to Japan instead of Alabama or Florida. Whose project crashed and burned rather than a surprise success. He’s forged in fire while the Green brothers are eroded by water. Both are wonderful people, but with a different ground of intensity and differing wealth of wisdom.

I encountered this series because I found a twitter post about a six hour review of Tokimeki Memorial, and a white middle-aged man talking about a dating sim for six hours with laudatory blurbs would always pique my interest, but since I didn’t know the guy, I went ahead and looked if he made other videos, and found he has four other review that were all about three hours or more. Now I knew that I had to watch all the reviews to prepare myself for this six hour review of Tokimeki Memorial.

Now, I wasn’t a stranger to three hour reviews of video games. I watched Joseph Anderson, Raycevick, Whitelight, matthewmatosis, and Noah Gervais-Caldwell. In fact, in the comments below Action Button Reviews, many people talked about a comparison to Noah Gervais-Caldwell (and Brian David Gilbert) and that was quite funny since I actually watched a recent Noah Gervais-Caldwell video.

His first two reviews were perfunctory, him opening himself up and trying out new things and polishing his review style, as he went through the Final Fantasy VII remake and The Last of Us. While I watched The Last of Us, I distinctly remembered and contrasted Noah’s The Last of Us Part 2 review with Tim Roger’s The Last of Us review. I liked Tim Roger’s defense of interactive movies (although he denies it!) contrasted with more cynical but ultimately positive connotation in Noah’s review. And Noah’s thesis pairs nicely with Tim’s observation that Ellie was the main protagonist all along. That fact makes Part 2 much more understandable, even the bad parts.

When I finished watch his first two reviews, I went ahead and also watched several of Tim’s videos on Kotaku, which were slightly shorter, the longest being just over an hour, which is a review of the best games in 1994, and does contain a short segment about Tokimeki Memorial, which his six hour review was my destination. To put in context, Tokimeki Memorial was #3. #1 was Earthbound, #2 was Final Fantasy VI, and #4 was Super Metroid. And I just watched a playthrough of Super Metroid basically on a whim, because it’s a monumental and a great game to play and watch.

And while the segment of the games that I knew to be great and monumental in my absorption of knowing video games was deeply personal and rightly claimed its stake that it deserved its spot, his segment of Tokimeki Memorial never got there. It was almost as if he was deliberately hiding behind something. In the end of 1994 review, Tim pitched an idea about a three hour Earthbound review, which probably was Tim’s idea of floating a departure from Kotaku, which would happen two months later, and I wonder if he was trying to deliberately throw a curveball by making a video of Tokimeki Memorial instead of the promised Earthbound review. This may be a far leap, I admit.

I went back and watched the video about Doom. It was much better in quality and in darkness. I was reminded of Film Crit Hulk’s writing of The World’s End and James Bond, another very long essay that was deeply personal and chapter for easier consumption. Few commenters noticed that Tim Rogers was just doing a dramatic reading of his written reviews on Kotaku and Action Button dot net, and how they liked that approach, and I found myself liking that approach as well. You might believe a video review needs more than just reading an essay out loud, but just the act of reading an essay out loud in the correct intonation and inflection adds ton to experience. And Tim Rogers sounds like he has decades worth of experience to present a dramatic reading of his essay very effectively, much like Hank Green.

I continued scaling the mountain to my goal. I went through his review of Pac-Man and was delighted by his reading of Namco games, and was impressed by the opening sequence, and just generally enjoyed it. I was getting excited to set a day aside and let the six hour review of Tokimeki Memorial watch over me and reduce me to dust.

And it sure did. That six hours was a harrowing experience. What Tim Rogers is best at is telling a story, and so to go through a let’s play was a wish I never made, fulfilled. In the end, I was left with nothing and everything. It was like finishing a really good book.

I wanted to watch it again, then again I never wanted to watch it again. It was almost a traumatic experience. Tim talked about there being endless variation of love, and the love Tim Rogers went through was not the fluffy yet melancholic one that I craved, but one akin to a devotion of an eldritch god. Love made in justification for one’s efforts in attending and maintaining a relationship. A love stronger than most kinds of love, but most draining and taxing as well. Tim Roger’s synopsis of Tennis Monster reminded me of Asking for It by Louise O’Neill, which is also about empathizing a quite hateable character because we kind of have to. Apparently one person knows the full plot because Tim Rogers rambled on about it as he was couch surfing in his house, and unbelieve as it usually is, I fully trust that the commenter is telling the truth.

I was like a heroin addict, who really wanted a different hit, like talking to friends or hiking, my mother wanted me to go hiking with her, and I didn’t because, after the pandemic started, all I wanted to be was inside. Outside felt diseased. The air outside felt contaminated to me, hard to breathe. I was stuck in this place.

Tim Rogers is an exceptional figure. He seems to be a movie protagonist, he reminds me of The Librarian, played by Noah Wyle. Tim has eidetic memory, as he has access every single autobiographical memory formed, but not other types of memory. We know that those types of memory are different because of people like Tim and people who are opposite of Tim, someone who has no memories of autobiographical memory but otherwise fine. These people tend to have very few emotions and have a hard time deciding things. Lack of emotions is correlated with difficulty in decision making.

So Tim is the opposite of that, Tim is full of emotions, complex emotions and he can make decisions and carry it out in a snap. He would be good at school, and he was, but he would be too focused on his grandeur to be under some authority, which is how he became who he was. His anti-authoritarian nature rings throughout his reviews, highlight the general Generation X vibe that Tim exudes but also the modern socialistic movement of Generation Z, which adds to this odd mix of old and new.

Not only does Tim have eidetic memory and intense work ethic that he never seems to move away from, therefore making a three hour video masterpiece at a clip that seems unbelievable for a seasoned viewer, he also has exceptional skills in fast math and language, he seems to be at least familiar with dozens of languages, and of course Tim’s experience is bounded by his decade of living in Japan.

I think this is why Tim naturally gravitates towards video games. When Tim says ‘welcome to video games’ there’s a natural supposition that Tim Rogers is the protagonist of video games, and I think he is. Tim wants to be in video games, because he needs to be in video games, instead of some almighty god cruelly deciding to plop him into a real life. He should be an video game adaptation of The Librarian and go on world-spanning adventure and romance impossibly beautiful girls instead of toiling the grime of what real life portends to. His life is dramatic, but impossibly mundane as well. It’s a simulacrum of a movie or a video game, which is pretty cool on its own.

But of course Tim Rogers isn’t the only part of Action Button Reviews. In the ensuing five videos, Tim Rogers tries to do something. Video games are a wide net. There is so much to video games, something like Gone Home and Geometry Dash are included alongside Wolfenstein The New Colossus and Farmville. What makes a video game? Actually, the more interesting question is, why do we have the term ‘video games’? Why do we put all of this mess into a single category, as if there is some throughline.

Tim Rogers starts to do that. Tim Rogers boldly states that things like Doom and Tokimeki Memorial are intimately connected to each other. And that all video games are in conversation with each other, through deep and complex meta-narratives. Tim Rogers is a cartographer, trying to map out how video games are made whole.

I’ve always strived to be that kind of a cartographer, to showcase the weave of reality, of connecting two seemingly unconnected parts, and showing to a profound implication both existing, instead of one or the other. If you don’t know, I have been trying to write something out of my current obsession with Virtual YouTubers, and mostly Hololive, and while I think I stumbled upon the six hour video review of Tokimeki Memorial outside of my interest in virtual YouTubers, this video, as I expected in the back of my head, gave me plenty of thoughts about Hololive. Its rumination of cyberpunk and idol culture is so directly connected with the peculiarities of Hololive that I was quite astounded.

From the very beginning, I wonder how Tim Rogers thinks about Hololive, especially after he has done that six hour review. I’m sure he will have a lot of interesting thoughts about the prospect. I want to get in contact with him, maybe work under him. But then I don’t want to hang out with him. I want to be near him as he talks to a crowd at a party, but I don’t feel safe to be near him when there’s less than ten people nearby. I think below ten, I would be swept in some danger that I won’t be prepared for.

Tim Rogers and Action Button Review is a fascinating review series and if you have the time, I suggest you should take the journey. It’s well worth it, just to get a different perspective on video games and the world around it.

[disinvited-guest]

3/8/2020 Detriot

This show had some wonderful waiting!  The weather was warm, and we never ran out of things to talk about.  At one point, we saw an older man come out to the front of the venue and attempt to take a picture of the marquee.  I didn’t think much of it at the time, but a few minutes after he left, Marty came out to the front of the venue, and crossed to the median of the street in order to take a picture of the marquee.  Later, I saw the man with the woman who’d been with Marty, so I’m guessing they were both relatives of his.  

The venue let us into the bar hours before doors, even checking ids and checking tickets ahead of time, so that when doors did open, we could go straight in.  this all worked wonderfully, although the guy checking ids was pretty insistent that mine was fake.  He asked me to tell him the address on the card, then for my license number, which I didn’t have any idea about.  He eventually scanned the card and let me in, but it was really stressful.

Being in the bar so early, we were able to hear soundcheck, although there was nothing surprising except a bit of With the Dark, which they didn’t end up playing at the show.  Once we got into the venue proper, we found ourselves along a security fence placed quite a ways from the stage, creating an aisle where security guards crossed continually throughout the show.  I found a space further to stage right than I usually do, hoping it would allow me to see across to the drum riser, even with the added distance, which unfortunately didn’t quite work.  It was a good angle to see most of the rest of the stage though.  Fresh didn’t have interesting socks on, but he did have his hair in pigtails and under a ballcap, which he later switched for an orange bandana, and John Brunette was wearing glasses before the show started.

Since the first set was the same Flood set as before , I am once again shortening the format for this set, and doing a full recap on the second set.

Marty had a snack during the first few songs of the set, which he had been doing for the last few shows, but at this show Danny was eating a bit as well.  He also put his pick in between the body and inlay of his bass to hold it while he ate.

There was a longer break-down during the instrumental part of They Might Be Giants than on the album, or than there had been the last few nights.

After messing up on We Want A Rock, Flans jokingly called a “band meeting” to discuss it, before greeting the audience and explaining the format of the show.  “The first set is all Flood, the second set has hardly any Flood.  Which will be better?” He then decided he wouldn’t be able to choose between the sets because “The sets are like our children.  They’re all NEGLECTED!”

There was a bit of an awkward pause after that pronouncement, causing Flans to joke “next slide please”  which he reused a few times throughout the show.  He then promised us that this show had no teleprompter, and told us about a show he had seen that used one “It was bad, but that didn't make the tickets any less expensive.”  Moving on, he asked Linnell “What did you- Did you get out today?”

Linnell explained that he had mostly slept, “We had a long day yesterday and a long trip here today,” and that everyone had been tired “I think we all lost consciousness at some point.”

Flans agreed, and demonstrated what it was like sleeping in a public place, his head leaned back and his mouth wide open, which both the audience and the guys onstage found hilarious.

Linnell then jumped in to assure us all that “We’re not completely straight-laced, but we’re not heroin addicts.”

Flans replied that there were only so many times you could deny that, saying he felt that “Saying you’re not a heroin addict is the sole domain of heroin addicts.”

Flans started out one verse of Your Racist Friend in a weird voice, but quickly realized it was unsustainable and dropped it a line in.  During Hearing Aid, Dan sang along with the keyboard (which was using the voice setting) briefly.

Before Stilloob Flans introduced the song by explaining that “Lots of bands like to look back, but very few actually look backwards.”  He explained what they were going to do, and attempted to ‘justify’ why they were doing it “When preparing we were looking for ways to make it interesting.  Not just for the audience but for us.”

Linnell chimed in to say that it took a lot to prepare for this song, and it takes a lot to perform it “and we’re making it look hard.”  He told us it wasn’t just musically difficult and compared it to eating a whole package of double stuf oreos, and how it seems like a really good idea.

Flans broke in, asking Linnell if he was”referring to the dedication it takes?”

“Yes!”  Linnell answered, “The dedication, the GUTS!”

After Letterbox, Flans commented that the songs just keep getting shorter.  The Johns then had a conversation about Harry Houdini.  They had heard he was from Detroit, and asked the crowd for confirmation.  The response was a bit ambivalent, with no clear cheer of yes like they were perhaps expecting.  Eventually, peering out at the crowd, Flans said ”Some people are nodding. They're just nodding yes.  He was from Detroit.”

A guy in the crowd shouted back at him “He’s still here!”

“He’s still here? Yes, he is still here,” Flans decided.  Linnell then asked us if we had felt that, implying the presence of Houdini’s ghost.  The lights did flicker the slightest bit when he said that, I’m guessing someone in the crew was being clever.

After Lucky Ball and Chain, Flans told us that on the album, that song had a fade out and that “Not many of our songs do.”  He added that he wasn’t sure why, but that they were “probably tied with acdc for the fewest songs with a fade out.”

This reminded him of a supercut he had heard of ACDC endings, which he explained to us by demonstrating a few on his guitar.  There was scattered applause and a sheepish Flans said quietly “That was three of them.” 

Linnell chimed in, to demonstrate a few ACDC endings he thought were probably there, first yelling “Ehhhh!” and then “Yeah!” into his mic.  The two then did one more ending together, with Flans adding his guitar to Linnell’s vocals.

An obviously amused Linnell told us to “Look for this on our next album,” with Flans adding that it would be called ‘Supercut.’

After the cheers and laughter died down, there was a beat, then Flans admitted “I don’t know what song is next.”

Rather than telling him, Linnell decided to give Flans hints, starting with the hilariously unhelpful “It’s off of Flood.”  Which earned him a laugh from the crowd and a harried look from Flans.  “I play a buzzer at the beginning of it,” Linnell continued.  Flans still was confused, so he went to check his own copy of the setlist.  While he was looking Linnell pointed out that a person in the crowd knew what they were playing next, because they had shouted it out.  He pointed over in the general direction of the person, a few rows back from the drum riser, and they shouted it out again.  Flans, returning to his mic, looked over and proclaimed “Oh look! It’s Mrs. Shut Up from shutthefuckup dot com! It’s good to see you, you don’t get out much.”  There was a moment of shocked silence, and I think even Flans was a bit taken aback, because he tried to soften the blow, saying something about a talkative crowd.

They started Hot Cha, but Flans came in a little late, which meant it was just Linnell singing for the first line or so.  Also, I keep forgetting to mention, Marty uses brushes for this song, which looks and sounds really neat.

Towards the end of the set, Linnell mentioned that they were still recovering from the travel and from the time change.  (Since they had moved from central to eastern time, it felt two hours earlier than it was.) He joked that he expected their dopplegangers to show up for the show in an hour. “Whooaaa!”

Flans chimed in to point out “Houdini did live here.”

They finished out the set before leaving us for a “20 minute break that lasts an hour.”  The crew got things set up for the Quiet Storm with no incidents, and it was soon time for the second set.

Godzilla was used for the intro music once again, and though Flans did a bit of his ‘creeping-onstage’ act from Chicago, he soon gave it up to bring his acoustic guitar over for Marty’s inspection.  The two looked at the guitar intensely for a few moments before Flans pointed to a specific spot on the body of the guitar, which Marty inspected briefly. 

Coming up to his mic, Flans mentioned jokingly that the line to the restroom had been short before they started into Music Jail.  During the instrumental bit after the ‘form a band/take a stand’ part of the song, Flans moved closer to Marty, who turned and used his mallets to play the drum part on the body of Flans’ guitar!  On top of being wildly interesting, it also sounded really cool!

Afterwards, Flans admitted “Marty and I have not done that move before in a public forum.”  And pointed out a guitar owner in the crowd who had looked pained at the guitar’s treatment.

Linnell decided that maybe he was a mallet owner, suggesting that he was really thinking they were “Wreaking those mallets man!” which cracked Marty up.

