#I’m faster at painting than I was last year so I feel like I have a good shot at it even if I have more responsibilities now than I did then

[floweroflaurelin]

The baby ravager den is my favourite Decked Out location so far! That lil guy is gonna grow up so big and strong snacking on all the Hermits ✨🫶

I have the flu at the moment and it’s making it hard to get anything done, so I took 45min to make this so I can at least say I finished something 🤧

[death---dealer]

Girl when I tell you I absolutely NEED part 3 to Customary or I might die!! Omggg that yearning shit had me covering the smile on my mouth and licking my feet. 🤭 It’s too good! It’s too cute! You might actually be a wizard. I’m bowing down to you, slow-burn queen 🙌

My fingers.... They are burning.... with dESIRE.

Title: Wounded Pride. Fandom: ( Kindgom of the ) Planet of the Apes. Rating: T. ( Mentions of violence, blood, injury and mating. ) Words: 6K ( Someone stop me jk don't. ) Pairing: Implied! Noa x Human!Reader. Summary: You were ignoring each other, that much was clear. How long was it going to last? Noa felt like he was bursting at the seams and you felt like you had lost all sense of reasoning. ** Does Contain Spoilers for Kingdom of the Planet of the Apes. **

READ THE SERIES HERE. ●・○・●・○・●・○・●・○・●・○・●・○・●・○・●・○・●・●・○・ “Noa!” That was a frantic tone and lured the Chimp to raise his head in question. His ears moved to focus on where it was coming from. Off to his left, maybe 10 or so meters away. Not too far if he needed to run. He made a barking sound in response. Hearing his name was not enough.  His vision caught a few things. Leaves tangling against the ruins of a past structure. Echo in nature, through and through and hideously ugly. Nothing like what Apes built he beamed with decent pride at that. His body swung at the sound of his name vibrating along the walls encapsulating him like a barren playground. His set of feet and hands were pressed into the ground now. He was braced, ready to take off. Respond, Noa’s mind felt like it was melting, waiting for his fellow friends to communicate. He traced his gaze right along the trees that were bursting through the sturdy concrete, determined to grow in such ludacris circumstances. His chest rose and fell rapidly, faster than he had felt in quite some time, at least since his encounter with Proximus Caesar.  “Noa! You need to come quick!” The fur along his spine pricked at that, standing on edge. A sensation not often felt with him. It screamed ‘danger ahead!’ His nerves yelled at him, muscles feeling tense. The voice was very much Soona’s, tangling with Anaya’s as they began yelling over each other. Well, it couldn’t have been that serious if they were both taking time to yell, some tanglement of arguing with each other hitting Noa’s ears as he finally picked his pace up to a gallop. Coming to what could only be described as a skirting stop, Noa’s hands and feet dug into the earth below him to stop him from tumbling over, making quite crazed eye contact with Soona and Anaya as his mind caught up with his body. Both unharmed, he sighed from relief at that. Anaya was breathing heavily - Nervous? Noa questioned silently and looked at Soona again, shoulders fraught. He stared at her, expecting an explanation without having to ask for one. She was quick to oblige but didn't bother with words. Merely stepping aside, her entire self bumped into Anaya’s and they both shuffled to the side on all fours looking between Noa and what was behind them in the long grass that grew without care. Noa came forward, keeping his senses on guard in case there was danger with what Soona and Anaya had found. His friends were fast to follow right behind him. Noa never had it in him to advise that he was just as scared as they were at times like this. He swallowed it down and did what he needed. Soona and Anaya needed him to be brave and that was often his gift to them. Their gift back? Their unwavering friendship and support through the years. Green eyes scaled the grassy area in front of him to observe before he got too close. Some blades were painted red. Noa hesitated briefly. It had to be blood, Noa roughly vocalized to Soona and Anaya to stand back, stay back. They did just that, stopping their movements as Noa bridged the gap of two feet between himself and the patch. 

“Still… Alive?” Soona asked quietly. Noa glanced back at her, watching as she dipped her head precariously. Anaya was standing close to her, holding onto her arm out of fear. Noa looked back at the grass, or rather, what was in it. Between the long entanglements of weeds and vines he could make out the striking notions of blood splatter. Fresh, it still looked wet. Swallowing back something that was resting in his throat, Noa stood. If there was danger, he needed to appear as large as he could. One of the many tactics a Chimpanzee had when faced with the unknown. The extra height he got going from all fours to bi-pedal was all he needed to see clearly what was in that busted patch of grass. ‘Echo!’ He signed at Anaya and Soona. 

‘Has to still be alive!’ Anaya was fast to respond to his best friend, his hands finding it a bit difficult to move so quickly. The next set of words were jumbled but Noa understood. It had made a sound when Soona and Anaya probed it, which prompted them to call Noa in return. 

‘What…’ Soona’s signing was slow compared to Anaya’s. She was always more thoughtful and Noa savored that in this moment, trying so hard to keep himself from going straight into panic. ‘What… do.. We do?’

‘Put out of misery.’ Anaya wasn’t joking. 

Noa held his hand up, fingers twisted into a hard fist. Soona and Anaya both fell deathly quiet. He was not about to mercy kill. What was in front of him would die on its own once the cold of the night came around. There was evident damage to their legs, close to the ankles, blood pooling there and trickling down the smooth nature of the skin into the dirt below. He made a fast sign to his friends telling them. He heard them both gasp under their breath as Noa made a move closer, crouching to get more detail, his hands and feet tangling in on themselves with the spaced movement of Noa’s broad body. Cut around the temple, hit by rock maybe, or fell on face, burns around wrists, most likely from being bound. Noa was making quick notes of what he was seeing. He looked right. Nothing. He looked to the left and noticed blood droplets and traced their trajectory mindfully. It was coming from the direction of the cave that kept the Eagle Clan secluded from other Apes in the area. That was all Noa needed to know. The Echo in front of him must have been hunted, nearly to the brink of death.  ●・○・●・○・●・○・●・○・●・○・●・○・●・○・●・○・●・○・●・

‘How?’ Anaya signed at Noa, huffing deeply at his friend who was pacing, very distraught. The sounds from the Ape in front of him told Noa to stop moving and to focus, pay attention to the conversation at hand but it was apparent with the shoulder movements of aggravation that that was not going to happen. Noa was an obsessive creature, and Anaya knew that. Once he was locked and entranced by something, by any force of nature, Noa would tear it open and figure it out to satisfy his need to fix, his need to deduce. That’s what made him so good at tinkering, at resolving. It must have been a secretive thing Noa wanted to talk about this time around, eager to get Anaya alone. Stalking and biding his time almost all day to get his friend pinned for a conversation. Without Soona, without his mother. ‘Echo got offended?’ The signing of those words were accompanied by a funny face, Anaya very obviously curious how Noa had managed that one. Neither had heard of an Echo being offended, though, from the Elders of the Clan, they had always made the assumption that they were quick to anger. Maybe the same thing, Anaya bargained with Noa, but Noa felt this was different than simple anger and told his friend that sternly.

Noa had put everything incredibly broad, unsure of how to approach his closest confidant with what had happened between himself and you. Too many details would give away Noa’s primal intent. He gave the gist of it with words a few minutes ago, Anaya intently listening to Noa’s voice waver. Up and down, the placement of his tone unsure and full of self-loathing. He continued, explaining in part the conversation about the human custom of kissing, only the important details, followed by a very cliff-noted version of the hunting endeavor. Anaya must have sensed the urgency, choosing to sign rather than put more effort into it by speaking. Anyway, he justified it further by thinking that signing was more private. Less likely for someone to overhear, or well…. Oversee. Tilting his head to the side, Anaya felt a sigh roll from him as Noa finally stopped pacing, now choosing to sit rather defensively on his hands and feet. ‘How?’ Anaya repeated. 

‘I do not know.’ Shamefully, Noa dropped his hands after admitting that, his jaw clenching tightly for a moment as he grinded his teeth together. They clattered, his canines distracting his train of thought for a split second as he moved his tongue over them. ‘Echo just…’ Signs were not coming to him. Thoughts were not coming to him. Throwing his hands up in vivid frustration, Noa gave up and let a growl fall from his lips, snarling his lips for a second as it became a bit louder before tapering into a hum of sorts. Anaya blinked, hunching forward on all fours and drifted his way very slowly to sit by Noa. 

‘Why… you bothered?’

‘I do not know.’ He repeated this time. 

Anaya nodded, only looking at his friend from the corner of his eye. ‘Maybe… Apology?’ That was definitely an avenue that Noa had considered, in fact it was the first thing that popped into his mind. Chimps were good at apologies. Never with words, often they reached their hands out, palms up and waited for the party getting the concession to accept. It had a great acceptance rate, but Noa doubted you’d want that. Just throw an apology your way and see how it sticks! What could go wrong? You’d never talk to him again…  He grunted out a denial to Anaya at that prospect and turned his shoulders away. Defensive in nature. 

‘You… need tell Anaya…’ He tilted his head in hesitation, knowing what he was about to suggest would be a dangerous path, even though they were friends. “What Noa actually said.” There was confidence in his verbalization, stressing and driving home to Noa that it was a necessity to spill his guts for Anaya to properly gauge the situation and help. “Asked.. about mating.” Noa was fast to speak, hoping that maybe his voice was too weak for Anaya to understand. He underestimated it though and it came out sounding like a sour grape. “Asked if pleasured.” Noa turned his face towards Anaya, giving him a certain look that told him all he needed to know. He got his needed information and now he needed to process. And… It surely brought to light a lot of things. 

A lot. 

Anaya sat back on his butt, displaying a rather surprised expression. Noa didn't bother looking at him, already able to see the emotions on his friend's face just in his mind. That’s what they got for years of being around each other. Each minute move either face or body was known and read right away. 

“Stupid.” He told Noa honestly which resulted in a chortle from the Eagle Clan’s leader. It was the sound of agreement. “Echo like privacy. Stupid to ask. Not like us! Keep many secrets away from Noa, from all Apes.” There was intense scrutiny in Anaya’s voice. There was a reason why the Elders told stories, wary ones, about the Echo’s. About how they were and how they disregarded things that weren’t important to them. Selfish! Anaya chuffed, wanting to pull Noa in physically and beat him into submitting, giving Anaya all the answers he needed to deduce what Noa was already enthralled in. Instead though, he urged, “Why ask?”

Noa dropped his shoulders at the mild scolding and dipped his chin towards his body. He knew what Anaya was saying was right and there was no logical excuse anymore why he asked what he did or why he felt somehow entitled to an answer from you. ‘Curious.’ He didn't have it in him to speak.

Anaya wasn’t seething perse, instead, he was statically quiet which was even worse to Noa. Anaya was a chatterbox, even if it was about nothing of consequence. This… Was out of the norm and it made Noa incredibly uncomfortable. He began shifting his weight from one side to another, swaying out of mere anticipation of being scolded again. And if Anaya got too into it, Noa could just choose to gallop away. He didn't have to take it! He was the leader. He was… He was the Eagle Clan. 

“Stupid.” Anaya muttered again, picking himself up and moving. He couldn’t be next to Noa as he processed. 

“Told me they only mate out of survival, hardly… the other reasons..” Anaya’s mouth popped open. Noa got further into the conversation than he led his friend to believe. Previously, the assumption was made that you didn't respond and merely began ignoring him out of offense. 

Anaya exploded. “Echo not stupid, Noa is. Should have left it to die in the woods when found. Then, Noa wouldn’t be here telling Anaya stupid things!”

Noa lurched at that. Not at Anaya, but unquestionably at the implications of his words. At least, that was what Noa was going to tell himself later when the guilt set in that he drew his aggression at his best friend. The animalistic movement was taken the wrong way, made evident as Anaya billowed as Noa approached him, drawing into himself to appear smaller, more weak, more favorable. Raising his hand up, Noa was chaste to brush his fingertips against Anaya’s open palm. Apology. Simple and clean. Anaya submitted to his friend and watched as he turned, leaving the Chimp still as dumbfounded as before. Though, with a bit more insight. 

●・○・●・○・●・○・●・○・●・○・●・○・●・○・●・○・●・○・●・

You could smell dried blood but you couldn’t bring yourself to lift your heavy eyelids. Warmth was collapsing over you, wave after wave. Each one brought another one of your senses with it. There was a mild tingling in your right ear, prickling at your hearing as you tried to adjust it enough to figure out your surroundings. Last thing you remembered was stumbling… Hands pacing over a bricked wall in the dark, trying too hard to find a place where you didn't need to run for your life. Your hand pressing to your forehead, bloodied from a cut on the side near your temple, vision blurring in and out of focus. Your knees buckled from exhaustion, crashing onto grass that definitely appeared softer than it felt… It was hot for a second but then it was awfully cold, your body taking a plunge into an invisible ocean of sheer ice. Then, it all went black. Maybe, if you were lucky, you were dead. Whirling endlessly in limbo somewhere between the Earth and the Heavens, searching for the next place to go. Maybe you were asleep, dreaming up violent situations from your subconscious. After all, it did what it wanted to in your dreams; you had no control over that. Would you be aware if you were dreaming though? That idea spurred you to cross it off the list of possibilities. Hm… Or maybe you were dead, you repeated. Your eyes did not want to open. You were so warm… Another wave hit you all of a sudden and you became aware of the smothering sensation of animal fur against your back. Against your arms. Against your legs. Against your entire body. Voices without bodies were floating around you. They sounded human enough and that put you at some ease. You jumped the gun there. Thinking you had been caught by a bunch of ravenous Apes. Ha. Ha. Ha…

Jolting, you were abruptly conscious. 

Not conscious enough, you decided. Drawing a deep breath into your lungs to accommodate for the lack of air you got while passed out, you found your eyes peering into green ones directly above you. Not just regular green, you tilted your head and tried desperately to ignore the throb coming from your temple. Entrancing, grappling for dominance with flecks of outstanding gold against a canvas of darkened pupils. Oh yeah, you were dead. You were definitely looking into the eyes of God, you said sarcastically in your wounded trance and shut your eyes again. “Awake! Echo is awake!” You heard that clear as day and it did nothing to help the already soundless nature of the drumming in your head. It was followed up but a few soft hoots of acknowledgement which caused the hair on your arms to stick up in defense and your eyes to fly open without reserve. Ape. Ape. Ape. You counted them with wide eyes. Three. Maybe? Maybe more? You had a hard time telling as your eyes were adjusting back to some sort of normalcy after being drenched and flooded with blood. Wherever you were was not very bright save for a fire in the corner that drifted up what appeared to be wooden planks that were tilted inwards. No natural light came in and it beckoned your internal clock to assume that it was night time. You were in a structure of some type; that was easy to figure out regardless of lighting. With Apes. Not just Apes, you squinted and raised yourself on your forearms. Chimpanzees. Three sets of eyes, similarly colored to the ones you woke up peering into. You had no idea nor interest in knowing which one was observing you so closely. If you weren’t dead before, you may as well have been at that moment as you sprinted backwards, almost face first and staggered to your feet. Automatically, you were in a defensive position, trying to ignore the feeling of twisted pain in your ankles. Racing your hands everywhere, you tried to find something to grab. Something to defend yourself with. You needed to! There was nothing in the vicinity. You couldn’t even tell where the door was and your eyes were frantic to find some sort of escape. Shoulders rising and falling quickly, you turned and looked at the Apes again. Your heart was going to jump out of your chest. Your head was pounding and you felt like if you moved your feet anywhere, you were going to tumble. What did they want?

Your mind was flying at a faster speed than you were able to process any cognitive thought. Words were blaring in your ears without anyone yelling. Your group of fellow Humans were all hunted, their chanting still wild in your head. Apes were dangerous. Apes showed no compassion. They liked the kill, they liked the satisfaction. The deeply ingrained instinct to be afraid of them because you didn't understand them, the wild weaned fear of what they could do to you. What they were planning to do! Were they… Oh god, they were going to kill you and then skin you and then eat your insides--- you scrambled again, no regard for how you must have looked as you dropped to your knees, muttering under your breath as you flew around on all fours. You needed to find a way out. There had to be a way out. They were going to attack, they were moving!

Wait.

You paused, hunching on your hands and knees, feeble attempts made to catch your breath but you still found yourself panting like a wild animal. Mouth agape, you looked at the Apes in the room with you before letting your gaze fall down to their hands. Were they… Using sign language?Your back came into crushing contact with the wooden wall behind you, earning a tiny flinch from you as your right shoulder blade radiated. You must have been bruised there, you thought. Despite the grinding pain you were in, you tried to push further back as one of them, only slightly bigger in stature compared to the other two dropped to all fours, now eye level with you, and languidly moved towards you. First a hand, followed by a foot and then repeated until they were right in front of you. Your breath caught in your throat as they leaned in, deathly close to your face that you were able to smell them in your nostrils, mixing now with that previously noted taste of dried blood. Oh, they were going to rip your face off.