Marty counted off for the next song and both Johns were ready, but Marty was not and stopped them abruptly.  Looking over, Flans told Marty “I was there!” and Marty gestured towards himself, taking responsibility for the issue.  I think he had forgotten to change a setting on his kit, because he messed with it for a moment, then counted them off again to start 2082.

The projection the band uses during this part of the show includes lightning flashes.  This upset the security guards, who had told us all before the show that we couldn’t use flash-photography, and thought that someone was taking flash photos.  They actually came down the aisle to tell random people taking pictures to turn off their flash.

Flans introduced the next song, Wicked Little Critta, as “hostile and actively aggressive,” dedicating it to their friends and relations in New England.  Linnell claimed that they were deeply affectionate AND hostile, and that they could only express that affection with “mean feelings.”

Linnell flubbed a few lyrics during once verse of Wicked Little Critta, although he recovered quickly.  Finishing the song, they left the stage to the Underwater Woman video once again.  I’ll admit, I was a little tired of the video by this point.

They came back on stage part way through the last verse, and the crowd held off on cheering until the video was over.  This meant they stood onstage in silence for a few moments, which was very strange.  

Linnell acknowledged the cheers, when they did come, with the observation “We’re back again! We keep coming back!”  They played Wearing a Raincoat, during which Flans must have made a mistake, because afterwards, Linnell said the song had used a “new introduction” and that from now on they were going to do it like that.

Flans told him “I’m yelling at myself so hard right now.”  Linnell assured him that he had thought it was cool, but Flans just said “We’ll talk about it after the show.”

Moving on to introducing the next song, Flans told us it was from an album end of 2018 called My Murdered Remains “We did a lot of test-marketing on the title, and it turns out people are into hyper-violence.”

Linnell chimed in to say they had tested the title on “psychopathic focus-groups,”  then used a deep voice to imitate them saying “Yeah! Good name!”

“We went to a screening of Clockwork Orange,”  Flans decided, “and asked the audience afterward... what they thought would be a good name.  And they just blinked three times for ‘Yes!’”

This led, of course, into The Communists Have the Music, followed immediately by Let Me Tell You About My Operation, during which Danny came up beside the keyboard to watch Linnell play.  When Linnell caught him looking, he gave him a big smile.

Flans and Danny stood right next to each other for the intro to Older, which always looks incredibly cool with the symmetry of their instruments.  During the bridge, Dan climbed up onto the rather tall drum riser to stand behind Marty and to pose dramatically during the pauses, often with the neck of his guitar pointing up and across the stage.  This went perfectly with Marty’s super serious poses.  Linnell did a cool bit on his Kaoss pad during the bridge as well.

From there, they played the Mesopotamians, after which Linnell brought up his new keyboard stand.  He told us how long he’d had the old one and that he had started getting complaints and that he had “never felt wrong or bad until then.” He also told us the new one was a lot like the old one but it “has more stuff.”

“It has a sandwich,” Flans confided.

“There’s my math homework, but there’s also my lunch,” Linnell told us, adding that the jelly had soaked into the bread so that “the bread is turned blue on that side.  Which is fine.  I’m totally cool with that.”

“What we’re saying is stay in school kids,” Flans added.

He continued “We talk about healthcare a lot in this band.  But…”  he trailed off, then leaned into the mic “Next card on the teleprompter please.”  Then started immediately into All Time What.  The arrangement was different from 2018, with Linnell staying on keys, and Dan’s part covering the difference.  At one point, Dan was air-playing the keys a bit.

From there, they played Ana Ng, and then Damn Good Times.  There was an extra long pause between the chorus and second verse of Damn Good Times,  Flans had stepped away from the mic, then took tiny steps moving back up to it.  At the same time, Dan and Danny had what looked like a staring contest, which stopped when Flans began singing again.  When it was time for Dan’s blistering solo, Flans told us all to sway along.  At the speed needed, this moved quickly from difficult to nearly impossible, although some of the crowd hung on doggedly until the end.  Danny thought the whole thing was hilarious and watched with amusement as most people fell behind and dropped out.  They played New York City, going back to a part-rocking version this time.

Flans then told us “We’ve saved the best for now.  Join us in welcoming-ing,” he paused, and when he went on was obviously still amused at his own blunder. “Mr. Curt Ramm on the trumpet back to the stage.”  This meant, of course, that Curt was doing the intro to Istanbul, which was a nice switch up, even though I still would have loved another intro by Dan.  While Curt was amazing us all, Linnell wandered off stage left for a bit, and Danny sat down on the edge of Marty’s riser.  Istanbul was as high-energy as always, with Dan and Curt switching off for one ending, and Curt finishing it with a ridiculously high-note as always.

Dan and Marty left the stage after the song ended, while Flans told us they wanted to thank everyone in the audience individually, “Not every show is this fun for us.  We have emotional problems.”  He then introduced the last song of the evening as the opening song from Flood.

Linnell spoke over the crowd’s cheers with “just a note.”  “Apparently this song is the exact length of time that it takes for you to wash your hands.  So we encourage you to consider singing this next song rather than Happy Birthday the next time you wash your hands… Immediately after the show.”  They played Theme From Flood, then left the stage to enthusiastic cheers and applause.

As soon as they left, a bunch of security guards took up posts along the front of the stage.  It didn’t really obstruct the view at all, but I’m still a bit amused they thought these fans were going to cause trouble.

After a few minutes, they were back onstage.  Flans looked out over the crowd as he got on, holding up one hand and moving the other in a circle.  The crowd thought he was asking for more appreciation and increased their cheers.  After a few moments though Flans stopped the gesture and said, still looking to the back of the venue “That doesn’t mean anything to us.”  He did not sound pleased.  I think someone on venue staff must have been making that towards him in a “wrap it up” type gesture.  

Linnell said “You need an orange vest to do that,” although I’m not sure if he was talking to Flans or the person gesturing at them.

As the crowd started to quiet down, Flans told us they were ”having a conversation backstage about the nature of encores.” He explained that “Everything, including interpersonal relationships, is all just theatre.”

He then revealed that they time their encores, so that they don’t seem too nervous “At some point we realized we were basically walking offstage and turning around.”

Linnell added in a mock-desperate voice “Please don’t stop clapping! We’re insecure”

Flans continued, explaining that they time it to avoid looking like “the hambones that we are” but that they never take the time to explain why they do it.  Because of this, people assume it is “a weird make ‘em earn it thing.”  

He finished “But such is the nature of theatre ladies and gentlemen.  Your attentions may be beautiful, but their effects are horrible.”

He then realized he had no idea what the next song on the setlist was.  Linnell told him that the amazing thing was that their discussion “is the perfect segue into the song.”

Flans, halfway to look at his setlist, suddenly said “Oh! I remember! I remember.”

“Aggh!” Linnell replied, disappointed.

“I wrote the setlist,” Flans told us all, now back up at his mic. “Okay, here we go!”

They then launched into Fingertips, the beginning of which was marked by Dan gesturing wildly offstage making sure his mic was on. Flans did an exceptionally passionate boy band impresion for Heart Attack.  As always, the whole thing was wonderful in the way that only Fingertips can be.

Flans told us all “We gotta get outta here!”  Thanked us all for coming and for bringing our friends, then said “We know you have your choice of They MIght Be Giants-like bands, and we’d like to thank you for coming to our show, which we think of as the original show.”  They then played Doctor Worm.  Linnell didn’t change the settings on the keyboard for Dan this time around, and I think the keyboard setting they used was different because of it.  As they left the stage, Flans pretended to smash one of the security guys on the head with his guitar.

The cheers for the next encore were noticeably quieter than they had been for the first one.  I guess if people knew they weren’t coming out for a certain amount of time they were going to pace themselves.  

After the correct amount of time had passed, they all came back onstage, with Linnell commenting “Was that 60 seconds?  I feel that it was.”  Linnell then pointed out another feature of his keyboard stand, the rearview mirror.  “Marty has to look at me when we’re playing, in case I’m making faces.”

He then asked “You guys ready?”  This got a cheer from the crowd, which surprised Linnell.  “I...wasn’t talking to you, sorry.  That’s okay, we’ll start over.”

They then started the always beautiful End of the Tour, then went straight into The Guitar from there.  This performance had Flans using one Jim and one Dan, and an especially awesome-sounding Future of Sound.

They then left the stage for the evening.  I think it might have been due to venue policy, but they didn’t give out any stickers, although Marty came out and gave out setlists and his sticks and drumhead from the aisle between the stage and the security fence.  While I had another show, this was the end of the run for a lot of friends, so I said my goodbyes outside of the venue before heading back to the hotel.

[haikyuu-imagines-and-others]

I really loved the "Single Dad Kuroo Au" so I wonderd if I could request a third part :3 as long as you have ideas for it of course

Haha…. Yall know me…. If I don’t have an idea, I just make one up as I go ;D lol I’m so glad you guys like this little 3 parter! I honestly didn’t think it’d be this big of a hit!!! Thanks for the request! - Admin Satori

Part 1 here     Part 2 here

Kuroo Tetsurou:

Souma (Real/Genuine) - Son (6)
“So… are you guys dating?”

Startled at the question, you turned to your co-worker with wide eyes, “U-uh w-what?” Not that they didn’t know what was going on; They’d been your first friend when you’d started working at the school! “I-i… uh….” You felt confusion color your expression in a warm heat, “Who?”

But they simply rolled their eyes with a smile, “The alley cat.” A raised eyebrow, and yet you still looked confused, “The smart kids dad.”

Your mouth opened into a small ‘o’ as you realized who they were referring to. “O-oh…. Uh… Kuroo-san…” He’d told you to call him by his first name a while ago…. But you’d simply save that for when he was around - there was no need for you to embarrass yourself further. “Of-of course not.” You laughed nervously, “Uhm… We’re just friends.”

They smiled knowingly, “Uh-huh… Friends who go over to each others homes for dinner pretty much every night…. That’s what friends do, right?” They raised their eyebrows in question, a teasing lilt to their voice.

“He’s a great cook…” You muttered guiltily. It wasn’t a lie. Every night you’d go over for dinner, after being invited the previous evening, and he’d make these… amazing dishes. Complex in flavor being both spicy and sweet or salty and smooth….

At this point, you were excited to see what he’d make for dinner each night - or what conversation Souma would spark up about his excelled class regime or what new chemical Kuroo was testing out in his labs….

Sato, your co-worker, simply hummed in thought, “You should pay him back, you know… It’s kind of mean for a girlfriend to not reciprocate that kind of affection~.”

“We aren’t dating!” You huffed out, feeling your cheeks heat even more at the mere thought. Of course, you wanted to be dating him. He’s cute. He’s funny. He’s got a good heart…. His son’s adorable…. But be it forbidden that you ever admit to having a crush on your former students father….

But the thought of dating Kuroo didn’t leave you. The rest of the day you were plagued with the fantasies of his holding you close, his lips against yours or pressing against your neck or forehead…. His hands gripping your hips or thighs…. His calling your name-“ _________-sensei!”

Flushed with shame and embarrassment, you responded to your student requesting your attention.

——

“So when are you gonna ask _______-sensei to live with us?”

Kuroo nearly choked on his sip of water, rushing to put the cup down before he was looking at his son with wide eyes, “W-what the-“ He stopped himself from continuing that question, trying his hardest to never swear in front of his boy.

But Souma didn’t seem fazed by his father’s surprise. In fact, he looked expectant for an immediate answer.

Live with them? How in the hell did Souma get to that conclusion? All that was happening was you having dinner with them… every… night…. oh..

He cleared his throat and rubbed the back of his neck a bit awkwardly, “Uh, buddy? I thought we talked about this? _______-sensei is just a friend of ours. Why would she be living with us?”

Souma pouted, “Well… Because they’re always here. Isn’t it mean to make someone travel distances they don’t need to travel?”

Distances… Meaning you going to work, going home to change, then coming all the way back out to their house for dinner before going all the way back to sleep for the next day to start…. It was a lot of back and forth, Kuroo knew… but an invitation wasn’t mandatory to accept. If you felt there was too much back and forth, or you felt uncomfortable with the amount of travel just for a free meal… you were more than welcome to reject the invitation.

It’d break his heart, but it was your choice to make.

Going a single day without seeing you would definitely be something he’d have to get used to if you decided to stop. It’d been about 3 months since you’d first come by for dinner. Every evening after that there you were eating dinner with him and his son… Acting as if you were part of the family already, something he found himself longing for.

Maybe it was because Souma really liked you…..

No. Kuroo wasn’t going to lie to himself. Souma liking you was just a plus, honestly… A priority, but a plus nonetheless……

He liked you. Really really liked you. The thought of you not coming around to eat dinner or visit for a single day made Kuroo’s heart ache.

Why? Was he alone in this feeling? Were you really just coming by to hang out with his son and get some free food? Was he just wasting his time preparing these extravagant meals that he’d had only a few minutes to read up on before making?

“Daddy!” Kuroo met his son’s disgruntled expression almost immediately, “Don’t ignore me.” He muttered, and Kuroo couldn’t help but laugh softly.

“I would NEVER.” A swear on his life. He grabbed his son in his arms, lifting him high above the ground and resting him on his shoulder, “Ahhhh, duck!” Souma immediately ducked as they entered the kitchen, just nearly missing hitting his head on the doorway - something Kuroo wouldn’t have let actually happen, but the playfully irritated look on his son’s face was worth it.

——

Tonight felt… different. You weren’t sure why, but it did. The air was charged excitedly, as if it were waiting for something to happen - to you or to someone else, that you couldn’t feel. But it lay in wait the entire rest of your day into your evening.

Nothing to wear! Nothing you wanted to wear anyway! Why was it so hard? Why were you putting in so much effort tonight? Why tonight specifically? Before, you’d simply wear a nice t-shirt and some jeans or pants… Your ‘off-duty’ teacher clothes!

But now? Why did you feel the need to pull down your favorite casual dress? Why did it feel right to slip it over your shoulders? Why was the struggle to zip up the back so satisfying to you??

Cute… You wanted to look cute. You wanted Kuroo to think you were cute…. Maybe it’d spark something… Maybe it’d start something… Probably not, but you wanted that possibility to be open to him.

And now there you stood, in front of his door, hands clasped in front of you nervously after ringing his doorbell. Sweaty palms? Not even! Try shaking hands. Cold feet. You were pretty sure your fingers were so cold they’d lost all feeling.

“Sensei!” Souma cheered happily as he opened the door, “I missed you all day today!” His words shot straight to your heart, and you smiled widely as you kneeled down and took him into your arms in a tight hug. “I have so much to tell you about school today! So much happened! And then daddy made this cool thing at work and it-“

“Oi! That’s my story, kid!” Kuroo poked his head around the front door, quickly looking away with a slight blush at the sight of you holding his son so close. Cute. “Dinner’s almost done!” As quickly as he’d come, he was back in the kitchen, hiding his embarrassing thoughts in the deep recesses of his brain while he struggled to focus on the meal he was making.

You smiled shyly, but quickly pushed away your thoughts of him as Souma continued to chatter in front of you, his hand taking yours and leading you inside the house.

Still a mess. You wondered if Kuroo ever actually cleaned or if he kind of just tossed things around until a path was made amongst the chaos. As embarrassed as he was about the mess every time you came over, he didn’t really seem to make an effort to clean it up after you’d made sure he knew it didn’t bother you.

It didn’t. Honest and true. Your apartment was a mess, less so than their house but a mess all the same.

——

Dinner came and went. Filled with shy sideways glances between you and Kuroo. You’d catch him staring as you talked to Souma… Or he’d catch you staring while he playfully bickered back and forth with his son. You’d never blushed for so long before, it was like every time he even spared you a single flicker of his golden eyes you felt like someone was holding a flame inches from your face. So warm. His gaze was so intense even when it was just the shadow of what he could actually stare at you with.