“Alive.” They said to you, taking a brash step back when you moved. No shit, you wanted to say but you couldn’t find your voice. Your eyes widened at the movement of them and the sound of their voice. Not aggressive or mean, but it was pensive and quiet. Observant, and you wondered if they were even talking to you or just verbally acknowledging to the other two Apes that you were, well… Alive. Whoever this Ape was… Was courageous enough to face you, to be near you but obviously held some reservations. There was absolutely no way they were just as afraid as you were. 

“Injured.” That was directed towards you, eye contact frantically being made when the smell of fresh blood became more abundantly noticed. Almost afraid to look down, you felt a small gush coming from your right calf. It slipped down the curve of your muscle, mixed with something… A paste of some sort that in itself, in your cloudy disposition, was rather fragrant if you focused on it. Something like a root, pulled and crushed from deep in the Earth. How did that… Get there? You looked at your injury, nothing more than a gash, deeper than it appeared though and it ached if you moved your foot in any awkward positions. “Wh…” Your voice came out ridiculously hoarse, hand reaching up to touch the outside of your throat. The Ape in front of you was watching it all. The inquest on your face, your fingers holding along your throat and focusing on your heart beat. How long have you been out? A day? Two? A week? Swallowing hard, you lubricated your vocal cords just enough to force out a question, “Wh-- What did you… do..t’me?” That was definitely slurred.

“Did nothing!” Another Ape finally spoke, their voice frantic and distraught.Not from nerves…. Right? You looked at them, then at the one adjacent, who was just a touch smaller than the other two, before your gaze fell on the one closest to you, wrought breathing causing your lungs to feel rather tight. Shifting, you tried to relax but found that it only brought discomfort. 

“Injured.” The one in front of you said again, this time with a bit more confidence. Whether it was true or faux, you had no idea but it was difficult to sort anything through your thought process at the moment. You were barely processing the fact that there was quite literally a hole in your calf let alone that an Ape was communicating with you so… Civilly. “Found in… ruins. Dying.” Your lips parted, suddenly becoming aware that you were thirsty. The severity of the words spoken hit you like a feathered ton of bricks. Softly at first, it was initially hazed by the idea that they were capable of saving you instead of killing you. Then, it sank in and it felt like your body was tied to a chair, someone banging on your chest over and over again to just drive the point home that all your preconceptions about these Apes might have been wrong. No! It couldn’t have been wrong! You lived your entire life afraid of them, being told from your childhood to be afraid and to always run away. It was only solidified when each of those Humans you were around were hunted, killed and their bodies dragged around in a triumphant show-boat by a group of Apes on the back of their horses. Squeezing your eyes shut at that visual, often the cause of nightmares for you, you shook your head vehemently. There was no way. 

“We…” They continued on, “saved.” There was a gesture towards the two Apes across the room. “Brought Echo back here… Spear head in leg,” Huh, that explained that, you bargained for some sort of reality. “Took out, stopped bleeding then…” They came to a slow stop and signed something over at the other two. You had no idea what they were saying now. Sign language was not your forte. Maybe, if you could push aside the vibration in your head, you’d be able to read them from body language but that was thrown out the window when you opened your eyes, tears forming at the edges and ultimately blurring your vision. 

“Echo then wake up.”

You snapped, “Wha… What the hell is an Echo?”One of the two behind lurched ever so slightly at the apparent aggression you put into your words, but the one crouched in front of you put a hand up to tell them to stop. 

It gestured at you. 

You rolled your eyes. That must have been their name for Humans. Each clan called them something different, you had figured that out over the years. Instead of having individual names, the human race was deduced down to a word such as ‘Echo’ or ‘Nova’, which you had heard in passing, speckled usually in more secluded clans and only talked about in detail when you were around the fire late at night with other humans. It was lore, it was ghost stories. It was reality now. “I--- Have a name…” You whispered. “(Name).” Hm… With a tilted head to the side, a response came. “Noa.” Finally giving you a bit more clarity. He pointed at the two Apes behind him accordingly, “That Soona,” She looked at you, terrified obviously, but seemingly confident in her friend's ability to talk to you. “Anaya.” Even more terrified, and not as obviously convinced in this Noa Ape to be as outrageously courageous as he was appearing.

“Are…” You quivered in on yourself and looked at him. A string of tears hit your cheeks, hurting at your temple even more than before and profusely lit the flame that caused the beating in your head to intensify rapidly. “Are you going to kill me?” Noa looked at you, draping you in some sort of melancholic state as you realized just how… human his eyes were. How they observed every morsel of your face, taking in the details and probably thinking just how hideous you were compared to Apes. How he’d scrutinize your scent, your well being, your entire self. But, he said nothing, gaze flickering between your eyes before he moved attention to your calf again. You followed suit. It looked worse than it felt, at least you had that. If he were going to kill you, wouldn’t he have already done it? There was a fleeing moment where he felt offended at your accusation, feeling the same coming from Soona and Anaya - primarily the latter. But, he had to remind himself, you were Echo. You did not know any other ways.

“Not all Apes are that way. We do not kill… Echo’s here.” You stiffened watching as he drew himself onto his hands and feet again from his default crouching stance. That was a complete and full sentence. You tried to not bark at him with confusion, not impressed by any means… Well… No! Not impressed. You knew they could talk. It was well---You knew… they could… Your eyes blurred and you felt your head fall to the side before you urged yourself into a more aware state. It lasted only moments before you lulled into an awkward dance with unconsciousness and invested fear. Coldness rocketed right through your leg at the application of more of the root smelling paste to your wound. It didn't sting perse, instead, it felt numbing. Were you so out of it that you didn't see Noa grabbing what appeared to be a clay jar of sorts? Fingers pushing into it and then smearing its contents on your body? You so desperately wanted to ask him what the hell he was doing, putting on you but you were shot with another wave of black. You passed out. ●・○・●・○・●・○・●・○・●・○・●・○・●・○・●・○・●・○・●・

Almost sickly aware of the pair of green eyes on you at all times, intricately staring at your movements down to the minute shift of your shoulders as you breathed, you did everything you could to ignore them. Your hands were busy; helping Soona untangle some twine that had gotten itself into a mess of very intricate knots. She had praised you for your help, explaining that ‘Echo hand… smaller than Ape..’ It was a simple and gentle compliment from her, you being grateful to be of some use to someone else in the Clan and not just Noa. With your hands working, your mind fell into a leisurely state as you tried so desperately to convince yourself that Noa wasn’t foolish enough to pull you away from a social situation with Soona. It would seem suspicious and ultimately, Soona would tell Anaya who would then in turn absolutely panic and tell Noa to back off, leave you be and that the only purpose you served here was to please Noa’s curiosity about the Teachings of Caesar. Thinking those things did nothing to help you feel calm. In fact, it was very much the opposite. Your mind did not stop at that though, enticing you to look up. You swept the entire village with your gaze. He had to be there somewhere, he rarely chose to drift off by himself without either of his friends, or even you on occasions but that was only when you served a purpose to him, you convinced yourself that at the moment the agreement was made that you would help Noa understand about human culture. You were still actively trying to convince yourself of that after the last two conversations that abhorrently played in your head in excruciating detail. The absolute devastation on his face when he realized that he had asked you the wrong thing and your petty response was the top of the list for your mental replays. It was your pettiness and inability to say anything positive in response to him that got you the most worked up despite your answer to him being that of pure truth. Humans didn't mate, in Noa’s words, for pleasure. They mated for survival. Setting your twine down now that it was a straight line, you looked over your shoulder once more before glancing down to pick up another knotted piece to work on. Well… What were you supposed to tell him? Looking at it now in a less offended state, you should have just told him that you didn't want to answer. There were a few times in the past that Noa attempted to push a question on you, soon coming to embrace acceptance that you weren’t willing to give him any response and he’d drop it. The two of you never fought about it, never went days upon days without talking or seeing each about them. Were you even fighting? Tilting your head, you shuffled on the ground and spread your legs out instead of sitting cross-legged like you had been for at least the last half hour. Then you began bargaining. He had asked you before if you had mated. If you had someone before you found your way to the Eagle Clan. You never answered him, even then. It was left alone for a long time, Noa not wanting to pry into obviously human privacy. So he was consciously aware of the status of the question he begged you to answer only a few days ago.  You fixated on the way he had signed that word. Pleasure. It was a slow signing, his two hands in front of his chest with a perpendicular circular motion. It was a flurry of intensity. The question. Your chaste answer. Noa falling silent next to you, no doubt self-reflecting at the idiocy of the question. And then… Oh… You had the absolute torture of being silent for the rest of the hunting trip. Noa ignored you, you could sense the coldness coming off of him in waves due to his inner thoughts taking over. You wanted nothing more than to ask him when he inquired about pleasure. How he even knew that it was a pleasurable experience for a human. Was it for Apes? Chimpanzees? You had no idea, choosing to linger in your ignorance and figure that it was not an element to their mating standards.