Oh, you wished he’d actually stare at you. Stare at you and not look away when you swallowed your nerves and met his gaze.

Maybe you were thinking too forward. He was a single dad of a young boy… No mother or father in sight… You didn’t know what had happened with them, but they’d left their child and Kuroo behind in their path…. Kuroo was a busy man, making sure they had enough money for their house and bills and Souma’s schooling and supplies….

Maybe you had to step up for him?

You’d helped with the dishes and cleaning up after dinner. Standing beside Kuroo at the sink with Souma on the other side of you. Kuroo would wash, you’d rinse, and Souma would dry and put them away.

Kuroo was so close to you. Closer than you’d ever had him before… Inches. You could feel his body heat on your left side, see every flex of his arms as he cleaned his plates and cooking utensils. What did it feel like to have his hands on you? Holding you close? Stroking through your hair or caressing your face? Did he have soft hands? You wondered how big his hand was compared to yours, his longer fingers could most definitely bend over your shorter ones.

This was getting out of control. You barely knew him-

No. You’d known him for a couple of months. You’d learned a lot about him. Not anything about Souma’s mother… but enough to know something had happened to them that had been an accident…. You weren’t close enough to learn that backstory yet, so what made you think you were close enough for him to be romantically interested in you?

Doubt surged in your chest. Maybe it was right. Maybe you were seeing what you wanted to see. Maybe he was just being nice because his son really liked having you around?

Uncomfortable. You felt like your cute casual dress was 30 pounds heavier on your shoulders and hips… Had you been fooling yourself this whole time?

Souma had walked with you to the door, “And tomorrow, daddy said we’re gonna make mochi! Sensei, I’m so excited! It’s gonna be cold in the house though… so I think you should bring a jacket… Just in case! Frost bite is scary!”

You smiled down at him, kneeling in front of him before you stepped out of the house, “I’m sure it’s going to be so much fun, Souma… We gotta make sure you don’t get sick though, okay? You’ve missed a lot of school this semester.”

He looked down with pink cheeks and tinted ears, surprised you’d heard about his absences, “Ah… you.. you heard about that…” He gave you a sheepish smile as he looked from under his lashes at you, “I was sick…”

But you only laughed softly and ‘booped’ his nose, “From all this ice cream your dad keeps feeding you!”

“Eh?” Kuroo rounded the corner, “I don’t force feed it to him or anything, if he doesn’t want it he doesn’t have to eat it!”

More laughter as you stood from your kneeling, not seeing Souma make his sneaky escape… leaving you and Kuroo just inside the house, “Expecting a child to not eat ice cream as an option isn’t very sound logic, Tetsurou.” His name slipped passed your lips so effortlessly, but still your stomach clenched in anticipation. Each time you’d said his name that night, you’d felt like your insides were fluttering excitedly… God you had it bad.

He scratched the back of his head with a dorky smile, the result of you calling him by his name yet again, “And I don’t think they’d put an illogical man in a chemist lab so… checkmate.” He stuck his tongue out at you.

You smiled softly, letting out an amused hum, “Well, you’ve got me there.” You pretended to wave a white flag of surrender, “Out brained once again.”

The mood settled as the two of you stood there. It would have been awkward… if it weren’t for that charged feeling you’d felt earlier in the day. It was comfortable for the most part… and for the other part it was anxiety inducing. What was going to happen? There were so many options presented before you for you to take - as the one taking action or even the one reacting to one….

But just before you were about to make your move - he spoke.

“I really appreciate you doing this, _________.” Your name rolled off his tongue so easily, it shot you straight in the heart… though this shot felt warm and had your heart racing excitedly. “I know it’s not easy, going back and forth all the time… but it really makes Souma happy to see you every day and be able to talk to you for hours on end.”

Deflated. Oh… This was about Souma. You should have known.

You didn’t let it faze you, though. You smiled warmly up at him, though you knew it didn’t reach your eyes, “Of course. He’s a very bright boy… He’s going to do amazing things when he’s older… I’m just lucky enough to have been an influencer in getting him closer to those dreams of his.” You owed Souma so much more than just those dreams… for meeting his father? You owed that child the entirety of existence.

But Kuroo wasn’t finished just yet. He stepped forward, now only a couple feet in front of you… You didn’t feel intimidated in the least. Your heart only kicking up speed in your chest as you tilted your head a bit better to be able to meet his golden eyes. He stared down at you intensely. No longer was he the awkward blushing dork you’d seen a few minutes ago. He’d been switched out with who he’d been before he’d become a father.

This was Kuroo.

He smiled down at you, and it wasn’t one you recognized.. This was mischievous… This smile had a secret behind it… and you wanted to find out what it was. “More than that though…. I’m happy when you’re around…” Forward. It felt like the air was knocked straight from your lungs at his confident confession. “I’d really like to have you around more often, if that’s okay with you…”

Heart hammering, you nodded slowly, “I… I’m more than okay with that…”

A quiet hum from him had the air between you two vibrating as he leaned down, “Are you okay with this?” His head tilted before his lips were just a hairs length from yours, his eyes hooded as he took in your reaction, committing your wide surprised eyes to memory. You wanted more, you wanted to be closer to him… You wanted to touch.

So you did. While he was busy giving you a ghost of a kiss, you’d rested your hands on his chest, fingers wrapping in his shirt to keep him close. He felt so warm under his shirt, you wanted to feel more, to hold him closer… Why were you longing for him so much? It was just a crush, right? …. Right?

“Daddy! Don’t forget to read me a bedtime story! It’s almost bedtime!”

Kuroo inhaled sharply as he stood up straight, away from your waiting lips. And while it was a disappointment of a buildup… you couldn’t ever be mad at little Souma… Kuroo looked over his shoulder at his son, who had simply popped his head around the corner. You much rather would have been kissing this man before you, but in this circumstance, you simply rested your forehead against his chest with giggles barely contained.

“Yeah, kiddo, I’ll be in there soon. Gimme a few minutes.” But the intense Kuroo was gone for now… Back into ‘dad’ mode, he guessed. His hands rested on your waist a bit awkwardly at first before he felt your giggles shaking your body. “Oh? What’s so funny?” He tilted his head a bit to be able to see the side of your face as you leaned your forehead against his chest still.

You pulled away with a wide smile, staring up at him with bright eyes, “I’m just…. relieved…” and you were. This whole time you’d been going back and forth with yourself on whether or not you were fooling yourself into thinking he was interested in you… and now? After that? You knew he was. And the feeling of being wanted by someone as amazing as him was… it made you giddy!

“Oh yeah?” He smirked down at you, leaning down once more as if he were going to kiss you this time, but he stopped short, “Well… Enjoy it while it lasts… Because our first kiss isn’t going to be mediocre….”

Then he pressed his lips to your forehead… which, honestly, was a pretty good second.

He walked you to your car, held and closed your door for you before leaning against the car door, “So… This Friday? You have any plans?”

If you did, you’d drop them all immediately for him. But you knew you didn’t have anything planned. Teacher life was kind of boring after the 12th drawing you had to ‘grade’… Thankfully, you, too, had a deadline for when your stuff had to be submitted. “Why?”

Kuroo smirked as he leaned against your car window, “I’d like to take you on a date…”

A/N: Oof! Definitely didn’t plan that ending but haha I liked it :D 

[bluesimba]

Post Glory

Fandom: Persona 5

Pairing: Akira/Reader, Ryuji/Reader

Warnings: Heavy spoilers, explicit depictions of depression, intense grieving, and trauma.

Notes: Can we talk about how much trauma the Phantom Thieves have been through in canon

Dedicated to @ao3-actually-android <3

[I]

November 1st.

The receptionist at the front desk glances at you from under her bangs for the fourth time. She adjusts the collar of her shirt and types something with a flutter of her hands. From the corner of the waiting room, a member of your security team stares at her.

You pick up one of the magazines on the table in front of you. The glossy pages pass between your fingers, and several diagrams of the brain pop up with its functions outlined. Terms like depression and anxiety and trauma stand out on almost every page. They cycle through your head again, but this time it’s not three hours after you swallowed sleeping pills.

Breathing on beat with the ebbing and flowing of the waiting room’s music makes your head less congested.

A door locks the waiting room off from the offices, and a woman in a light pink dress steps through. Her voice carries your name. When you stand up and gesture for your security team to stay put, she smiles at you.

“Hi,” she says as she leads you to her office. “My name is Kaede. It’s a pleasure to meet you.” She tells you her qualifications.

“Pleasure to meet you, too! I’m sorry I had to reschedule at the last minute. It’s been pretty hectic.”

By hectic do you mean being fused with the fibers of your bed? Or avoiding the growing mountains of clutter that sprung up in your room? How about how it’s taxing to grab your phone charger from the floor? Or worst of all, not being able to articulate why you can’t do anything, instead masking it with “busy” or “hectic” or “sorry, I can’t do that today.”

“That’s no problem. Our specialized program is very flexible with our clients’ schedules.” She opens her office door for you. You take the seat next to her desk, and while you marvel at the cohesion of colors in her office, she sits behind her desk, clicks her mouse, and brings up a tab on the computer. “Before we begin, everything we talk about here is strictly between us. Nothing will be shared unless you become a threat to yourself or others.”

“Okay.”

“So, I read over your personal statement, and you mentioned you made an appointment for therapy because you feel untethered. Can you elaborate on what lead to that feeling?”

“Sure, so I’ll start with the Phantom Thieves.”

[II]

August.

Café Leblanc’s red closed sign protects you from the swarming streets. Hives of reporters frenzy outside, lanyards around their necks and cameras in hand. Your hand knocks against the salt and pepper shakers as the others crowd in the booth, with Makoto next to you. Across from you, Ryuji inhales an appetizer.

Futaba glares at Yusuke, who sips tea from a white cup. She pushes her glasses up and scrunches her nose.

“Inari, acknowledge that your left leg is shorter than your right,” she says.

“Nonsense, my legs are symmetrical, that I can assure you.”

She pulls out her phone and ignores her cup of coffee, which is four sizes too big for her. You and Makoto exchange glances.

You lean over the table to come out from the corner. “And what’s the point of arguing over Yusuke’s leg difference, Futaba? You’ve both been squabbling more ever since. . .”

Futaba halts trying to pull up Yusuke’s medical records. Sojiro stops waxing the bar just for a minute, his pink shirt now too vibrant for the solemnity washing over his face. The legs of the Phantom Thieves sit around the table, but Akira’s absence comes with its own ghost. Two years and his ghost still follows.

Makoto seems like she’s on the other side of the world, now, from you.

Akira who solves everything. Akira who acts as the unifying pillar. He makes you ache. He makes you lonely, untethered. The thrills, the disguises, the abilities, they all have his name on them. Everything about him scrambles you.

“Anyway.” You cough. “I’ve been thinking we should do something together since we’re all off right now. You know, like the good ol’ days.”

Silence resounds in Leblanc, but Ryuji grins and it warms your heart. “That’s awesome! Whaddya say, guys?” He looks around at everyone, and his enthusiasm brings everyone back together.

“That would be nice, especially since it’s been so long,” Makoto says. She shuts her eyes for a second. “Do you have anything specific in mind?”

You hum. “How about the beach? I think the last time we all went together was when we went to Hawaii a few years ago. We could pick up a game of beach volleyball!”

“And it’d be a good chance to get some sun!” Ann says.

Everyone takes out their phone calendars, and Makoto, the master of organization herself, makes quick work of it. “How does the last Saturday this month sound for everyone?” she asks.”That way we can avoid Autumn from September to November.”

November.

November.

November.

It takes you away. It stuffs your heart in your throat. Everyone else continues planning, unfazed, but Ryuji notices. And his smile dims.

Makoto calls your name, but it doesn’t register. So does Ann.

“Wendy.” Futaba puts down her phone.

You blink. Wendy. Wendy. Your real name doesn’t bring you out of it. Wendy, your alias, with a fishing hook on it tugs you out of Neverland.

“Oh, sorry.” You blink again for good measure and to reassure everyone you aren’t a stone statue. “It’s just been a. . .” Hard? Debilitating? Exhaustive for reasons you can’t articulate? “Busy time. I guess it caught up with me all at once.” There it is. Busy.

“Happens to the best of us.” Makoto smiles. “Does that date work for you?”

“Absolutely,” you say without glancing at your calendar.

Over the next fifteen minutes the Phantom Thieves disperse—Ann with a modeling gig she’s got to make, Makoto for a lunch with Sae, Yusuke to read up on art theory, Haru for a meeting, and Futaba to make memes. Ryuji is the only one who stays.

Leblanc’s quietness disturbs Ryuji to his core. You see it by the way he fidgets and leans back to yawn. When he knows you’ve caught him, he looks away.

“Hey,” he says.

“Hey. What’s up?”

Sticking his elbow on the bar, he puts his hand on the side of his neck. “You can talk to me if you need to.”

Right. November. Robin Hood. Goro.

“Thank you, Ryuji.” You avert your eyes downward. “But this is something personal.”

He leans back against the booth, putting more distance between you two, and he looks. . .he looks something you can’t decipher. Wounded? No, small. After a second he brings back his smile to mend the air. “No problem. Just gotta look out for one of my best buds.”

“Hey, do you know if Morgana is stil. . .”

“Upstairs? Yeah, I think he sleeps up there sometimes, since, you know.”

“Let’s invite him to the beach with the rest of us.”

“The cat? And sand ? Now that’s something I gotta see.”

“Don’t be mean, Ryuji!”

When he laughs you have to choke down your own. The light in Leblanc hits him just right, and he looks untouched by the corruption, by the palaces, by Yaldabaoth. Hope lives in his eyes and dreams light up his cheeks.

November’s weight sits on your shoulders. Akechi Goro’s death lingers. The Robin Hood to your Wendy is sleeping. And to think, he was eighteen.

Your brother would have been twenty this year.

[III]

The beach concaves away from the rest of society. Stray beach towels spot the sand and the waves edge up to reach for their ends. Cliff edges meet the ocean under the inky new moon sky.

Tiny lights hang up on a string and frame the entrance of the restaurant you eat at. Morgana peers at Ann from the stool next to her with hearts in his eyes. Sometimes he tries to steal a glance at Futaba’s phone, only for her to yank it close to her chest. If the beach behind you disappeared, no one would blink twice.

Morgana wanders over to you and Ryuji and hops on one of the two empty stools that separate you both from everyone else. His lip curls and a smile sneaks out. You shield your bowl of ramen in case he decides to pounce on the bar. There’s not a chance in hell you’re letting him knock over this art; a prepared egg sliced clean in half with its golden yolk on display, a spread of colors blended together, and flavors that glide over your tongue and keep you coming back for more.

“Looks like you got burned, Ryuji.” He licks his paw and glances at Ryuji from the corners of his eyes.

Ryuji’s lips screw, and he tries to cross his arms but winces because of the sunburn spread over his body. “It’s not like I knew the sun was gonna be raging today.” He looks at you. “And you knew and didn’t tell me!”

You laugh. “Sorry, but you should’ve brought the sunscreen anyway.”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever. At least I wasn’t afraid to get in the water.”

A smirk cuts your lips, and you cover Morgana’s ears. “Don’t make fun of him! Of course he wouldn’t get in the water!” Turning to Morgana, you coo at him in a voice you know makes his skin crawl. “That punk didn’t mean it, Morgana. Don’t listen to him. I’ll protect you.”

“Don’t act like you didn’t get in, either! And who are you callin’ a punk?”

When you uncover Morgana’s ears, he takes the chance to slip away.

“Oh come on, Ryuji, you were being a little punk-y.”

“Was not!”

“Really? Then maybe we should get everyone else’s opinions.”