Huffing, you sat your twine back down and told Soona in a soft tone of voice as to not alarm her, “I need to go pee.” She let you go with silence, figuring your rather fast pace was due to really needing to relieve yourself.

A quick excuse to get you on your legs, pacing towards the right and through the entire embankment of the village to the very edge. Kicking a rock under your foot as you approached the small creek, the very sight of the first incident with Noa, you felt like doing nothing more than grabbing your hair and screaming to the high heavens. What was wrong with you!? Now you were the foolish one, asking questions that shouldn’t need to be asked, that didn't need an answer because what fruit would come from knowing if Apes mated at all for pleasure?

Coming around the small creek embankment, your fast feet came to an almost stumbling stop. Your mind didn't process as quickly as you halted harder than anticipated and almost felt yourself go face first into the shallow water in front of you from the sheer momentum you had. A set of broad shoulders, lined delicately with thinning fur in preparation for the summer, were facing you. Sun peeked across the west as it began its gentle descent into night, flushing the sky now with a light hue of pink and orange. Ah yes… That oh so familiar body in front of you, hand dipped in water in quite solace was none other than the Chimp you were ignored by for days. Well, not just ignored by. You did your fair share of skipping around the stone to not run into him.

Tightly wrapping your fingers into fists at your side, you contemplated going back. It appeared he hadn’t heard you, hadn’t sensed you coming or at the very least, you weren’t worth turning around or acknowledging. Your heart sank at that thought. You were just another tool he used to get his way into fixing a problem that wasn’t his to fix. He… Looked so small… You brought your bottom lip in and chewed it out of deliberation, eyes scaping up his back, broad by nature, but from his posture now, it was brought in on itself and he looked reminiscent of a little kid who had just gotten into big trouble. Maybe, you muttered inside of your own head and trailed your way towards him. You were still contemplating if you wanted to talk to him, but the very least you could do was to appear next to him and give the chance.

‘Know you are there.’ There went your element of surprise as Noa brought his hand back in and rested it against his chest in a coiled position. He wasn’t just crouching, he was holding himself.

“I---” You stumbled backwards, feet shifting to move your weight but your mind was telling you not to run. To confront. You didn't want to! You wanted to leave it alone, you didn't want to… To… Have to see his face. “I’m sorry, I didn't know you’d be up here, I just needed to---”

“Think.”

Swallowing softly, you planted yourself behind him, only a few feet and looked at the water that was so enviously caressing his hand. Looking down at your own palm, you felt it tingle with want… You wanted to be that water and freely float yourself against him in some bid to calm, ease… Love… “Yeah…” That was spit from your mouth so softly, almost afraid that Noa wouldn’t be able to hear. He didn't turn to face you so you figured that he did in fact hear and was either waiting for silence to fall over the two of you again or for you to say something else. He waited.

●・○・●・○・●・○・●・○・●・○・●・○・●・○・●・○・●・○・●・ Tag List: @ohwaitimthewriter @saturnnie-03 @hera-annwn @filliandkili @hadesbabygurl @supergoat12 @callsignwindow @moonchild1433 @kaenalsha @whamsworld @yummyfant @unsteady-bitch @twinspineout

( Sorry if tumblr is a jerk and doesn't tag properly. It does that sometimes I've noticed. )

[osamucide]

DAZAI HCS! ⊹

LAST UPDATE: OCT 10

cw: talk of mental illness and substance use/abuse, speculation about Dazai’s f’ed up past+trauma, Dazai-typical references to suicide, references to self harm, probably a lot of projection on the author’s part

reid: i feel like yapping about Dazai tonight so here’s a non-exhaustive list of general headcanons i have about him. no word count because i’ll probably update this periodically lol

he does not listen to music from this century. he just doesn’t. not that he goes out of his way not to, he’s just drawn to a certain sound that only older music seems to have—I think The Smiths, Blondie, Tears For Fears, The Smashing Pumpkins, King Crimson, and Led Zeppelin are among his favorite artists

I think he also really enjoys classic jazz/blues/bebop music—Charles Mingus, Billie Holiday, Duke Ellington, Thelonious Monk, Miles Davis, etc.

he’s anemic. I’m of the firm belief that Kunikida buys him a 100 ct bottle of iron tablets every 100 days which Dazai always graciously accepts. however, he only actually takes them when he gives enough of a shit to (which is not often) so the bottles are just accumulating on his bathroom sink/in the cupboard beneath

nail biter, cuticle picker, hair twirler, thigh bouncer, etc. I don’t think he really sits still unless it’s absolutely necessary

children love him, much to his dismay. they think he’s entertaining. he thinks they’re like puppies (and he canonically hates dogs). he won’t treat them badly, but he’s just not super interested in interacting with them. unwilling older brother vibe when faced with them. shithead kids can stoke his rage much faster than Chuuya ever could

he cannot take care of a fucking plant. has one succulent in his apartment. it’s surviving out of pure unadulterated spite. he hasn’t watered it in over a year

wearer of funky socks. his favorites are either the ones that say "I love my job ha ha just kidding" or the custom ones Yosano got him as a gag gift one year for white elephant at the office christmas party (they have Kunikida’s rage face on them)

really sad that, despite his criminal record being scrubbed clean, he is still banned from driving in the nation of Japan for the rest of his life because he wants a Ford Explorer so bad

PROFOUNDLY SOUND KNOWLEDGE OF MEDICAL TERMINOLOGY

he’s fluent in Japanese and English, proficient in French and Italian, and learning Russian

I think he also enjoys learning math/researching random shit/reading anything he can in his free time when he feels up to it. he never received a formal education and his IQ is through the roof—his yearning for academia is almost like an itch he has to scratch every once in a while. also, he just likes knowing things

he never learned how to ride a bike. wahhhh wahh

BPD king. look at him. my beautiful princess with a disorder. I doubt he’s diagnosed but he strongly suspects it seeing as he’s so self-aware; if not borderline, he just assumes he has severe PTSD. either way, he really won’t do anything other than what he already knows about how to manage it

along the same lines—he’s been a functional alcoholic since an alarmingly young age (I’m talking 16-17). I think it probably got a lot worse post-defection when he was underground, but he hardly had to function then anyway; he gets somewhat better after joining the Agency but still has a dependence, it’s just not severe enough to debilitate him

has a bin of art supplies in his apartment. he only ever pulls them out once every few months, but he rather enjoys painting and wouldn’t mind getting better at it

master at darts. don’t take him to a bar where there’s a dartboard. he will stand in front of it all night and obliterate everyone who challenges him

insatiable sweet tooth. he especially loves anything maple, butter pecan, or butterscotch he’s a grandpa

UPDATE.1

I love to headcanon that he has a glass eye!!! and that the bandages around his head in the dark era were some legitimate injury. he likes to pop it out as a party trick/to weird Kunikida out

he feeds the stray cats and kittens that linger around the ADA dorms. he probably spends some of his grocery money on the fancy wet canned food and leaves it out with a big plastic bowl of water. sometimes sits and watches them eat and likes to give them little scratches if they trust him enough to come rub up on his legs. they’re sort of to him as the orphans were to Odasaku, and it makes him feel closer to his deceased friend

on the note of grocery shopping—he only goes when Atsushi or Kunikida drag him along. keeps his list relatively the same from trip to trip: canned crab, cigarettes, bandages, a few cases of beer, sake, instant ramen, ice cream (particularly butter pecan), paper towels, and 3-in-1 shampoo when he needs it. Kunikida forces vegetables upon him (“put it in the ramen so you don’t die of heart disease”) but they almost always end up rotting to mush in his fridge. he steals his toilet paper from the ADA bathrooms/supply closets or bothers Atsushi and Kyoka for spare rolls when he’s out

religiously orders drinks from the cafe on his way in and out of work. on mornings he usually gets a latte with plenty of sugar and some sort of flavor; in the evenings he probably gets an iced flavored tea to mix or chase his sake with when he gets home

always has a pocket knife on him. probably one he got in his mafia days, or, it’s at least a habit/security he picked up from then

takes a lot of night walks. he doesn’t sleep well, so I think he probably wanders out tipsy with his pack of cigarettes in the wee hours of the morning and scuttles around to tire himself out

UPDATE.2

two words: medical trauma. I know some people get iffy when it comes to speculation about what Mori did/didn’t/may/may not have subjected him too as a young teenager (and believe me I have a lot of thoughts) but I definitely headcanon that Dazai was used as a little bit of a lab rat/sedated and coerced to some degree when it came to turning him into a killing machine. as a result, he’s got a fear of medical settings. after his surgery during the cannibalism arc? I know he got that phone back and was like “Tanizaki get me out of here right neow”

I think sweet little old ladies probably love him and he loves them too. always feels like he strikes up the best small talk with them. will help load groceries into their cars for them. he gets all smiley and stuff when they call him “sweetheart” “honey” “dear” or remark how handsome he is and about his hypothetical girlfriend must be so lucky

he can throw knives with pinpoint accuracy from a pretty impressive distance. he’s a little less accurate with his handgun at long range/with moving targets but HE’S GETTING BETTER

has like a 3.5 ft vertical jump at his best. like why are you a detective when the Lakers need a center

[frenchkisstheabyss]

♡ Once More, With Feeling ♡

♡ Pairing: poly!hyunlix x gn!reader

♡ Genre: fluff/angst

♡ Summary: Unable to sleep after a major argument leads to a breakup, you return to a place that's close to your heart to find comfort and end up with something much more special.