Before you can call out to everyone and make Ryuji’s skin even brighter, he hoists you up and throws you over his shoulder. He winces but starts walking to the shoreline.

“Did you forget you were sunburned?”

Two beats of silence echo between you two before he answers. “It’s no big deal. Besides, you’re getting wet at least once today.”

The fool. The absolute buffoon. The heat under your face erupts.

“You’re hopeless, Ryuji.”

He says something you don’t catch because blood detonates in your ears over and over again. Your heart chokes on an overload of sugar. It’s buried in a sugary grave. You protest by muttering into his shoulder.

Only a few inches of space are between you and the water by the time he stops walking. He’s a few inches shy of being chest-deep. If you flick your foot down, you’d skim the water for sure, but there’s no fun in tearing his dream of dunking you away.

“Hold on, gimme a sec.”

That doesn’t sound good.

It isn’t.

He shifts you around and you flail, then you wind up in his arms. Your heart, stuffed with sugar, is revived by the way he looks at you. Light rosy tinges whip over his cheeks, and he turns his head away from you for a second.

Once he collects himself, he counts off with a mischievous glint in his eyes.

“One, two. . .”

“Just do it already!”

When he lets go, you see him mouth the number three. The water floods over your face and body, and you seal your eyes shut.

It’s quiet, here. You kick up some sand with your heel while trying to get your bearings straight, but the ocean swallows the noise. All you have is how the grainy the sand feels.

How did Goro feel on that sinking ship? Explosive? Confused? Destroyed?

Helpless?

Did you even know your brother well?

How can you even attempt to understand the pits of helplessness and wrath he drowned in when something like this—going for a swim—sets you off? How can you grieve for so long and know so little?

Someone’s calling your name, but the sounds are muffled by the water.

Ryuji plunges his hand in and brings you back. The ocean’s surface breaks with your head, and your resurfacing looks less “majestic mermaid with perfect hair” and more “air exists and it’s delicious.”

After a second he brings you close to him, wrapping you in a hug. You press against his collarbone.

“Ryuji, what’s wrong?”

“I just got worried, ‘s all.”

You pull back. “Well, I’m all right. You made sure of that when you pulled me out. See? Nothing bad would’ve happened.”

He avoids your gaze. “I tried calling your name.”

“I think I heard that. You might’ve had better luck if you called me Wendy. Seems like I can hear that from around the world.”

Wendy tells you what to say, how to smile, what to wear, what to think, and who to be. If you do everything she says, you can stand next to Robin Hood and Peter Pan and all the other fairytale characters who are bound to the pages of their own stories. Wendy makes you worthy.

She was always the press’ favorite.

“I ain’t gonna call you Wendy. ‘s not who you are.” He says your name under the moonless sky in such a way that it might break if the ocean got too close to it. “You ain’t Wendy.”

You aren’t Wendy.

You aren’t Wendy.

“I—I appreciate that. A lot.”

He looks at the beach. “You don’t gotta thank me. Let’s get back before the others come lookin’ for us.”

Both of you tread in silence. After a minute the water slides off you, but the sand sticks to your wet feet as you climb out of the ocean. You both wander over to his beach towel; its colors were blasted dry by the sun earlier.

When you sit down, you sit close to him and your shoulders bump. Beads of water trail your neck, your arms, and your legs. You glimpse him staring out at the ocean.

“It’s nice being out here,” you say. You reel back the words “with you” when you think about Akira.

“Yeah? Can’t say I’ve ever had a sunburn this big before.”

You roll your eyes and bring your knees to your chest, but the smile sailing over your lips slips out. “Which is because you didn’t bring sunscreen.”

“Pffft, there’s no way a stupid sunburn’s gonna get a leg up on me.”

Along the beach there are sandcastles, some in perfect condition, some folded in on themselves, and some that exist only as lumps of sand. A tiny red and white store-bought flag pokes out of a collapsing one. The tide rolls in and out and chips away at the ones along the shoreline.

“It’s kind of nice to be away from the world for a bit,” you say. “You know? Sequestered away from the reporters and everything.”

He puts his arms behind and lies on his back. “You’re telling me. Been hounding us ever since our identities were released. I mean, who does that! We were seventeen!”

“We were seventeen and arguably the most powerful force in Japan.”

“C’mon, we were kids. You should know how all that affected us better than anyone. You’re majoring in psych and all that stuff.”

“By affected you mean the stress it’d have on a developing teenage brain?”

“That! Someone should tell all those reporters to read up on that shit.”

Streams of conversation come from the restaurant. The rest of the Phantom Thieves tell jokes and bicker and bask in the restaurant’s lighting. Judging from that spilling sound, Morgana jumped on the bar.

“They’ve been hanging around my favorite places. It got bad a few weeks ago,” you say.

“Whadda they want?”

You shift. “An interview with Wendy.”

He makes a sound of disgust. “Tell ‘em to screw off. You don’t know a Wendy.”

Leaning against him right now would be nice. You’d fit next to him well, and he’d sling his arm over your shoulders. Under the moonless sky, you’d both be two halves of a complete moon.

But you do know a Wendy. If you were stronger, you could evict her right now with his help. She reminds you of the abilities you had and the times where it was you and the Phantom Thieves versus the world. She reminds you of Goro.

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

Waves continue to crash. Tiny sounds from the ecosystem of the beach wade between you both. He chews the inside of his cheek. When he breathes, it smothers the tiny sounds and the conversations from the restaurant.

“Y’know, I’ve been thinkin’,” he says.

“About?”

He sits up and rubs the back of his neck. “Everything we did, I guess. Changed a lot of stuff.”

You laugh. “It’d be kind of weird if nothing changed when we fought a god. Besides, I thought you’d enjoy the spotlight.”

“You kiddin’? I can’t even run in peace without someone on my ass.”

“Well.” A quick brush of your hands takes some of the sand off, and you get up and hold out your hand. “You can always try now. I’ll race you to fire up that competitive spirit!”

“For real?”

“Yeah.”

He clasps his hand in yours. “Yeah? Don’t cry when you lose.”

[IV]

Doctor Kaede slides a box of tissues to the corner of her desk and you pluck one to have something to hold onto. “What you’re feeling is valid. Have you discussed your grief with anyone else?”

“Only one person, Akira.”

“What about him made you open up?”

Kamoshida, Madarame, Kaneshiro, Futaba, Okumura, Sae, Shido. Hell, the collective social conscious of everyone wrapped up in the endless tracks of Mementos! How many times do you need to add Yaldabaoth to that list, too? Everyone talks about the humans the Phantom Thieves changed, but no one mentions the cosmic-defying entities you defied by daring to be your own people. Akira brought a rag-tag group of teenagers together to challenge the very fabric of the universe.

“I don’t know, really. I guess I thought if anyone could understand, it’d be him. He was the closest to Goro.”

She furrows her eyebrows. “Were you close to your brother?”

You fidget and rub the side of your neck. “We didn’t have that kind of relationship in the traditional sense. He had a hard time opening up, refused to, most of the time. I didn’t know anything about him other than that Shido was somehow involved, but there was something different when Akira showed up.”

“And how did you cope with Goro’s. . .actions?”

She might as well stamp the word “murderer” on his forehead. Is she wrong?

Of course! He was tossed aside by Shido and manipulated as a kid!

No, she isn’t. Goro did that of his own free will.

Come on, you of all people know the toll abuse and manipulation takes on a child.

I know. I know he was in unimaginable pain.

Then why are you sitting here and betraying him?

I’m not betraying him. These are the facts of the situation. I wanted to help him!

You can’t even imagine what he went through. Stop trying. You even admitted some guy got closer to your brother in one year than you did in your whole life.

We’re still family .

“I probably could’ve coped better.”

[V]

October.

Leblanc’s lights give you a headache.

“You gonna be okay, kid?” Sojiro asks as he unfastens his apron.

Hunched over with your forehead against a table, you groan. The bags under your eyes drag your face down, but hey, who needs concealer when no one can see your face?

“Wake me up when people obsess over something else.”

He walks over and pats your shoulder. “You can stay if you lockup. Remember to turn off everything when you leave this time.”

The door opens before you answer. Light, airy, almost, the bell rings. You lift your head, blinking, and turn toward the door. Who comes into a café five minutes before closing? His slim silhouette stands in the doorway while rain splatters on the pavement. Great, you know he’s the type to order something extravagant, expect it in two minutes, and stall closing.

Sojiro whistles and puts one of his hands on his hips. He smiles. “Finally decided to show your face around here, huh, kid?”

In one second he goes from being a stranger to someone who causes the ache in your heart; a curly black head of hair and glasses. Now, though, he’s taller, and the blazer he wears looks like it was plucked from a high-end fashion designer’s wardrobe.

“Akira,” you say. The table wobbles under your hands when you jut up. His very presence reinforces the chronic loneliness, the hollowness everyone tried to patch up with promises to get together, and the messages you and Ryuji and Makoto and Futaba—and everyone sent that were left on read or met with a single word response.

Shock registers on Sojiro’s face when you storm up to Akira, and in some place deep, deep, deep down in your head, a twinge of, what is it—shame or fear?—rears its head. But fuck it. If you looked away, Akira could pull one of his disappearing stunts.

“You asshole!” You jab a finger at him, grind your teeth, seethe, and do all the things that say I hate you, I hate you, I hate you .

Wide-eyed, Sojiro steps in to break you apart. “Hey, hey, hey—”

Akira holds out his hand. “It’s fine.”

��Two years, Akira! You could have called or texted or something, but you didn’t.” You ball your fists. “You vanished.”

Him being here means you need to answer a question: how much can you matter to someone who up and leaves?

“Both of you sit down and cool off,” Sojiro says. “I’ll make you a drink.”

Being a foot and a half away from Akira who now sits across from you makes your jaw tight. The pot in the back brews coffee.

Akira looks you in the eyes. “You’re right to be angry.”

You cross your arms over your chest.

“I needed to make sure no one would cause you any issues,” he says.

“We’ve been followed for the last two years by reporters, Akira. Anyone we know has been hounded, too. Sae’s gotten so much more shit outside the courtroom. We scrubbed Mementos, but there will always be bad intentions.”

Sojiro walks over with your drinks in hand, sets them down in front of you both, and gives you each a glance.

“Thank you,” Akira says. He picks up the mug and brings it to his lips.

“I’ll be in the back. Don’t burn anything down, kid.”

When Sojiro disappears into the back, Akira sets the mug down.

“I wasn’t talking about the press,” he says.

Oh.

“You should’ve told us. We could’ve worked together so you didn’t have to do it on your own.” You look down. “We needed you, too. I needed you, Akira.”

He places his hand on yours. “I know, and I’m sorry.”

Tears line the bottom of your eyes and spill over. “It’s hard when everyone asks about him, you know? And it’s been two years so I feel like I’m supposed to be over it, but I’m not . I keep feeling it again and again and again.” You place your other hand over his. “You have to know how it feels, Akira. No one else gets it. You have to know.”

He says your name, and if your sniffles were any louder, you would have missed it. “Let’s go for a walk.”

Yeah, you need this.

“Where?”

“Trust me.”

He offers you his arm when he gets up, and you cling to him with the skin on your arm and hand touching his blazer.

“Always.”

Quiet streets listen to your footsteps as you take the back alleys. When you're here with him, will the portals come back while you round the corners? Your grip on him tightens. Rain pelts the umbrella.

“You’re nervous,” he says.

“And whose fault is that?”

He smirks.

You pass the little red arcade nestled away from the world where you met Akira for the first time, the old bookstore with a joined café where you ran into him the second time, and a closed movie theater where he got your number the third time. Then, a park comes into view. The wet grass bends to your feet as you both walk to the bench with an overhang.

The wooden bench squeaks when you both sit down, and Akira folds up the umbrella, then leans it against the bench. Ducks waddle out from the pond hidden by bushes.

“I was starfished out on the grass here and screaming when you asked me to join the Phantom Thieves,” you say.

“Morgana thought you were in pain.”

“Oh, I was. I was cramming verb and adjective conjugations. That time feels close and far away at the same time, you know?”

Whenever he casts a glance at you, it’s distant. You could lean against his shoulder, intertwine your fingers, and have your skin on his, but the barrier between you holds. Your heart remains content in your chest instead of lurching in your throat.

He whispers your name. “You talked about Goro earlier.”

Wailed, more like it, but yeah.

“You’re grieving,” he says. “I think seeing a professional would help you.”

What? Your eyes open wide. Does he think you can’t handle it? Does he think you’re broken? Stop. You take a deep breath. You’re not broken. Seeking therapy doesn’t make you broken or fragile. It makes you strong.

“Why?”

“I’m concerned about you. I know an office. They helped me with my trauma.” He puts his hand on yours.

Trauma? Was it trauma? Okumura’s death. Goro’s insatiable craving for revenge. Your brother looking at you, red blood vessels popping in his eyes, like he’d kill you. He said he would. Sweeping away the terrifying sides of Goro let you file everything you don’t like away and lock them up.

When Akira touches you, why do you wish he was Ryuji?

Your nails leave imprints on your palms, little crescent moons. “Can you send me their phone number?”

“Sure.”

All of Akira’s attributes line up with what you want on paper: charismatic, intelligent, sociable. So, why, when he scoots closer to you, do you want him to be Ryuji? Why do you want Ryuji’s arm slung around you and for him to pull you close?

“Akira, what do I mean to you?”

You watch the ducks. He looks at you.

“Everything.”

“I’m sorry.”

He squeezes your hand. “I know.”

[VI]

You puncture holes in the tissue and avoid Doctor Kaede’s eyes.

“Before we end our first session, are you aware of the model the Five Stages of Grief?” She pulls out a piece of paper with the stages of them in one column—denial, anger, bargaining, depression, and acceptance.

“Yes.”

“Are you practicing self-care strategies?” She runs her finger down the other column, and you hone in on one or two of the thirty or more strategies.

“Sometimes, but it’s hard to talk about when I don’t know how to put the words together.” You jam your hands together.

She nods. “Grief is especially difficult to navigate because we’re not taught how to cope and understand what we’re feeling. If you’re comfortable, talking about how you’re feeling with people you trust could also help. Sometimes we seek external understanding because we’re unsure of how we feel on the inside.”

Akira—you poured and projected on him. He became your only emotional outlet.

“Grief comes in stages and everyone processes it in different ways. No matter what, you’re not alone.”

“Thank you, Doctor Kaede.” You smile. “Can I make a follow-up appointment for next week?”

You’re not alone. You’re never alone.

[VII]

November 2nd.

You hole yourself up in your apartment, as per usual on the second of November. Glimmering stars peek through your closed curtains. All at once, numbness takes you and keeps you suspended from the rest of the world.

Rings from your phone don’t bring you down. Each minute passes on lethargic legs, and you don’t need anything or anyone to tell you it’s 12:34 a.m. As soon as it was 12:01, you knew. Packets of candy litter your nightstand. You sink into your bed.

Someone raps their knuckles against your door. You turn away from it.

Ryuji calls your name.

You slug one leg out from underneath the blankets, then the other leg. The cool doorknob sends a shiver up your spine.

“Hey,” Ryuji says. He takes a moment to catch his breath. “Sorry it took me so long to get here. I had to run.”

One blink, then two, then three. He’s here for you. He remembered, and your throat constricts.

“Hey. Thanks.”

“Wanna sit outside?”

“Yeah, I do.”

You step out, closing the door behind you. Autopilot takes over when you lead him to a sitting area with two foldable chairs next to each other. Instead of sitting, you wander over to the gray railing and peer down to the busy street. He stands next to you, and you let the silence talk between you two.

Akira is everything you want on paper, but Ryuji—Ryuji is real and here. You touch his hand and trace the veins.

“Thanks for remembering, Ryuji.”