♡ Word Count: 1.4k-ish

♡ Warnings: None.

♡ A/N: I was listening to dreamy low-fi indie music and got in my feelings so, like, come get in them with meeee.

It’s 3:23am and you can’t sleep. Two tablets of melatonin, three cups of chamomile tea, and an endless loop of soothing rain sounds have done nothing to change that. Your heart aches, it’s unbearable, and there’s not a single thing you can do about it. Rolling onto your back, you rip the covers off, only now realizing how much you’ve been sweating from the anxiety of cycling through last night’s events over and over in your head.

None of this feels real, losing Felix and Hyunjin, the ones you love the most. Maybe it was a bad idea from the start, the three of you being together. Maybe you weren’t as well equipped to keep them both happy as you thought. Every “maybe” hangs over you as if it’s written in glow-in-the-dark paint on the ceiling, taunting you from the void. Does any of it even matter now? Whatever it was that led to the eventual downfall of your relationship, the argument that ended it all, you can’t go back and fix it.

Even still, your heart longs for the possibility that you’ll be together again someday. You’ve always liked to think that when you truly love someone you’ll find each other no matter what, in this life or the next. It could be wishful thinking, the musings of a hopeless romantic. What does it hurt to wish, you figure, if that’s all you have? You take a long, deep breath in, allowing your breath to slowly flow back out as you squeeze your eyes shut. If I lay here long enough I’m bound to fall asleep. Right?

“Fuck it” you groan, popping up out of bed and throwing on your fuzzy bunny slippers. Felix thought it’d be cute if the three of you got matching pairs. You hate how right he was. You’ve been fighting tooth and nail with yourself all night not to drive down to the pier. For years it’s been the destination of endless late-night drives. It’s where you snuck away together when the rest of the world felt like it was too much. Your memories of being there, as much as they might sting, are the dearest things to you and you need to drown yourself in them now more than ever.

So, before you know it, you’re headed out the door pulling a hoodie over your head, car keys in hand, desperately seeking solace in nostalgia. It’s a long, lonely ride to the pier. The combination of empty streets and too-long traffic lights gives you the sense that the world has come to a screeching halt. Whether it has or not for everyone else, it has for you. The light flashes neon green, bringing you back down to earth just as you begin to drift away, and you’re making the right turn that takes you to your usual parking spot. 

Turning the car off, you take a moment to sit and inspect the other cars around you. There are a few on your side, a dozen more on the other, but there doesn’t seem to be anyone out here. Probably all people who live nearby. Confident that you’re alone, the wall you’ve put up comes crumbling down, tears falling down your cheek faster than you can wipe them away. Why am I doing this to myself? You shake your body in what would look to a passerby like a cute, albeit strange, dance of sorts in hopes that some of the emotions overwhelming you will fall away like leaves.

Get it together. Summoning all of the courage you have, you make your way to the stairs leading up to the pier. You almost slip on the gritty, sand-coated steps, but manage to make it to the top without breaking your neck. As you venture forward you already hear the waves crashing to shore. You feel the stars watching you, their gaze intense and overwhelming. Only it’s not their gaze at all. There’s someone at the end of the pier staring back at you, teary-eyed and stunned. That intensity, that overwhelming emotion, it’s his.

Felix? No, no, no. You turn on your heels, racing back to the car before you lose it completely. “Wait!” he yells, running after you. Felix hadn’t expected to see you here either. He’d typed a million text messages asking you to come but he’d deleted all of them, thinking you wouldn’t want to see him with everything being so fresh. He’s been wishing too, as much as you have, and he can’t let this moment slip away. Your car door’s halfway open when he reaches you, your fingers held tightly around the handle.

“Can we talk?” he asks, his hushed voice skimming your neck as he pushes the door closed. You don’t fight him. You don’t want to. The feeling of his chest against your back, the wind blowing his hair so that it tickles your cheek, makes you want to melt into him. Turning to face him, melting is the first thing you do, straight into his arms. He doesn’t hesitate to hold you tight to him, the tension soothed by the simple act of having you near him again. “I’m really sorry” you weep, “I should’ve seen that you weren’t happy.” 

Felix shushes you, his fingers stroking your neck, “Stop, don’t say that. I was happy. Me and Hyunjin…working with each other, we just get frustrated sometimes and it wasn’t supposed to come home but it did. I should be sorry” “What? No invite to the family reunion?” you hear Hyunjin ask and you’re positive that you’re hallucinating. But when you look up he’s standing there staring at the two of you with an expression you can’t quite make out. “I…no…we didn’t…” Felix stutters but Hyunjin’s already walking away, heading for the edge of the pier, ignoring you like you’re strangers.

You’re so much more than that and he knows it. Enough time hasn’t passed for him to erase what you shared from his mind. Even if he could, he wouldn't. Why else would he be here? Hyunjin shoves his hands in his pockets, stopping to make a half-turn toward you. “If I admit I’m an asshole will you come with me?” “I mean, we already know you’re an asshole so…no” Felix teases, getting a laugh out of both of you. “What if I say I’m sorry and that I’d really like to not be alone…to be with you two?” A long stretch of silence separates his question and your answer.

“Wait up,” you smile, taking Felix’s hand and dragging him along with you to catch up to Hyunjin. Meeting him at the center of the pier, you take his hand too and the three of you walk to the edge together. Any other time the minutes would fly by, all of the laughter and kisses making hours feel like minutes. But, in the presence of lingering pain, minutes feel like hours. “It’s not the same,” Hyunjin sighs, picking at his already chipped nail polish and flicking it into the sea. You want to deny it but you can’t. “No, it’s not.” Felix sits down, crossing his legs as he frustratingly tousles his hair, “So that’s it, then? We’re done?” 

You take a seat beside him on the ground, sick to your stomach at the thought, “I mean, is that what you want?” “Of course not. It’s never what I wanted. We are what I want.” You turn to Hyunjin and he’s already sitting down on the other side of you, his head resting on your shoulder. “Me too” he yawns, “But what about you? It doesn’t matter what we want if you don’t—” “I do. I always will.” Their faces brighten up, even in the midst of their exhaustion. Felix takes his jacket off, gathers it in a little bundle in your lap, and lays down. “Maybe it shouldn’t feel the same this time,” he muses, “We should make it better.”

You pet Felix’s hair, “I’d like that.” Hyunjin nuzzles up closer to you, seconds from falling asleep, “Better sounds nice.” Stroking Hyunjin’s cheek, you lean into him too, every sleep aid you tried kicking in at once. Suddenly the world feels like it’s moving again, bursting with life even in the dead of night.

You’ve always liked to think that when you truly love someone you’ll find each other no matter what, in this life or the next. How beautiful it is that it turned out to be this one after all.

[iwanty0uu]

❄︎ all characters are 19+ y/n being 20, second female character being 19, and male character being 21, contains swearing and mentions of violence ❄︎

•unedited•

𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝟑…

Three weeks passed since the event with your “sister” and you didnt know how to feel. Life felt like a fever dream and as you sat down sadly in your college dorm, you received a dm, from Connie.. ?

You two had chemistry, well chemistry wasn’t the word, maybe advanced biology.. he was the type to make you think that he was all about you in private during your late high-school years, and then act like you were nothing more than friends in public. Considering that you two were friends, you couldn’t tell whether you were really trippin bout the way he acted or if you just caught feelings while he didnt. So for your own peace, you un-added him and went no contact. This went on for three years until tonight.You opened your inbox and the message read:

“long time no talk..heard niggas spreading shit bout you that aint sit right.. tell me wassup my heart.”

Your heart dropped.. the fuck was he talking about you like that for? HE CHEATED! WITH YOUR SISTER AT THAT!!

“Fuck it” you thought and began typing your paragraph..

𝐟𝐥𝐚𝐬𝐡𝐛𝐚𝐜𝐤

You remembered the footsteps that entered your household, and it was her.. Your sister, Nataly and your newly EX BOYFRIEND entering your home, your safe haven. She was greeted with stares from her father, brother and yourself. “How could you do that to your sister?” Your father asked? His tone was low, and he seemed hurt for you, but this was no regular empathy, this was trauma.His face seemed as if he had seen one thousand years worth of pain and heartbreak, and it broke him to know that his daughter, his baby was just like the person who had hurt him. History repeats itself no?

“Y/n I’m not here to ask for your forgiveness but I did come here to apologize-“ before he could finish his sentence, his face was met with your fathers fist, his blood flew through the kitchen, spreading along the kitchen floor like wet fresh paint. The crunch of Ony’s nose filled the room which was followed by a gut wrenching scream.. He had no time to talk or explain himself. You would have never expected your father to move so quickly considering his size and weight but it seemed as if he took his anger out on the boy. The boy who looked too much like the one who betrayed him and slept with his gold digging…wife, his cousin. After your brother pried your father and ex apart, Ony was unconscious, and your father’s once dark blue polo almost looked the same shade as midnight, and was soaked..

You watched your sister to see how she would react, would she try to help him? Ask daddy “WHY WOULD YOU DO THAT?” in the voice she uses when she doesn’t get what she wants? But to your surprise, she tried to hug you, grabbing your hands and repeating “It was only twice.. it only happened twice.” Your brother must have seen the glint in your eye which caused him to act faster than you could, separating you and your sister before she got a matching broken nose.. “OH SO IM PEACE-MAKER TODAY HUH?” he repeated, pacing up and down the kitchen. “AWWWEEE SHITTTT IM GOING TO JAIL I GOT FINGER PRINTS ALL ON THIS BITCH- YO POP YOU MURDERED HIM- NIGGAS NOT EVEN BREATHING-“ his tattooed hands touched his waves, rubbing his face and fanning himself dramatically.

“You’re dead to me” you said to Nataly. And it was the last thing you remembered before leaving your home in a frenzy. “why does this shit happen to me god?” you pleaded in your car, eyes too swollen to drive causing you to pull over and take a break. After that, your memory was foggy, you did make it home though and skipped school for a week after..

𝐛𝐚𝐜𝐤 𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐞𝐧𝐭

You found that your conversation with Connie lasted for hours, then led to an instagram facetime, then let to an actual facetime, to talking every day for the next month, being shady to Ony together, throwing subs on social media about him, and having study sessions. Over this month, your time in the empty lecture halls with him were the best, being alone in a big room with someone who you “weren’t supposed to be with” always turned you on.. or maybe you were just a little perv, but Connie noticed this. He noticed this as he sat next to you instead of across from you one day, how you looked at his lips and not his eyes when he got the correct answer. You purposely told him that you would reward him if he passed his exam which he did, knowing exactly what you had in mind. He noticed how your soft plush lips eased into his as if they craved the intimate privacy that they once despised, craving the secrecy that caused your situationship to fail. Your slick coated your dark brown g-string under your long skirt that was now hiked up, as you sat on his lap, the way he played with your nipple piercing remembering how everyone said it was dumb to get just one but it fit you so well. This was his first time touching you this way in years, and he would make this a moment to remember. Although he wanted to continue, he stopped to wash his hands at the lab sink before he began, and then came back to finish your lewd scene. You sat patiently waiting for him to finish and this gave you time to think about your actions. Were you doing this because of Ony? No, so why do you feel so nervous?

He turned around and returned to his seat, kissing your skin which sent tingles up your spine, calming you down, but you still had something on your mind and it made your balls blue. Your high came down and as usual, he noticed. Knowing Connie for as long as you did, his maturity was now visible and in that moment he promised that you’d be his number 1. It was hard to trust niggas now-a-days but what did you have to lose? If all hell breaks loose just wait until it freezes over and go about your life as you did before him. So being you, it was easy to agree but even harder to believe him, but you ignored it. You knew yourself well and if he didn’t treat you how you were supposed to, then he’d be gone. The heat between you went back to its intensity as he deepened the kiss, leaving hickies around the open skin on your chest above your tube top. Your legs fluttered open at his touch and you felt his erection almost burning into the fat of your ass, he slowly put his fingers back inside of you, thrusting while curving his fingers inside of you, hitting your sweet spot. You could feel yourself coming to your high, gripping onto his shoulders riding his fingers, begging for his touch and affection. You pulled at his studded earlobe with your teeth as his erection stimulated your clit. You found yourself tugging on his sweats, begging to be touched by him… You slid your hand into his ethikas, pulling out his cock, it twitched while you rubbed his pink tip that was already lubricated with his pre cum. You played with the plump of his pink lips while you grounded yourself onto his dick, sinking your way onto him. You both were on the edge and near to cum, so you weren’t surprised when he bucked his hips into you before you could gain your senses. You lost control of your body as it bucked in return, matching his pace and his sloppy rythm. “Fuckkkkkk con- shit” you rubbed his shoulders as you felt your high approaching.

“You take this dick good huh ma-“ he grunted, his rhythm now inconsistent as he slowed down, edging the both of you. You felt as if you were on cloud nine, the way he caressed your skin, touching you in the places that were left cold by your ex… rubbing his favorite spots on your body. His tongue grazed against your own, swirling in the pool of your saliva, he bit your lip causing you to jump slightly. He laughed while kissing the both of your cheeks, his thumb re-located to your clit, rubbing faster and harder, pressing down against your sweet spot as you whined against his hips.

“Connie! I’m cumminggggg, oh my-“ You grabbed his body for support as you felt him release inside of you, he gripped your hips, holding you still as you jerked against him, still in the after shock of your orgasm.

“Hold on y/n- shittt” he whispered as he felt his seed leak out of you. He slightly moved his hips, pushing the other half of his girth that couldn’t fit inside of you. As it kissed your cervix, you felt your eyes roll back…but there was another pair watching you.You both heard shushed voices outside of the door, forgetting the time and how the night classes started at 8pm… it was currently 9:30 and by the grace of God no one entered the lecture hall whilst you and connie had your randevu.

“shit the time-“ you mumbled, quickly hopping off of him, loosing balance instantly as he held you up. You grabbed some wipes that sat in the inner pocket of your telfar, and cleaned you both up to the best of your ability. You couldn’t control the giggles that left your mouth as you fled the crime scene, but that night liberated you.

𝟏𝟐:𝟎𝟎𝐚𝐦

Connies head rested on your chest as it rose and fell,he slept as you were left alone with your thoughts. You didn’t regret what happened and were looking forward to a future with him..but who’s eyes were it that you felt?…..

𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐦𝐟𝐤𝐢𝐧 𝐞𝐧𝐝.

hope yall liked this as much as i DREADED MAKING THIS jkjk..mwahh!~𝓵𝓮𝓵𝓮

[lowkeychenle]

The Last Straw [ZCL] (M)

Description: Chenle has been your best friend for as long as you can remember. Being in love with him isn't easy, until you find out he reciprocates those feelings (thanks to Cockblocker!Jaemin).

(This was requested!! Thank you for the request and I'll respond to the ask with this link <3)

Genre: Fluff/Smut

Content Warnings: Explicit (protected) sex, I have a thing for Chenle saying pretty girl so excuse that in almost all of my Chenle fics rip me, Chenle is just perfect okay but also sassy

Word Count: 3,742

Pairing: Zhong Chenle x Reader (feat. Cockblocker!Jaemin because he's a mess)

Juliet's Masterlist

(also I made a moodboard for this one instead of using gif and i think the moodboards are so much more fun so I'll prolly make these from now on! Disclaimer: I don't own any of these photos!)

“Respectfully, if you don’t knock that off, I’m gonna swat you upside the head.” You give Jaemin a pointed look from your spot on Chenle’s couch. “You’re just mad that he beat you again.”

“He cheated.” Jaemin crosses his arms over his chest, returning your glare with ease. “No way he’s actually that good at this shit.”

“I think I’m pretty good at everything, honestly.” Chenle shrugs, leaning back against the cushion and resting his arms along the top, fingertips brushing your shoulder.