He catches every flutter of your eyes, and when you lean into him, he laces your fingers together. His hands, steady and warm, ground you.

“‘course, I’d do anything for you.”

You ask him a medley of questions: Why are you putting so much effort in? Why do I feel this again and again and again? Why can’t I let go?

Please, will you stay?

But they all roll themselves together when you look into his eyes, hands still intertwined, and breathe his name: “Ryuji.”

His name is air for your lungs. His touch is the sun walking on your skin. His closeness is a catharsis you’d only ever caught in Neverland before.

He brushes the side of your face with his free hand and kisses your forehead under the half moon. “Anything for you.”

Together, in time, you both could make a full moon.

[svguavajelly]

Accidents Will Happen

It’s our one year anniversary in Cuenca and I wake up in the hospital. Quite different than our planned celebratory dinner as a family because as we all know…shit happens. There was no regular path to this moment, instead a series of accidents and bad luck. The good news is the surgery is behind me and now the slow healing process begins.

It all started over a couple of months ago when I had a planned adventure for the kiddos while Hannah was away at her weekly afternoon of playing bridge. Getting outside is imperative because the three wee ones trapped in the house can be a challenge. The week before I had ridden my bike a couple of hours out of town, up a valley road to this visible summit on a ridge. Guaguazhumi (pronounced Wawashumi) seemed like a good way to spend an afternoon with the kids.

That nipple on the ridge is the summit.

We took a 1/2 hour taxi ride ($6) to the trail head. We were a determined team with Luz in the chest carrier, my backpack full of rain gear, hats, water, snacks, a change for Luz, camera and a couple of small toys, and Tomu and Jade hiking. They are very experienced for their age and keen to explore.  We were prepared…after all, what could go wrong?

The trail immediately began with a steep ascent and would continue for the duration of our hike. I picked the more direct, steeper, shorter route with the intention of having a longer leisurely descent with the sights of Cuenca and Cajas always in our view.

Trailblazing Jade the Fearless

There wasn’t a soul in sight for our hour climb and near the summit we had to push through some overgrown brush and criss-cross through a gully….challenging for anyone, yet Tomu and Jade were excited to push for summit. I stepped up a small slope and suddenly, without warning my foot slipped downward a couple of feet. I instinctively put my left hand up to protect sleeping Luz’s head and my right hand out to catch my fall.

THWACK…my foot went down with my arm extended, stretched over my head immediately dislocating my shoulder. I knew it right away when I stood up and checked on Luz. She was crying as this woke her and I noticed my right arm was a few inches longer. The pain was intense though with the adrenaline pumping I remained calm, telling the kids we had to go down and wouldn’t make the summit. They knew something was up even though I downplayed my injury. We walked back to a flat spot where I took off the heavy pack (OUCH), took Luz out of the carrier (OUCH), took off my shirt (OUCH) and evaluated the situation.

Clearly dislocated as I could see the odd shape of my shoulder and the ball of my humerus bone in my armpit. Made a small attempt to reset it by holding onto a tree and pulling backwards….like in the movies. No luck. Checked cell phone…no service, not that I could really call anyone to help me though speaking with Hannah would have made me feel better. I knew we had to get to the remote dirt road, an hour down a steep trail with the 3 helpers.

I explained to Tomu and Jade that I was OK but hurt and they would have to help themselves to get down. Tomu valiantly offered to help Jade down the tricky parts of the trail and he assisted in getting Luz back in the carrier and the pack on my back (OUCHY-OUCH). I thought about ditching the pack and returning for it later but since I had to carry Luz regardless I thought the pack would provide counter-pressure to Luz’s carrier…kinda holding my shoulder together….but not really.

We managed to get down fairly quickly and the sun came out blazing when we reached the road. It was no surprise that there were no cars in sight so we started walking. I thought about knocking on a door of one few houses for assistance but decided against it. Luckily within a few minutes a mixto (taxi pick-up truck) passed and agreed to take us home. 

Happy to be off the mountain I had a moment to let it all sink in and the pain came on strong as well as many emotions during the very bumpy ride home. I was mad at myself for putting the kids in a potentially bad situation, for getting hurt and realizing the consequences of it all. Injured, unable to help around the house, the slow recovery….crap.

I finally got ahold of Han and she was going to meet us at the house to watch the kids and I would carry on to the hospital to get my arm reset. The best thing about this day so far was the kiddos and their attitude. They all were beyond helpful by listening and acting accordingly after the accident and before with their eagerness to do some crazy exploring with Papa.

Han arrived at the house and the second phase of this debacle began. Figuring out which hospital to go to and how to progress with emergency care and long term help. I couldn’t really think about anything except putting my shoulder back in the socket. The pain had intensified as it had been a few hours since the accident by the time I reached the hospital.

They immediately put me in a room and gave me a lot of attention with questions, blood pressure, x-rays, etc. but no indication of getting my shoulder set. After an hour and much struggle with the language, calls to and from Han and many different people coming in and out we heard the trauma specialist was on leave (he just had a baby). More confusion and delays, saying I would have to go to another hospital, finally they informed me a doc would come and help me.

Hours more passed before he actually arrived, during which I had been admitted, prepped for surgery, IVed, lightly drugged (not enough) and left alone in a room while I writhed and tried to get a comfortable position to relieve the pain…no luck. Han arrived as the doc was trying to manipulate my arm back in the socket, without success. It was an extreme anterior dislocation that was difficult to reset so they put me under and minutes later it was in place.

When I awoke the pain had all but disappeared. After more x-rays, paperwork we were free to go. The prognosis was it would take awhile to recover but with time and rehab it should heal fine.

Fast forward a month. After rest and a couple of rehab sessions things had gotten better for the first couple of weeks then much worse for the last couple of weeks. I sought a second opinion and subsequently third opinion, got an MRI and the diagnosis was two major tears in the supraspinatus (top shoulder muscle), and the labrum (shoulder socket). Surgery was scheduled for the following week. We found out later, while performing surgery there was a 3rd major tear on the subcorpularis (shoulder blade muscle).

As happy as I was to finally know what was happening with my body, the actual news itself was pretty grim. A month had gone by since the dislocation which set recovery back. I had been relatively active during the month while my shoulder was barley attached with activities like biking daily, playing ball and roughhousing with the kiddos…all the normal stuff. There was some pain but compared to when it was dislocated for 5+ hours and after it was reset it seemed minimal.

The afternoon before surgery I went to a 90 minute relaxing massage to loosen things up before I was laid up. It was a brilliant idea and upon leaving my session I felt better than I had in a couple of weeks. I pedaled my bike home from the other side of town on one of the designated official bike lanes just like the ones in Seattle with the little bumps separating it from the road and painted with that red, textured, rubbery coating and the familiar bike logos stenciled on. Also, all intersections have the pedestrian crossing lights except changed to show a rolling green bicycle when we have the right of way.

From experience I know there is no established formality for 'right of way' in Latin America and I often say when urban riding “I don’t want my epitaph to say ‘But I had the right of way’”. The nice smooth lane I had to myself combined with the gentle downhill or the post massage, semi-euphoric state of mind or the lack of traffic on the one-way road…I dunno but I was riding fast with my perfectly connecting lights flashing the rolling green bicycle and that bliss quickly ended.

In the distance I saw the small white car approaching my clear intersection and prepped to brake (even though I had the right of way) and I saw it stop before turning into my lane. Perfect, they are waiting for me and I continued my fast pedal cadence when at the last second they turned and crossed my path. It happened in slow motion in my mind and by slamming on the brakes I managed to scrub some speed before the bike collided with the drivers front bumper and I flew cartoonish over my handlebars, over the car hood and landed some meters away, tumbling into the bike lane.

FUCK, FUCK, FUCK I yelled, more scared about further damage to my shoulder than anything else. It hurt…really badly and consciously I had managed to not land directly on my existing injury….the night before my morning surgery.

Many people gathered and the woman driving the car came over crying (I think she thought she killed me). Soon the police and ambulance arrived even though I called no one except Hannah. It was difficult to dial with shaking hands and the service wasn’t good so many dropped calls later she left Jade at Tomu’s soccer practice and arrived with Luz in tow to find me in an ambulance.

We talked for a minute and I assured her I was going to be sorta OK. While I received suspect care in the ambulance, Hannah was negotiating the compensation with the woman who had no insurance but had the backing of a dozen colleagues from where she worked across the street. Hannah had the backing of Luz who was bawling due to all the commotion. I was useless and no help.

After much debate we agreed the ambulance would transport me to the free, public hospital for x-rays and evaluation. The woman and some entourage, including Hannah and Luz would follow and pay for the x-rays. I did confess that I was previously injured and was getting surgery the next day…it seemed like the right thing to do. We creeped through rush hour traffic, listening to the driver and EMTs argue about the best route and Hannah and Luz followed in another car.

When we finally arrived at the hospital later I was frustrated and done with everyone and the last thing I wanted to do was spend hours waiting for x-rays the night before my surgery. I stepped out of the ambulance in front of the emergency entrance and said “adios…I’m going home”. I got in a taxi and picked up Tomu and Jade who were patiently watching the next soccer practice. They are on their best behavior when things are at their worst…they really rise to the occasion.

So happy to be home, Han soon arrived with Luz after riding with the woman and her entourage. The police had been following but were released en route when we agreed, via recorded video, that the $50 cash compensation was sufficient…which it wasn’t but what can we do?

The next morning, lying on the operating table, I was surprised by the large size and sparseness. It was virtually empty except for a couple of metal shelves, a garbage can and a free standing closet. Staring at the two huge, modern octopus-like lights which hung from the ceiling above me I witnessed people slowly filling the room by rolling a dozen types of electronics, scanners, computers, monitors, drills, and a cart with all the ominous looking sharp things…one by one over the next hour.  The anesthesiologist came in and sent me to dreamland.

So back to the start of this blog…our 1 year anniversary and when I awoke in the hospital I was happy to see Han and the kids. I got some sweet homemade cards and they all wanted to climb on the robot bed. Lovely to have my main support group in attendance. Our dear Cuencano friends Lore & Juanito came by as well. Unfortunately the doc made me stay overnight…ugh. They came in frequently to wake me and ask how I was doing?!?

The doc came by late and gave me the news of the surgery. From the MRI he knew about 2 of the damaged areas but was surprised by the severity once he was inside. He also found a 3rd major tear that didn’t show on the MRI and took care of that as well. My new internal hardware includes 4 composite screws anchored into bones to give extra support for the sutures which repaired the severed tendons. Overall he said it went very well and eventually, with proper therapy, I should be 100%.

After a difficult night of sleep…the first of 100+ in a row to date, we finished up some paperwork and final check up and I was ready to go home. I had to go downstairs and pay before they would officially release me and remove the IV. I settled my tab, about $3900, not including the screws which we arranged to buy direct from the supplier to avoid the hospital mark-up as advised by the surgeon to save some $$ since this was all done without insurance. My research shows the similar extensive repair in the US may have cost up to $30,000 or more.

As I write this I am 6 weeks post-op and progressing on schedule while seeing 2 different physical therapists per week not counting Libby who was my in house therapist while she was visiting....Thanks Wub!  Their styles differ and I’m benefiting from the variety with Jose and his specific exercise regimen and Carla and her stretching and shoulder manipulation. The loss of strength and complete atrophy of my upper body is shocking. I stepped on a scale yesterday at rehab and I weighed 144 pounds! I haven’t seen those numbers since middle school football. I couldn’t lift my arm for weeks and have recently began using the smallest dumbbells made…and seeing progress which is so measurable at this stage. I’ve started riding my bike this week which changes my attitude immensely. I did enjoy the leisurely walking pace to experience my neighborhood and the city these past few weeks…but nothing like biking in Cuenca, which I love.

My first goal was to be ready for our 3 week Bolivia trip which departs in a couple of weeks. Patagonia trip in January will be more demanding as we are backpacking and camping with the kids and I think that’ll be OK as well. Lastly I hope to resume the annual Squamish, BC trip to rock climb with Han when we return to the PNW next summer. With every painful stretch and struggle with every rep and grunt I close my eyes and imagine climbing that big wall again.

[overthinkingkdrama]

Hi, Jona! Two years on, did you change your mind about anything on MLSHR? Maybe you felt like you misread a character, or there's something you hated the first time around but you eventually liked as you thought about it more? Anything?

Ooh, good question, repinipi! (Love you btw, thank you for participating in this.)

As somebody who has spent a lot of time thinking about MLSHR a lot over the last two years–too much, I’ll say too much time–I think the biggest change for me has been just in my attitude about the drama in general. So much of my character analysis is so ingrained at this point I don’t know when it started or if it ever changed.

Since I watched Scarlet Heart: Ryeo for the first time (and I’ve watched it in its entirety 3 times at least, in addition to watching individual episodes and scenes many more times than that) I’ve watched a lot more in the traditional sageuk genre and it’s given me a wider appreciation for why SHR wasn’t as well received domestically as it was overseas. I have a broader appreciation for historicals in general than I did when SHR aired and I now understand why it doesn’t fit very neatly into that genre as well as why people reacted badly to that.

I’m also a lot less self-conscious about owning SHR as a good drama. A tightly paced, well acted, well crafted tragedy that deserves its popularity. I believe that. And I’m much more comfortable with saying that than I was two years ago when the fandom was divided very sharply between people who would bite your head off if you said one negative word about Wang So and those who thought he was the advent of the Kdrama Anti-Christ.

I feel like a lot of the issues people had with the drama had to do with analyzing it as anything other than a straight up tragedy. I feel sorry for people who didn’t know about the original Cdrama when they jumped in to this one, tbh. Trying to sanitize the So/Soo relationship just makes it lose it’s edge and So’s character lose his crucial, doomed villainousness. Part of its tension came from how twisted it was. It was a plot point, carried over from the original source material, and it lent needed complexity to both characters…oh my, pardon me while I get off my soap box now.

Certainly there were a number of production issues that made the show less watchable than it should have been, and I’m not wild about all the production decisions (for instances, the extreme close ups and weird camera zooms have not gotten better with age) but in retrospect (and with the added benefit of the much better edited Director’s Cut) the fact that SHR was completely pre-produced did it all kinds of favors. Both in terms of the visual quality of the drama and the cohesiveness of the script.

I’ve subjected this drama to every kind of critical analysis you care to imagine during the process of my writing a novel length continuation of the story, and I am here to tell you, as a person with a certain level of expertise in the subject and who is notoriously unforgiving of her media, this show stands up to a pretty intense level of scrutiny on a writing level.

Many if not most of its problems can be blamed on the compression of plot into a shorter period of time (both in terms of the actual run time of the drama and the period of years over which the story take place) that occurred when it was adapted from the Chinese original. Upon further thought, the transplant from the Qing Dynasty (Early 18th Century) to early Goryeo era (10th Century) is kind of brilliant. The Chinese is a lot more subdued and politics driven, much more in keeping with genre conventions of similar harem dramas, while SHR is not only trying to transplant the history into a different place and a different time, but also a different genre with it’s own expectations. The move in era gave the Korean production way more freedom in terms of what is actually known history and what is the stuff of legend to play around with and I think it really paid off.

Additionally, I think I’m way more prepared to embrace SHR as the heightened angst-fueled romance novel schlock that it is than I was before. I’m okay with it now, and no longer feel the urge to defend myself. I’m ready to embrace it. It doesn’t bother me as much how melodramatic and over the top it can be at moments (So’s Phantom of the Opera mask/emo hair combo being a good microcosm of what I’m talking about). The ways in which it’s so willing to lean into being the idol drama it is at heart, as well as its deeply maudlin moments. I love and accept it all.

I also love the way this fandom, which can have gold-fish like recall at times, has kept the drama alive. I guess I’ve just decided I like the me that likes SHR a lot more than I did two years ago.