You and Chenle have been best friends for years. Longer than he’s known Jaemin, that’s for sure. No way would you take Jaemin’s side over Chenle’s, even if he so happened to be in the wrong.

You look at him with a smile, which he returns, brow quirking in response. Jaemin grimaces at the two of you.

“At least let me leave before you start making out.” He scrunches up his nose. “Disgusting.”

The tips of your ears burn as your attention shoots over to Jaemin. At the same time, Chenle launches a throw pillow in his direction, leaning forward as if he’s about to stand up. Jaemin holds his hands up in mock surrender as he swats it away.

“Don’t shoot the messenger,” he says, running his fingers through his faded pink hair. “And don’t have too much fun by yourselves.”

When the door closes behind him, it leaves you and Chenle in awkward silence. You can’t lie and say you’d never thought about kissing him, but not recently. If ‘recently’ is only the past few days. There’s something about the general confidence Chenle has that makes you curious.

“Um.” Chenle clears his throat, pressing his lips together in a thin line. “Wanna pick something to watch? I’ll make popcorn.”

“Absolutely.” You give an exaggerated nod, lunging forward to grab the remote off the coffee table.

You think everything will go back to normal after he returns with a bowl. He sits next to you, putting his arm over your shoulders again and shifting until he’s pressed comfortably against you. This isn’t abnormal, but for some reason, it has your heart racing much faster than it should.

The show plays for maybe two minutes before he clears his throat. You think nothing of it until he does it again, pulling your attention to his face. The lights inside the house are off, but the sun is resting just above the horizon, painting an orange glow on his skin.

“What’s wrong with you?” you ask. “Do you need some water? You haven’t even had any popcorn yet.”

He blinks. Once. Twice. His eyes even flutter across your face.

“This is weird. What’s going on?” You frown at him.

“Have you ever thought about it?” He quirks an eyebrow.

You chuckle. “Thought about what?”

“Nevermind. Forget it.” He shakes his head, leaning back with a slight pout to his lips.

“No, tell me.” You gently smack his chest. “Don’t do that.”

“Fine. Just remember you made me say this,” he grumbles, sitting up again. He’s only inches away from you like this. “Have you ever thought about kissing me?”

“I mean…yeah.” You shrug. “We’re around each other all the time. I’ve literally seen you kiss people before. Nothing wrong with a little curiosity, you know?”

“Why haven’t you asked?”

“Asked what?” You laugh before you stop yourself. “To kiss you? Are you insane?”

“You just said you wanted to,” he points out, shifting closer. “Why wonder when you can know for real?”

“You want to?” Your eyes widen as they dart down to his lips unintentionally.

You watch his pupils dilate, his eyelids threatening to flutter shut as he nods. He’s so close to you, you feel his short, choppy breaths. What the hell are you doing? This is the last thing that should happen—in no world is Chenle kissing you a good idea. You’ll fall into a rabbit hole and probably accidentally admit how you want more than that.

No way in hell you’re going to stop him when he’s looking at you like that, though. He hesitates, meeting your gaze one last time, a thousand questions moving from his mind to yours. There’s only one you need to answer, and you do. Slowly, you nod.

The initial brush has sparks igniting along your skin, and you instinctively grip onto the sleeve of his T-shirt. Usually, he’d tease you for something like that. He’d say something about how you’re trying to strip him down, but he doesn’t seem to have any other thought besides kissing you right now. This is the most attractive you’ve ever seen him.

When he really kisses you, his full lips pressing gently against yours, you swear electricity courses through the two of you, the sparks enough to make you gasp. You’d imagined this plenty of times, but never did you think it could be like this.

He sighs, bringing his hand up to weave it through your hair. You push yourself closer to him and wrap your arms around his shoulders.

The second his tongue runs across your bottom lip, you let out a short, quiet moan. Instead of taking a moment to tease you about it, he uses the opening. The two of you battle for dominance, but when his thumb rubs against your scalp, you know you’re no match for him.

Everything around you heats up, and as much as you hate to deny it, you feel your panties dampen. Your body tingles with excitement as he guides your back down against the couch, finding the spot between your legs he fits in perfectly. No matter what, you don’t dare open your eyes or pull away right now. If this is a dream, you sure as hell don’t want to wake from it.

As he settles on top of you, you gasp when you feel him semi-hard through his shorts. Before you can psych yourself out of it, you reach for the hem of his shirt and start sliding it up. He takes the hint, pulling away to tug the fabric over his head. Unfortunately for you, you don’t have time to admire him before his lips are on yours again.

“I was almost all the way home when I—what the fuck?” A familiar voice from the doorway has Chenle launching away from you.

The trance is broken, the moment is gone, and all you’re left with is burning cheeks and instant shame under Jaemin’s scrutiny.

Chenle scrambles for his shirt, and instead of putting it back on, he puts it over his lap in a poor attempt to hide his arousal. You can’t bring yourself to sit up, your palms still flat on your face.

“I didn’t know you guys actually did that.” Jaemin grins, placing his hands on his hips and smiling widely. “Good job, buddy.”

“We don’t.” Chenle rolls his eyes. “What did you even need?’

“I left my jacket here.” Jaemin points over to the kitchen, where it’s draped over one of the dining room chairs.

“Okay…so how about you grab it…and you go?” Chenle glances up to the ceiling, as if he’s asking for strength, and then blinks rapidly at Jaemin. “Like, now.”

You still haven’t moved, only spreading your fingers apart to look at Chenle. 

“Right. Yeah, duh.” Jaemin rushes to get it, not acknowledging either of you again until he’s at the door. He stops, reaching into his pocket for his wallet before he tosses something at Chenle. “Make sure you’re safe! Bye!”

He leaves, and when you finally get the courage to look up, Chenle has his head in his palm. A condom is about a foot in front of him, sending another wave of embarrassment to your face.

“So…” Chenle trails off. “Maybe we should rewind the show.”

Disappointment flutters around your heart. “Uh, yeah. Sure.” You gulp and grab the remote. Regardless of how much you wish you could yell at Jaemin for interrupting, the urge to continue doesn’t subside.

“(Y/N).” He sighs, brows furrowing. “I need to tell you something.”

“Yeah?”

“I want to do that again.” He leans his head back on the couch, and this time, you pay close attention to the expanse of his neck. The two of you don’t hide things from each other, so nothing is off limits—you’ve heard all about the things he likes, and neck kisses are one of his weaknesses. Your mouth waters at the thought of it.

“Me too.”

“But I need you to know it’s not just…it’s not all I want.” He closes his eyes, cringing at his own words.

Your brain doesn’t compute what he means at first—you assume something completely different. “Are you saying you want to have sex?”

His attention shoots to you. “No! Well, yeah, but that’s not what I meant by that. I have feelings for you, dumbass."

“For me?” You snort, half-choking on a laugh until you realize he’s serious. “Why?”

“You’re an idiot.” He rolls his eyes and groans. “Why wouldn’t I? Have you seen yourself? Met yourself? You’re everything I’ve ever wanted, but if you even try to repeat that to anyone I will vehemently deny it until the day I die.”

“Do you know how long I’ve been waiting to hear you say that?” Your brain whirls at the sight of him, and your entire body yearns to be close to his again.

“It’s the truth. I’ve liked you for a while now, but I’ve never had the courage to say anything.” Chenle chews the inside of his cheek, pondering. The thought of Chenle’s confidence wavering when it comes to you has your heart tumbling in your chest.

“You know what this means?” You quirk an eyebrow at him.

“Hm?”

“Your mom is going to be so excited.” You bite back a smile, but it breaks through anyway when you see him glare at you, narrowing his eyes.

“Why would you bring my mom up right now? Are you trying to make me go soft?” His words send heat to your cheeks, and it takes everything in you not to tap them to snap yourself out of it.

“You’re still hard after Jaemin came in here like that?” You push his shoulder.

“I was on top of you, dude. There’s only one way I’ll be able to get this thing down, and hopefully, it’ll be with you and not my hand.” He takes a deep breath. “Whatever you decide is good with me.”

Leaving Chenle to his hand is the last thing you’d even think about doing right now. You don’t want to move too quickly, but when he looks away from you briefly, you use that as an opportunity to straddle his lap. He gulps and shifts beneath you, immediately gripping your waist.

“And now you’re on top of me,” he mutters. “I’m gonna have so many dreams about this.”

Before your nerves can overtake you, you dip your head down until you're mere centimeters from him. He wasn’t lying about how hard he is, his bulge pressing beautifully against you. At this point, you curse yourself for wearing denim shorts. You’d be feeling it so much more if you were in something softer.