Jona

[savvylark]

Not Your Mama’s Hallmark Christmas Part 3

You can find Part 1 here and Part 2 here or read it all on Ao3 here

Katniss tends to be cynical about materialism, love, and marriage. Her friends have replaced the family she lost. So when Peeta needs help, her friends don’t need more than a strong arm to convince her. Katniss finds herself having a very different  Christmas this year with the Mellark family, posing as Peeta’s girlfriend. What will change when this starts to look like a strange Hallmark movie?

Thank you to the amazing @javistg being my beta and encouraging. Thank you @peetabreadgirl for giving me some of the ideas for these cute scenes that bring K & P closer. @everlarkingjoshifer made this banner for me. Isn’t it lovely?

Madge is unbelievable. The girl has connections and she knows how to get things done. Almost everyday after my work at the lab, I’m busy with something to prepare for the trip.

Madge and I are getting our nails done at a salon she frequents. I never do this kind of thing. I kept my nails shorter, square, and a dark red color, seasonal, but edgy enough to be myself. I’m pretending to be a wealthier version on myself I reason.

Madge is getting her baby pink French Tip frost with iridescence and sparkles. She couldn’t be happier that I begrudgingly accompanied her. I try to enjoy her company while she continues with her mission to prepare me. 

“I peppered in compliments about you while I was on the phone with Aunt Loretta, but you know how she is,” Madge admits with a grimace.

I roll my eyes. I do know how she is.

Mrs. Mellark was full of backhanded compliments and condescension when she met Gale. My best friend is a tall, dark, and handsome engineer with intense gray eyes, that could win over any woman.

Madge’s Aunt being the exception.

“When I mentioned that I met Gale through you, it all went downhill.” She rolls her eyes. I’m not surprised.

“Maybe I should have started with how much you make in the lab working for pharmaceutical companies.” Madge winks.

I huff.

I don’t how to handle someone so superficial.

Money was hard to come by growing up. The only reason I had the opportunity to attend college was the archery scholarship I received.

It was extremely lucky that my favorite professor, Dr. Beetee. Took an interest in me and explained that with my major, Biochemistry in Pharmaceutical Sciences, I was eligible for the program that enables undergraduate students to begin taking graduate courses in their senior year.

I received a Master of Science degree within a year of finishing my undergraduate degree.

Dr. Beetee helped me find a job with his connections, I was hired right out of college. With his encouragement, I’ve been taking a few night classes in pursuit of my doctorate.

My paygrade allows me to afford a good chunk of my sister’s college bills as she studies to become a pediatrician, while I continue to live with a roommate and a tight budget.

I guess Mrs. Mellark would like to know what I make and not where it goes.

Madge wrote out an itinerary based on what she knows after talking to her aunt, with what outfit to wear, the right shoes, makeup for each outfit, diagrams, and tips for what might happen.

The shopping she’s done for me is a welcome relief. She knows me so well. What I like, what I look good in, what fits, and most importantly, how much I hate shopping.

Peeta and I are heading out of town in his black SUV –I always refer to it as his secret service vehicle. Snow is lightly dusting our scenery on the open road.

It’s a 3 hour drive to Merchant, Peeta’s ritzy gated community hometown. Politicians, socialites, anyone with money, even a famous eccentric musician are all known to live in that area.

A 30 minute drive from there is the suburban town Madge, Gale, and I grew up in. Gale and I grew up on the poorer side of town. Madge growing up as the mayor’s daughter (and now senator elect) obviously being the nicest part of our area.

The first hour of our drive is filled with our usual banter and laughter. I’m genuinely relieved that this weird week will be with Peeta, he’s a blast.

We take turns playing new music we’ve found, and fall into our usual discussions, sharing thoughts on certain lyrics or a particular soul-stirring melody.

Peeta gets a thoughtful look on his face before he speaks. “Okay, this may seem weird to discuss, but I’m going to surprise you in the moment, when no one is looking. I don’t think our first kiss should be in front of everyone. It’s going to look forced and awkward.”

I quirk an eyebrow at him. “OUR. First. Kiss?” I lock eyes with him, but keep a teasing look on my face.

He raises his eyebrows realizing what he just said, remembering, his cheeks turn rosy.

“You were my first kiss,” I whisper, just barely loud enough for him to hear. Cherishing the memory.

I bite my lip in thought. Quick dart my eyes to Peeta as I catch him licking his lips, then snap my gaze back on the road.

“Really?” He seems surprised, but I can hear a smile and, is that pride, in his tone?

“Mhmm.” I feel 16 again and I’m floating, my skin tingles. I know I’m blushing so I just stare down at my boots.

After a few moments of thoughtful silence, I blurt out. “Our kisses couldn’t ever be forced or awkward, Peeta.” I leave that for him to chew in as I crank up some “Hipster Holidays Radio” on Pandora.

After all the stories Madge and Peeta have told me of the infamous Mrs. Loretta Mellark, I wasn’t expecting someone so beautiful, and well, perfect. Everything about her was “just so,” which, maybe I should have guessed, knowing how “just so” Madge is.

She’s dressed in classically styled name brand clothes, makeup that complements her icy blue eyes and lighter skin tone, elegantly styled updo, highlighted blond hair, nothing is out of place or inexpensive.

Loretta is the most beautiful middle aged woman I’ve ever seen. Her pores seep elegance.

An air of pretension and anxiety follows her everywhere.

Honestly, this explains some things.

“Mom, this is my girlfriend, Katniss. I told you she was coming. She grew up with Madge, remember?” Peeta introduces me, rushed and nervous.

With a weak smile, I offer my hand in greeting. Trying to relax my own nerves.

“It’s very nice to meet you, thank you for having me,” I tell Peeta’s mother.

Loretta purses her lips and looks me over, eyes narrow, ignoring my extended hand.

I stuff my hands into the pockets of my worn jeans, which I realize she’s judging right now.

“What an interesting name. Very Haight-Ashbury.”

I look at Peeta and we’re both trying to hide our amusement.

“Thanks?” I reply trying to keep a neutral expression.

“If my dear niece is fond of you, I’m sure you’ll find your place here. Peeta, can you show her to one of the upper guest rooms? We won’t have any cohabitation in my house, especially among so many family members, you understand?”

Peeta nods.

I try to hide my sigh of relief.

That is until I find that I’m being put in a room so far from the rest of the family.

Message received. My place here is not with the rest of the family. I can tell by Peeta’s grimace he’s also caught onto his mother’s condescending implication.  

“It’s okay, Peeta, I do like having a place to escape, so I don’t know if I really mind at all.”

“Yeah, but it’s just rude. You’re my girlfriend.” He clears his throat. “I mean, she shouldn’t treat you that way, and it’s disrespectful to both of us,” he says with frustration.

I put my hand on his shoulder. “It’s okay, Peeta, let’s just get through this as smoothly as possible. We don’t play her games. We have our own antics,” I say with a smile and a wink.

He rolls his eyes and I know he’s thinking of the reference “antics.”

One year, Peeta stress baked enough Christmas cookies to open his own bakery. When I came over to his apartment to set up for movie night, we came up with the idea of having a cookie eating contest.

We got right to frosting in preparation for our Christmas party.

Later on, Jo and Finnick walked in to find 12 dozen frosted cookies and Peeta chasing me with a spatula, laughing with frosting all over his face, mine being equally frosted.

Johanna and Finnick went into a long list of our games we come up with, the chasing and teasing, referencing them as “antics.” It became a recurring joke Jo and Finnick go back to in reference to the competitions we come up with, or playful things we do together.

“Always with the antics” became a recurring joke.

“Ugh, now I really want some cookies!” I groan.

Peeta lights up at the reference, and chuckles to himself. “I know where to find some!” He takes my hand and leads me out of the secluded guest room.

I don’t really know what kind of awkwardness would have come from sharing a room with Peeta, so I put it out of my mind.

“Did your mom call my parents hippies?” I remind him.

Our eyes meet and we laugh.

“Pretty much.”

Peeta leads me to the kitchen. “You are kind of a flower child, yourself.” He pokes at my side.

I squirm and scowl at him.

As we eat frosted Christmas sugar cookies from Mellark’s bakery, Peeta brings up ways we should look and act like a couple. “We have to believable, right?”

“Yeah?” I roll my eyes.

“Let’s go over ‘couply things’ we should do,” Peeta suggests, always the project manager.

“Like hand-holding?” I deadpan, because this seems kind of silly. We’re adults. We’ve been in plenty of relationships. I do see his point, it is hard to think of Peeta as more than a friend.

Well, was, until Joanna opened that can of worms.

He reaches for my hand and nods.

I slowly grasp his large palm and interlace our fingers, ignoring the tingle that spreads with our touch.

“Or I’ll put my arm around you.” Peeta demonstrates and I try to relax in his embrace. My nerves are a little on edge.

“Loving gestures.” His arm travels down and he rubs my back affectionately.

Then he pulls on the end of my braid to turn me toward him.

Peeta stares into my eyes and smooths a strand of my hair behind my ear carefully.

I crinkle my nose.

He laughs.

Peeta kisses my nose.

I gasp, startled.

Then we both laugh.

He pulls me into a hug as we laugh, for no reason in particular. His face snuggles down in the crook of my neck.

I feel so…

We hear footsteps behind us and in walks William Mellark, beaming at the couple he’s found in the kitchen.

I push away with one hand on Peeta’s chest and look up at him for what to do.

His arms remains wrapped around me.

I’m momentarily distracted by the feel of his muscular solid chest under my fingertips.

Peeta’s attention is on the family patriarch. “Hey Dad! This is Katniss, my girlfriend,” he introduces me.

I try not to notice the huskiness Peeta’s voice took on when the said girlfriend, or the proud smile he gave.

It almost hurts to have to lie to his dad like that. I swallow my feelings.

As Peeta releases me from his embrace, I step forward.

“Nice to meet you, Mr. Mellark!” I say, hoping to school my nerves.

With familiar Mellark deep blue eyes, I’m greeted with a smile. Peeta’s dad has prominent laugh lines and the wrinkles around his eyes seem to be from happiness. His blonde hair is cut short with gray sprinkled around his temples, but I’m sure it was exactly like Peeta’s in his youth.

He’s very handsome.

I know where Peeta gets his looks.

“It’s Will to you, please? Make yourself at home here, Katniss!”

I greet him with a handshake. “Thank you, Will!”

The first night, the Mellarks have planned a couples’ ice skating event in town. We meet up with Peeta’s brothers and their wives.

Dane Mellark is a lawyer and it shows with the way he carries himself, seems cold and serious.

His wife, Clara, is also blond; beautiful, perfectly manicured, and dressed like Princess Kate. I’m sure she’s everything his mother wanted in a daughter-in-law.

We make polite conversation, what I do, how we met, how Dane and Clara met. Clara’s favorite topic being their children.

I can’t shake the feeling that I don’t really belong.

Rye Mellark and his wife arrive a little later. The Middle Mellark son greets me with a warm hug and whispers, “try not to melt the ice there” with a wink.

Is he flirting with me?

Then, he pulls Peeta in a headlock and, mutters something that makes Peeta blush.

I don’t have time to wonder what kind of woman married him when a dark red haired bombshell smacks Rye’s arm. “Knock it off Ryen!”

Rye releases Peeta with a huff.

“I’m Lila, it’s nice to meet you, Katniss.” Lila pulls me into a side hug, she smells like an expensive perfume.

She’s clearly used to this kind of lifestyle, but from talking to her she’s approachable, and genuine.

The first time I make Rye and Lila laugh Peeta and I lock eyes. The look of pride and something else I’m not familiar with flashes in his eyes. I’m much more comfortable around them after that.

It’s a relief.

Rye makes a big show of his backwards skating abilities. He’s dressed in a black Red Wings starter jacket and hockey skates.

Lila makes a few jokes at her husband’s expense.

“Why the Red Wings didn’t want him…”

And something about How he dressed in,costume. She’s funny, and clearly Rye thinks so too.

He laughs along and his eyes twinkle with love for his wife.

There’s that feeling again.

What is it with me lately? I’m noticing that ‘love’ look everywhere.

I blame Gale.

The outdoor rink is beautiful, with lights, greenery and holly. It even smells of evergreen.

In the center, is a decorated 30 foot tree looking magical, the music playing makes my ears buzz with nostalgia.

I tighten my hand in Peeta’s unconsciously and feel the buzz travel from my ears to my whole body as I listen.

Taking in the scene as we make our first loop around on the glassy ice rink, I can’t help but sigh in contentment.

“I feel like a kid again!” I smile up at Peeta.

He squeezes my hand and smiles back in reply.

I briefly think of Madge saying “you have a calming effect on Peeta.” I wonder if he has the same effect on me, and if this feeling, similar to holiday cheer, has something to do with the man next to me.

As if he’s reading my thoughts, Peeta draws me into his arms. I’m met with his deep blue eyes and the reflection of lights dancing around us before Peeta plants a chaste kiss on my lips.

My heart is beating faster, and I can’t keep the stupid grin off my face.

The tingling sensation on my lips lingers.

I force myself to focus on one thought,

“This is fun. We’re having fun. Don’t over think.”

I glance behind Peeta and realize his brothers and parents were watching us.

Smiles and whispers are shared among them.

Oh right, this is for appearances.

I grin back at Peeta, as if to say “It’s working.”

A confusing tightness lingers in my gut.

I refuse to let my thoughts wander and analyze. Or think about my body’s reaction to the kiss.

The first thing Peeta says to me once we arrive back at his parents’ house is “Hey, you know what we need? Hot Cocoa!”

We walk with his arms wrapped around me, as if we are really a couple.

It really felt like a first date and it was, well, wonderful.

Peeta hands me a fresh cup of cocoa and I take my seat at the breakfast nook while he prepares his own cup.

On the wall are cute pictures of the Mellark  boys in various stages of life.

It’s funny to see Peeta as a chubby little grade-schooler, same friendly smirk, same bright blue eyes.

I try to think if I remember him like that at Madge’s birthday parties. I just wasn’t paying enough attention then. Maybe I do remember that sweet face, playing tag in Madge’s back yard.

I turn and collide with Peeta’s very full cup of steaming Hot Cocoa. It pours all down his shirt.

Peeta hisses. He sets his cup down, and whips his shirt off to rid himself of the scalding liquid.

I quickly reach for a napkin and attempt to dry his lap.

He has light red marks from the cocoa, but I can’t ignore his chiseled and muscular chest.

Wow. Just. Wow.

My movements still as we make eye contact.

My chest feels heavy, the air feels thick.

My whole body is very aware of this growing attraction.

Or recurring attraction?

This is HOT.

“What?” Peeta says, amusement on his face.

I must have said that out loud.

I try to shake away the magnetism he has.

Then I realize my hand is still in his lap, lingering precariously. Was I just rubbing his… lap?

I pull back, taking a sip of my cocoa to hide my reaction. “The cocoa is hot,” I blurt out in an attempt to recover. Looking anywhere but at Peeta.

We quietly finish our hot chocolate.

“Well, I think I’m ready to head to my room. I had a lot fun, Peeta, thank you,” I say.

Peeta catches my hand and pulls me in a warm hug.

My hands go around his back.

His bare muscular back.

He’s still shirtless.

I resist the urge to moan.

My whole body heats up again.

“Thank you for doing this, Katniss,” Peeta whispers.

I feel his warm breath and the brush of his lips on my neck.

I pull away and nod, mumbling some sort of affirmation.

I head up to my room before I do something stupid like shove him into the wall and kiss him senseless without the pretense of appearances.

That night, I dream of a shirtless Peeta, moaning and grunting as I stroke…

[some-rfa-imagines]

Soooo I love spiders and my motto is the bigger the better and so everyone in my house calls me the spider queen because whenever a spider is in the house they call me to pick it up, w/ my hands, and toss it outside. So I was wondering how the RFA,V,Saeran, and matbe even vanderwood would react to a Fem!Mc who does that thanks

 Of course!! This is a really really late ask and I’m so, so, so sorry about that. I hope it’s ok anon.

-

Yoosung:

while he loved animals, he really wasn’t a fan of spiders.

so when a massive on made a home in the kitchen

he was not happy

so, he quickly called you, asking if you could get home sooner.

when you walked through the door, your eyes lit up

“Yoosung you didn’t tell me it was that big!”

wait what

you picked it up gently and wandered back outside to put it in some random bush.

meanwhile he just kinda… stood there.

when you came back he snapped out of it, shaking his head in confusion

“what?”

“uhhhhh nothing. nevermind.”

he decided to just leave you and your spider loving habits alone

ZEN:

Zen often decides just to leave spiders be

with his basement-type house, he tends to get a lot

and with his busy schedule, he doesn’t always have the time to clear them out

which is where you come in.

when you move in with him, you instantly begin admiring the spiders

after a while (when Jaehee forces you two to begin lightening the place more) you do a little spring cleaning

which means goodbye spiders ):

You begin gently picking up and tossing out the spiders and Zen watches in amazement

how???? do you do that so effortlessly??????? ????

Impressed™

You gotta teach him how to do that someday

Jaehee:

Hates spiders. No doubt about it.

“MC, they have too many legs and they have so many eyes and they’re so fast and jittery and they have so many legs and they’re hairy did I mention the legs??” yes baehee u did

will actually scream if there’s one in the house

so you’re actually her saviour

At first she’s terrified

“MC…. MC what are you doing… MC!!”

“chillax Jaehee”

could you not get any more amazing??

calls you every time there’s a spider within two metres of her

kisses you every time you successfully remove one

so, i mean, it’s a win win

Jumin:

you guys live in a penthouse for hecks sake

what spider’s gonna get in there??

well, one does and he’s fully prepared to just kill it

but you stop him and gather it up in your hands

“MC what are you doing?”

“saving it Jumin.”

you manage to make it to the rooftop garden and put it in one of the pots

You turn to Jumin who’s staring at you, pretty shocked

“What?”

“It’s… don’t worry about it MC. Just try not to do that with the deadly ones, okay?”

“Okay” ^^

truth be told, he’s so surprised that you didn’t act like the other women he’d met, screaming and running away etc.

but he knows you, so of course you’d love spiders.

not more than you love him though, obviously.

Saeyoung:

he doesn’t have time for spiders

unless he’s making a spider robot to freak people out (HEM HEM HALLOWEEN)

other than that, he doesn’t really mind them

they don’t hurt him, he doesn’t hurt them

but

he’s V Impress™ when you are so chill with them

with how you acted with the cockroach in the apartment, he fully expected you to hate spiders too

but nope

makes jokes about you someday becoming Spider-girl

from then on, almost every dress up he does has something to do with you and spiders

INCLUDING HALLOWEEN

V:

V doesn’t like spiders.

He admits there’s something about them that could be seen as artistic but…

he doesn’t see it. hA

They’re just… something about them just unnerves him.

so he’s more than grateful when you offer to take them outside, so he doesn’t have to

confused tho

how???? are you so???? amazing????? you’re just so outstanding

errror 404: program V has stopped responding

too soon?? ok

also

how aren’t you nervous?

oh well. He won’t question it.

Saeran:

honestly fascinated by spiders

they’re cool to him, somehow elegant?

 but he doesn’t want to interrupt them, so he leaves them be. (precious)

So when you start taking them outside, he’s like “MC, why?? they were fine inside.”

you explain to him that they’d probably be more comfortable in their own element and he begins to understand.

he’s in awe of how gently you handled them

How do you do that???

you show him how to peacefully hold a spider and he’s super excited

uses it to prank seven

who promptly:

because it was put on his head 

Vanderwood:

reaallly not a fan of spiders

they don’t go into detail as to why, but they have an intense hate for them

cant???? understand???? why????? you like them?????

you laugh it off and tell them, you don’t really know either.

Grateful that you get rid of the ones in Seven’s house whenever you’re there.

They skillfully avoid you whenever you’re doing your spider-clearing-job

i mean, they’ve faced worse…

but still.

there are too many legs, MC. too many legs.

Thanks you after you’re done though and kisses you on the head (even though they’re not a fan of PDA)

i mean, you’re behind closed doors and the only other person here is….

oh

I hope this was okay! I don’t usually write for Vandy and I think it shows ^^;; Hopefully more writing coming your way tonight!!

bye bye!! *poof*

[winterinpanem]

Not Your Mama's Hallmark Christmas part 2/3

A big Thank YOU to my friend and beta @javistg 

Madge is unbelievable. The girl has connections and she knows how to get things done. Almost everyday after my work at the lab, I'm busy with something to prepare for the trip.

  Madge and I are getting our nails done at a salon she frequents. I never do this kind of thing. I kept my nails shorter, square, and a dark red color, seasonal, but edgy enough to be myself. I’m pretending to be a wealthier version on myself I reason with myself.

Madge is getting her baby pink French Tip frost with iridescence and sparkles. She couldn’t be happier that I begrudgingly accompanied her. I try to enjoy her company while she continues on her mission to prepare me.

“I peppered in compliments about you when I was on the phone with Aunt Loretta, but you know how she is,” Madge admits with a grimace.

  I roll my eyes. I do know how she is.

  Mrs. Mellark was full of backhanded compliments and condescension when she met Gale. My best friend is a tall, dark, and handsome engineer with intense gray eyes, that could win over any woman.

  Madge's Aunt being the exception.

  “When I mentioned that I met Gale through you, it all went downhill.” She rolls her eyes. I'm not surprised.

  “Maybe I should have started with how much you make in the lab working for pharmaceutical companies.” Madge winks.

  I huff.

  I don't how to handle someone so superficial.

  Money was hard to come by growing up. The only reason I had the opportunity to attend college was the archery scholarship I received.

  It was extremely lucky that my favorite professor, Dr. Beetee. Took an interest in me and explained that with my major, Biochemistry in Pharmaceutical Sciences, I was eligible for the program that enables undergraduate students to begin taking graduate courses in their senior year.

  I received a Master of Science degree within a year of finishing my undergraduate degree.

  Dr. Beetee helped me find a job with his connections, I was hired right out of college. With his encouragement, I've been taking a few night classes in pursuit of my doctorate.

  My paygrade allows me to afford a good chunk of my sister's college bills as she studies to become a pediatrician, while I continue to live with a roommate and a tight budget.

  I guess Mrs. Mellark would like to know what I make and not where it goes.

  Madge wrote out an itinerary based on what she knows after talking to her aunt, with what outfit to wear, the right shoes, makeup for each outfit, diagrams, and tips for what might happen.

  The shopping she's done for me is a welcome relief. She knows me so well. What I like, what I look good in, what fits, and most importantly, how much I hate shopping.

  Peeta and I are heading out of town in his black SUV --I always refer to it as his secret service vehicle. Snow is lightly dusting our scenery on the open road.

  It's a 3 hour drive to Merchant, Peeta’s ritzy gated community hometown. Politicians, socialites, anyone with money, even a famous eccentric musician are all known to live in that area.

  A 30 minute drive from there is the suburban town Madge, Gale, and I grew up in. Gale and I grew up on the poorer side of town. Madge growing up as the mayor's daughter (and now senator elect) obviously being the nicest part of our area.

  The first hour of our drive is filled with our usual banter and laughter. I'm genuinely relieved that this weird week will be with Peeta, he's a blast.

  We take turns playing new music we've found, and fall into our usual discussions, sharing thoughts on certain lyrics or a particular soul-stirring melody.

  Peeta gets a thoughtful look on his face before he speaks. “Okay, this may seem weird to discuss, but I’m going to surprise you in the moment, when no one is looking. I don’t think our first kiss should be in front of everyone. It's going to look forced and awkward.”

  I quirk an eyebrow at him. “OUR. First. Kiss?” I lock eyes with him, but keep a teasing look on my face.

  He raises his eyebrows realizing what he just said, remembering, his cheeks turn rosy.

  “You were my first kiss,” I whisper, just barely loud enough for him to hear. Cherishing the memory.

  I bite my lip in thought. Quick dart my eyes to Peeta as I catch him licking his lips, then snap my gaze back on the road.

  “Really?” He seems surprised, but I can hear a smile and, is that pride, in his tone?

  “Mhmm.” I feel 16 again and I'm floating, my skin tingles. I know I'm blushing so I just stare down at my boots.

  After a few moments of thoughtful silence, I blurt out. “Our kisses couldn't ever be forced or awkward, Peeta.” I leave that for him to chew in as I crank up some “Hipster Holidays Radio” on Pandora.

  After all the stories Madge and Peeta have told me of the infamous Mrs. Loretta Mellark, I wasn’t expecting someone so beautiful, and well, perfect. Everything about her was “just so,” which, maybe I should have guessed, knowing how “just so” Madge is.

  She's dressed in classically styled name brand clothes, makeup that complements her icy blue eyes and lighter skin tone, elegantly styled updo, highlighted blond hair, nothing is out of place or inexpensive.

  Loretta is the most beautiful middle aged woman I've ever seen. Her pores seep elegance.

An air of pretension and anxiety follows her everywhere.

  Honestly, this explains some things.

  “Mom, this is my girlfriend, Katniss. I told you she was coming. She grew up with Madge, remember?” Peeta introduces me, rushed and nervous.

  With a weak smile, I offer my hand in greeting. Trying to relax my own nerves.

  “It’s very nice to meet you, thank you for having me,” I tell Peeta's mother.

  Loretta purses her lips and looks me over, eyes narrow, ignoring my extended hand.

  I stuff my hands into the pockets of my worn jeans, which I realize she's judging right now.

  “What an interesting name. Very Haight-Ashbury.”

  I look at Peeta and we're both trying to hide our amusement.

  “Thanks?” I reply trying to keep a neutral expression.

  “If my dear niece is fond of you, I’m sure you’ll find your place here. Peeta, can you show her to one of the upper guest rooms? We won’t have any cohabitation in my house, especially among so many family members, you understand?”

  Peeta nods.

  I try to hide my sigh of relief.

  That is until I find that I’m being put in a room so far from the rest of the family.

  Message received. My place here is not with the rest of the family. I can tell by Peeta's grimace he's also caught onto his mother's condescending implication.  

  “It's okay, Peeta, I do like having a place to escape, so I don't know if I really mind at all.”

  “Yeah, but it's just rude. You're my girlfriend.” He clears his throat. “I mean, she shouldn't treat you that way, and it's disrespectful to both of us,” he says with frustration.

  I put my hand on his shoulder. “It's okay, Peeta, let's just get through this as smoothly as possible. We don't play her games. We have our own antics,” I say with a smile and a wink.

  He rolls his eyes and I know he's thinking of the reference “antics.”

  One year, Peeta stress baked enough Christmas cookies to open his own bakery. When I came over to his apartment to set up for movie night, we came up with the idea of having a cookie eating contest.

  We got right to frosting in preparation for our Christmas party.

  Later on, Jo and Finnick walked in to find 12 dozen frosted cookies and Peeta chasing me with a spatula, laughing with frosting all over his face, mine being equally frosted.

  Johanna and Finnick went into a long list of our games we come up with, the chasing and teasing, referencing them as “antics.” It became a recurring joke Jo and Finnick go back to in reference to the competitions we come up with, or playful things we do together.

  “Always with the antics” became a recurring joke.

  “Ugh, now I really want some cookies!” I groan.

  Peeta lights up at the reference, and chuckles to himself. “I know where to find some!” He takes my hand and leads me out of the secluded guest room.

  I don’t really know what kind of awkwardness would have come from sharing a room with Peeta, so I put it out of my mind.

  “Did your mom call my parents hippies?” I remind him.

  Our eyes meet and we laugh.

  “Pretty much.”

  Peeta leads me to the kitchen. “You are kind of a flower child, yourself.” He pokes at my side.

  I squirm and scowl at him.

  As we eat frosted Christmas sugar cookies from Mellark’s bakery, Peeta brings up ways we should look and act like a couple. “We have to believable, right?”

  “Yeah?” I roll my eyes.

  “Let's go over ‘couply things’ we should do,” Peeta suggests, always the project manager.

  “Like hand-holding?” I deadpan, because this seems kind of silly. We're adults. We've been in plenty of relationships. I do see his point, it is hard to think of Peeta as more than a friend.

  Well, was, until Joanna opened that can of worms.

  He reaches for my hand and nods.

  I slowly grasp his large palm and interlace our fingers, ignoring the tingle that spreads with our touch.

  “Or I'll put my arm around you.” Peeta demonstrates and I try to relax in his embrace. My nerves are a little on edge.

  “Loving gestures.” His arm travels down and he rubs my back affectionately.

  Then he pulls on the end of my braid to turn me toward him.

  Peeta stares into my eyes and smooths a strand of my hair behind my ear carefully.

  I crinkle my nose.

  He laughs.

  Peeta kisses my nose.

  I gasp, startled.

  Then we both laugh.

  He pulls me into a hug as we laugh, for no reason in particular. His face snuggles down in the crook of my neck.

  I feel so...

  We hear footsteps behind us and in walks William Mellark, beaming at the couple he’s found in the kitchen.

  I push away with one hand on Peeta's chest and look up at him for what to do.

His arms remains wrapped around me.

  I'm momentarily distracted by the feel of his muscular solid chest under my fingertips.

  Peeta's attention is on the family patriarch. “Hey Dad! This is Katniss, my girlfriend,” he introduces me.

  I try not to notice the huskiness Peeta's voice took on when the said girlfriend, or the proud smile he gave.

  It almost hurts to have to lie to his dad like that. I swallow my feelings.

  As Peeta releases me from his embrace, I step forward.

  “Nice to meet you, Mr. Mellark!” I say, hoping to school my nerves.

  With familiar Mellark deep blue eyes, I'm greeted with a smile. Peeta’s dad has prominent laugh lines and the wrinkles around his eyes seem to be from happiness. His blonde hair is cut short with gray sprinkled around his temples, but I'm sure it was exactly like Peeta's in his youth.

  He's very handsome.

  I know where Peeta gets his looks.

  “It's Will to you, please? Make yourself at home here, Katniss!”

  I greet him with a handshake. “Thank you, Will!”

  The first night, the Mellarks have planned a couples’ ice skating event in town. We meet up with Peeta's brothers and their wives.

  Dane Mellark is a lawyer and it shows with the way he carries himself, seems cold and serious.

  His wife, Clara, is also blond; beautiful, perfectly manicured, and dressed like Princess Kate. I'm sure she's everything his mother wanted in a daughter-in-law.

  We make polite conversation, what I do, how we met, how Dane and Clara met. Clara’s favorite topic being their children.

  I can't shake the feeling that I don't really belong.

  Rye Mellark and his wife arrive a little later. The Middle Mellark son greets me with a warm hug and whispers, “try not to melt the ice there” with a wink.

  Is he flirting with me?

  Then, he pulls Peeta in a headlock and, mutters something that makes Peeta blush.

  I don't have time to wonder what kind of woman married him when a dark red haired bombshell smacks Rye’s arm. “Knock it off Ryen!”

  Rye releases Peeta with a huff.

  “I'm Lila, it's nice to meet you, Katniss.” Lila pulls me into a side hug, she smells like an expensive perfume.

She's clearly used to this kind of lifestyle, but from talking to her she's approachable, and genuine.

  The first time I make Rye and Lila laugh Peeta and I lock eyes. The look of pride and something else I'm not familiar with flashes in his eyes. I'm much more comfortable around them after that.

  It's a relief.

  Rye makes a big show of his backwards skating abilities. He's dressed in a black Red Wings starter jacket and hockey skates.

  Lila makes a few jokes at her husband's expense.

“Why the Red Wings didn't want him…”

  And something about How he dressed in,costume. She's funny, and clearly Rye thinks so too.

He laughs along and his eyes twinkle with love for his wife.

  There's that feeling again.

  What is it with me lately? I'm noticing that ‘love' look everywhere.

  I blame Gale.

  The outdoor rink is beautiful, with lights, greenery and holly. It even smells of evergreen.

In the center, is a decorated 30 foot tree looking magical, the music playing makes my ears buzz with nostalgia.

  I tighten my hand in Peeta's unconsciously and feel the buzz travel from my ears to my whole body as I listen.

  Taking in the scene as we make our first loop around on the glassy ice rink, I can't help but sigh in contentment.

  “I feel like a kid again!” I smile up at Peeta.

  He squeezes my hand and smiles back in reply.

  I briefly think of Madge saying “you have a calming effect on Peeta.” I wonder if he has the same effect on me, and if this feeling, similar to holiday cheer, has something to do with the man next to me.

  As if he's reading my thoughts, Peeta draws me into his arms. I'm met with his deep blue eyes and the reflection of lights dancing around us before Peeta plants a chaste kiss on my lips.

  My heart is beating faster, and I can't keep the stupid grin off my face.

The tingling sensation on my lips lingers.

  I force myself to focus on one thought,

“This is fun. We're having fun. Don't over think.”

I glance behind Peeta and realize his brothers and parents were watching us.

Smiles and whispers are shared among them.

  Oh right, this is for appearances.

  I grin back at Peeta, as if to say “It's working.”

  A confusing tightness lingers in my gut.

  I refuse to let my thoughts wander and analyze. Or think about my body’s reaction to the kiss.

  The first thing Peeta says to me once we arrive back at his parents’ house is “Hey, you know what we need? Hot Cocoa!”

  We walk with his arms wrapped around me, as if we are really a couple.

  It really felt like a first date and it was, well, wonderful.

  Peeta hands me a fresh cup of cocoa and I take my seat at the breakfast nook while he prepares his own cup.

  On the wall are cute pictures of the Mellark  boys in various stages of life.

  It's funny to see Peeta as a chubby little grade-schooler, same friendly smirk, same bright blue eyes.

  I try to think if I remember him like that at Madge's birthday parties. I just wasn't paying enough attention then. Maybe I do remember that sweet face, playing tag in Madge's back yard.

  I turn and collide with Peeta’s very full cup of steaming Hot Cocoa. It pours all down his shirt.

  Peeta hisses. He sets his cup down, and whips his shirt off to rid himself of the scalding liquid.

  I quickly reach for a napkin and attempt to dry his lap.

  He has light red marks from the cocoa, but I can't ignore his chiseled and muscular chest.

  Wow. Just. Wow.

  My movements still as we make eye contact.

  My chest feels heavy, the air feels thick.

  My whole body is very aware of this growing attraction.

  Or recurring attraction?

  This is HOT.

  “What?” Peeta says, amusement on his face.

  I must have said that out loud.

  I try to shake away the magnetism he has.

Then I realize my hand is still in his lap, lingering precariously. Was I just rubbing his... lap?

  I pull back, taking a sip of my cocoa to hide my reaction. “The cocoa is hot,” I blurt out in an attempt to recover. Looking anywhere but at Peeta.

  We quietly finish our hot chocolate.

  “Well, I think I’m ready to head to my room. I had a lot fun, Peeta, thank you,” I say.

  Peeta catches my hand and pulls me in a warm hug.

  My hands go around his back.

  His bare muscular back.

  He’s still shirtless.

  I resist the urge to moan.

  My whole body heats up again.

  “Thank you for doing this, Katniss,” Peeta whispers.

  I feel his warm breath and the brush of his lips on my neck.

  I pull away and nod, mumbling some sort of affirmation.

  I head up to my room before I do something stupid like shove him into the wall and kiss him senseless without the pretence of appearances.

  That night, I dream of a shirtless Peeta, moaning and grunting as I stroke…

  At breakfast, I’m sitting next to Peeta, sipping my coffee while he holds my hand.

  Peeta makes a joke about buttering my pancake.

  I spit a little bit of my coffee out.

  Peeta bursts into laughter.

  “The last time that happened Madge convinced us to swap shirts!” Peeta explains his laughter.

  I laugh with him as we reminisce about our humorous first encounter at Panem State in Gale’s apartment my freshman year.

  Thresh and I became fast friends with a similar family background and interest in mischief, we pranked our entire dorm hall with an airhorn, and shaving cream balloons that popped above everyone’s doors as they opened them.

  Peeta actually started joining our pizza nights at Gale’s apartment through his friendship with Thresh.

  My phone buzzes after class Friday, as I head out of my Freshman Biology class. I check my messages. It's our usual group message from Gale and Thresh conferring our weekend plans.

  Gale: Let’s make ‘Pizza Night’ a party this week?

  Me: Okay. I’ll tell Madge and Johanna. I'm sure they'll get the word out too.

  Thresh: If Kat’s ready to party I'm so in. I’ll invite some of the wrestling team. C-ya.

  Later that night, I’m shoving Pizza in my mouth while Johanna goes on about how to turn a one night stand into a weekend fling.

  Thresh takes advantage of my distraction, picks me up, and sets me in his lap.

  I laugh and elbow him in the chest while he laughs at me trying to break away.

  I swallow down my pizza, take a gulp of my beer and turn, only to be met with a pair of familiar looking blue eyes.

  Instead of saying hi to Peeta Mellark like a normal person, I spew the entire beer all over myself and start choking on what was remaining in my mouth.

  My gasping and coughing gets the attention of the entire room. Madge helps me up and whisks me away to the bathroom only to realize I was wearing a soaked white t-shirt.

Madge reads me like a book.

  “I have an idea, trust me,” she says with her mad-scientist look, taking my t-shirt with her.

  Madge somehow comes back with 2 men’s t-shirts, one smelling like Gale and another smelling delicious, like cologne and something else masculine.

  We quickly put on the larger shirts and make our way out of the bathroom.

  Madge taps a shirtless Gale and he puts on Madge’s discarded shirt without breaking his conversation with a fellow engineering student.

  I look around and realize Madge convinced everyone to switch shirts with the opposite gender.

  Johanna winks at me, then pulls a tall, handsome redhead wearing her shirt into the kitchen, revealing Peeta behind her; smiling and  wearing my wet, white t-shirt, tight across his chest like a tight crop top.

  “I think I owe you this,” he says, handing me a new beer.

  “Madge was a genius! It really livened up that party!”

  Peeta and I laugh about seeing all the guys at that party struggling to keep wearing the girls’ tight-fitting shirts on. It became a “thing” at college parties.

  “People were talking about it for weeks!”

  “I think some embarrassing pictures taken after a few rounds of shots are still floating around FB somewhere,” I snicker, then stop. My eyes widen when I think of a particular picture of Peeta and I that made me blush when it surfaced on Facebook days after that party. I don't remember anything about it, but it's been documented. Handsy when drunk. Among other...things.

  We grin at each other. Then continue eating breakfast.

  Leading up to party time, the day is nearly unbearable with tension.

  Caterers are setting up. I look over the main level and realize that it's best for me to stay out of the way while Loretta barks out orders to the decorators and her sons, putting everything in its final place.

I can tell the moment it’s all too much for Peeta. All the pressure for perfection from his mother is going to make him snap soon. He needs a moment of peace. Some time that’s is real and not for show. “Do you wanna build a snowman?” I ask. He looks at me confused, then remembers those were my code words for ‘let’s get outta here.’ He laughs. “Let’s go for a walk, Peeta? I need some fresh air,” I ask, he nods and follows me to the door. He starts heading for the sidewalk, but I pull him around toward the back through the woods. The snow is especially beautiful here in the woods, the quiet of the snowflakes falling is so soothing. “Katniss I–,” He wants to talk, but I don’t want to. I launch a snowball at his back to shut him up. He turns with a mischievous look on his face, but before he can reach for his own ammunition I pelt him twice. Snowballs fly back and forth as we laugh and dodge, weaving between trees.

  I duck behind a tree. It’s quiet, usually I can hear his heavy tread anyway, so this my chance to take him by surprise. I can’t see him anywhere. It’s silent. As I’m walking, I think I hear something, so I stop. A yank on my ankle and I’m propelled backwards landing in a soft pile of snow. Peeta’s arms wrap around me as he emerges from the snow. Before I can protest, I’m equally covered in icy cold powder. We’re rolling and laughing. Peeta pins me down in an impressive wrestling move.

  I struggle. Peeta smiles down at me. “Okay, you win this round Mellark!” I admit defeat with a huff. My mitten covered hands raised up in surrender. Peeta kisses my nose and grabs both my hands to pull me out of the snow flashing a perfect triumphant smile. I shiver, maybe from the cold, maybe from his blindingly bright blue eyes, I can’t be too sure. He must have noticed the shiver because he wraps his arms around me and pulls me into his arms whispering into my ear, “I have some wood, let’s warm you up and light that fire.“ Was that an innuendo? I raise my eyebrows. He leans in and then smirks as we make our way back to the Mellarks’ house. I sigh. I thought he was going to kiss me for “real” when no one was looking and we didn’t have to be pretending in front of his family. The snow continues to fall around us and snowflakes get tangled in his impossibly long eyelashes. I turn away before he notices me staring.

  The whole family is spending the next few days here at the house, which I learned is “an annually required family bonding time.”

  They're all set up in various guest rooms for the next few days.

  The sister in laws are doing what they can to keep the children out of anyone's way.

  A sitter was hired for the party, but isn't due to arrive yet. I offer to help Clara and Lila while they get themselves ready. Also to get my mind off a certain blue-eyed tall blonde gorgeous someone who refuses to leave my thoughts. I'm 16 again and this is all confusing.

  6 busy grand-kids 8 and under is a lot to try to keep out of mischief. We color and play games.

  “Kat-iss.”

  “No! It's Kat-miss!”

  “Kat-iss!”

  “You can call me Kat, it's okay!”

  “Can we call you Aunt Kat? Daddy says you could be someday.”

  “Well, if some day does happen, then you can call me Aunt. Until then it's just Kat to you, got it?” I give a wink to Dane’s more pragmatic children, predictably the oldest.  

  I try to keep the wildness to a minimum, but there's only so much I can do. I have to admit, the Mellarks make adorable children!

  Lila comes back as I'm tickling two of her blonde giggling sons. She gives me a look.

  “You're a natural, Katniss!” She's beaming now at the thought of more nieces or nephews.

  “Uh, thanks. I'm going to go get ready now.” I don’t want to think about any hypothetical babies with Peeta.

  I give myself a pep talk as I adjust the push up bra I'm wearing under the emerald green dress Madge picked for me. “Try to be friendly, be a calming effect on Peeta.” I sigh as I pull out the detailed instructions and diagrams on how to do my make-up.

  “Thanks Madge.” I text her, with a picture of the finished, party-ready self.

  Mrs. Mellark did a double take when she saw me. Then raised her eyebrows in surprise, “You look lovely, Katniss,” she said, followed by a slow, but sincere smile.

  I smiled back and thanked her. Wow, a smile of approval from Mrs. Mellark, I never thought I would see the day.

  All I've gathered from this party is that loads of money was spent and it's all for show. It's boring and stiff. The entire first hour was introduction and light shallow conversation. The best part of this party is the food spread and the alcohol.

  I thought we would have been able to make out way over to Annie and Finnick by now, but we are being paraded around so Mrs. Mellark can brag about her handsome successful youngest.

  Apparently, being a Biochemist is impressive enough for her, because she's bragging about what I do. I didn't even realize she was paying any attention to my career explanation and clearly she googled some of her fast facts, because she didn’t ask me a thing.

  Peeta holds my hand tightly, as if he's worried I will bolt at the first chance. Which I would be lying if I said it hasn't crossed my mind.

  Maybe Peeta is playing it up for the cameras, but it seems like he’s very eager to kiss me with every opportunity. Maybe it helps with his nerves, but the chaste kiss count is racking up today.

  When Madge’s parents find me, they pull me in a tight hug.

  “Thank you so much for your help with our fundraiser last month, Katniss! We raised so much for aid the childhood hunger that our state is facing.” Madeline Undersee, always a champion for the underdog.

  Before I can say much, Senator and Mrs. Undersee gush about me to Loretta as if I am family. This is all quite the exaggeration. I'm a surly girl who was forced to grow up too fast, I do what anyone else would in my situation. I really do enjoy helping Madge with the causes that improve things for children who grew up with the struggles I had. Why wouldn't I help?

  I can't keep but feel a little surprised by the kind words said about me.

  “I can't imagine a better addition to your family, Loretta.” The senator motions to Peeta and I.

  As the 5 of us pose for a picture, a lump forms in my throat. I never meant to deceive Madge's parents.

  With that, Peeta's mom releases her hovering over us. We've appeased her. We're free to go.

  We spot Annie and Finnick, a welcome relief. Finnick has an audience of middle aged women hanging on his every word. He holds Annie at his side, almost protectively.

  As his audience erupts in laughter, Finnick takes the opportunity to head towards us. Pulling his best friend in a hug while Annie and I catch up.

  “You two look amazing together. A very cute couple,” Annie whispers in my ear.

  I just smile and shrug.

  After only a few minutes, the four of us are laughing and reminiscing. It feels like we're finally enjoying the party, with Finnick and Annie.

  Peeta looks over at his mom, then meets my eyes and steals another kiss. A thank you.

I pretend my heart didn't just flutter.

  Finnick raises his eyebrows then looks to Annie communicating wordlessly. It creeps me out when they do that, so I mumble something about more wine.

  Peeta keeps his hand in mine and follows.

  As we walk by the grand piano, I admire its beauty.

  Peeta gives me a look I can't read and then at the piano, like he's remembering something. He squeezes my hand and leans into my ear. His hot breath brushes my bare neck. I bite my lip, trying not moan or think any dirty thoughts.

  “You should play. Sing something, like you did at my cousin's party when we were kids,” he whispers.

  I try to ignore the husky, sexy sound of his whisper. Or imagine it being something dirty he's saying.

  Peeta misreads my quietness because he tries to convince me. “I think you were 11 and you had a red dress, your hair was in 2 braids. You were so excited to show Madge that you could play the piano like she could. It was a Christmas song, wasn't it?” Peeta asks.

  I lift my head and look into his eyes, his smiling face. “Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas. I can't believe you remember that.” I try to hide my surprise.

  Peeta smiles as I find my seat on the bench.

  I haven't sang in so long but, for some reason, the look Peeta gave me all the confidence I need. I'm almost excited to sing for him.

  I play the intro on the piano and I notice the chatter in the room die down.

  “Have yourself a merry little Christmas Let your heart be light From now on your troubles will be out of sight Have yourself a merry little Christmas Make the Yuletide gay From now on your troubles will be miles away Here we are as in olden days Happy golden days of yore Faithful friends who are dear to us Gather near to us once more Through the years we all will be together If the fates allow Hang a shining star upon the highest bough So have yourself a merry little Christmas Have yourself a merry little Christmas So have yourself a merry little Christmas

Nooooooow.”

  My fingers dance over the keys as I close out the song. The dancing in my heart continues and I can't keep the joy inside from spilling out onto my face.

  Music has a way of making right something inside us. It felt like my dad was with me. Smiling.

  “Hey are you okay?” Peeta looks concerned. He starts wiping away tears I didn’t know I shed.

  I take a deep breath. “Yeah, I-I just miss them. I miss my dad,” I attempt to explain.

  Peeta pulls me into an empty room and just holds me close. Exactly what I needed.