“You should know,” he says, right hand trailing up to cup your cheek. “We can take this slow if you want. I don’t want to rush you. Everything needs to be done right.”

“Kiss me, dumbass.”

He grins softly, only for a moment before his beautiful mouth is on yours again, working magic you’re sure only he’s capable of. You live for the sounds the two of you make, your lips moving together in harmony as if you’re made for each other.

At this point, you think you just may be.

You sit still on top of him, not quite wanting to elevate things yet, and he doesn’t push you. He lets you take everything at your own pace. Eventually, your tongues meet again, but you don’t fight him this time. You allow him to explore your mouth, sighing at how skilled he is at it. When he pulls away, his teeth gently digging into your bottom lip to tug it, you groan, your hips finally moving on their own accord. His smug look quickly fades as his breath shudders. You grind down on him, his hardness gliding along your clit through way too many sets of fabric.

“Chenle,” you groan. “I need you.”

“Patience, pretty girl,” he hums, moving along to your rhythm. “Need you to keep going, okay? Don’t stop.”

You didn’t intend to. Instead of waiting for his next move, your lips connect with his neck, nipping and licking along the skin you know is sensitive. You feel his soft moan before you hear it, and something inside of you snaps.

“Damn it, Chenle, I need more.”

“Do you?” His gaze darkens when he meets yours, fingers still weaved in your hair.

“I need you.”

He wets his lips, Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat as he nods. “We should go to my room.”

Doing your best to keep grinding down on him, you reach down to the bottom of your T-shirt, making quick work of it so it can join Chenle’s on the couch. He stares at you, attention everywhere.

“I lied,” he breathes out, shaking his head. “I don’t like you. I’m in love with you. Let me take you to my room.”

The confession sends you reeling for half a second, and then you’re sliding off his lap to allow him to get up. You’re already weak at the knees thinking of all the things about to happen between the two of you, but you don’t dare say anything else as he bends to grab Jaemin’s condom from the ground, intertwines your fingers, and practically drags you toward his bedroom.

Right when you step foot through the threshold, he closes the door behind you and pushes you up against it. His lips work harshly on yours, leaving you to whine into him. Without wasting another second, his fingers pop the button on your shorts, and he pushes them down your thighs. They slide to the floor, leaving you in your bra and panties. You almost get self-conscious at the way he’s looking at you, but his hand starts ghosting along your inner thighs.

“I wonder how wet you are.” His voice is dangerously low, sending all sorts of shivers up your spine.

“Why don’t you feel and find out?” you taunt him, rocking your hips toward him.

With one quick movement, he unclasps your bra, leaving your top half bare as his head dips down. He nips at the flesh, and you swear you feel your heart pounding in your throat. Taking your nipple into his mouth, he swirls along it. He tweaks the other, and a moan escapes you before you can even try to hold it back.

“How about I make you cum on my face?” he mumbles, nipping as his mouth trails downward.

Then he’s on his knees in front of you. Never in your wildest dreams had you ever imagined a man like Chenle on his knees for you. His fingers hook in the hem of your panties, and he glances up at you.

“Are you sure this is okay?”

You nod, but it’s not enough for him.

“Say it out loud,” he commands. “I need to hear you say it.”

“It’s more than okay. Please do something.” Your head thuds against the wood of the door.

He smirks, tugging your panties down to the floor. Hoisting your leg up on his shoulder, he leans forward to lick a broad stripe up your core. You’re not sure where to grab, but you can’t find anything to hold onto except for the door handle.

Pausing, he reaches upward, guiding one of your hands to his hair. You take the hint, grasping onto him for support. Your one leg keeping you standing is already shaking, and when his tongue prods at your slit, you shudder.

His nose nudges your clit, and you push him further between your legs.

He pulls away, mouth shining with your arousal. “My pretty girl has such a pretty pussy. I could fucking eat you forever.” And just like that, he returns to his ministrations, wrapping his lips around your sensitive bud and flicking it with his tongue.

You cry out his name like a mantra, grinding into his face while he doesn’t dare let up for even a moment. Knots form in your stomach—the kind that have your hips bucking wildly—and suddenly, the repeated ‘Chenle’s escaping your mouth start to taste so, so sweet.

And then you crumble, hardly able to stay afloat. He slows down, helping you ride out your high before placing one last kiss on your clit and standing up.

His lips meet yours, and the taste of you doesn’t do a thing to bother you when you’re so dazed from your orgasm. He moves down to the sensitive spot by your ear, and you gasp, tightening your grip on him.

“Chenle.” You pull him up to look at you. “I love you, too.”

His breathing shutters as he spins you around, mouths connected harshly, and walks you back toward his bed. The glow of the sun has faded, the night sky surrounding the two of you in delicate, gentle silver light as he lowers you onto his mattress.

He pauses, eyes trailing over your body slowly, as if in appreciation. Neither of you moves until his hands move down to his sweatpants. You’re barely able to see him as he grabs the condom from his pocket and before pushing them and his underwear to the floor. He steps closer to you, gripping your thighs and tugging you to the edge.

“Are you sure?” he whispers. “We don’t have to do this if you don’t want to.”

You sit up and take the condom from him. Once you rip the wrapper open, he gulps, watching as you reach down. A small sound escapes him when you wrap your fingers around his cock and stroke it a few times.

“Yes,” you say. “I’m sure.”

You roll it on him. He barely gives you enough time to finish with it before he crushes his mouth to yours with every ounce of feeling he has.

Scooting back on his bed, he climbs on to join you, stopping only when he hovers over you. His face is so close to yours, you almost moan at how swollen his lips are. He lines himself up with your entrance, making sure to brush against your clit a couple times.

And then he’s pushing inside you, stretching you slowly while he waits for your reaction. Your eyes roll and you lift your hips to get him deeper. He pauses, nuzzling against your shoulder, shuddering breaths fanning across your skin.

You close your eyes, letting your head fall back against the mattress as you adjust to the way he fits. He starts slow, pulling out only a bit to push back in. You weave your fingers through his hair, stroking his scalp in encouragement as he picks up his pace. His hips roll against yours, each thrust pulling sounds from you.

“God,” he mumbles, running his tongue along your collarbone.

“Kiss me,” you say, tugging at him. “Please.”

His lips are on your seconds later, surprisingly gentle. Your heart thuds in your chest. He swallows every moan, reaching up to intertwine intertwine your fingers together. With your hand pinned next to your head, you get lost in his rhythm. Everything around you is unbearably hot, skin sticking to skin while sounds of your wetness fills the room with each of his movements. Your brain whirls and you swear you’re going crazy the longer he’s inside you.

The pleasure is so intense, you doubt you’ve ever felt this way before. Your body shakes from his movements, and you do your best to match him. You feel knots forming in your stomach, but you don’t want it to be over yet, you want to be in this bed with him forever while he makes love to you.

He shifts closer, and you cry out when he slides right into your spot. His mouth rests against yours, gazes locked as he repeats the action over and over.

Releasing your hand, he reaches between the two of you, fingers connecting with your clit. You’re unashamed of your loud moan, especially as your orgasm hits like a tidal wave. Arching into him, you grip his shoulders.

He curses, face contorting in ecstasy as you clench around him like a vice. With a low groan, he snaps his hips into yours, sucking in a breath as he reaches his climax. He pants, setting his forehead on yours with his eyes closed.

“Good fucking God,” he mutters. “You’re amazing.”

Your mind is so shattered and overwhelmed, you can’t do anything but giggle. He’s shocked for a moment, but he joins you, kissing you once more before gently pulling out of you. You slump into his mattress, staring up at the ceiling fan.

“I’ll be right back,” Chenle tells you, rolling off of the bed to dispose of the condom.

Sweat sticks uncomfortably to your skin, but not even that can wipe the smile off your face. When he returns, he finds his place next to you, and regardless of the heat, he pulls you to his chest.

“You okay?” he asks.

You nod slowly, eyes fluttering shut. “Mm.”

“Holy shit, I fucked you dumb.” He laughs, squeezing you.

You give him the best glare you’re able to muster, but it must not be that great, because his smile doesn’t fade.

“So.” Brushing your hair behind your ear, he raises an eyebrow at you. “I think we should go out on a date. Or something.”

“Right now?” You stare at him, dumbfounded.

“No, not right now.” He shakes his head. “Soon, though. Like tomorrow.”

You grin, nodding. “I want that.”

“Good. Me too.” Chenle cradles you closer to him.

Grabbing the small blanket folded at the foot of his bed, he brings it up to cover both of you and hums when you throw your arm around him.

“I love you,” he says, voice so soft it’s almost lost in the night.

“I love you, too,” you reply with ease.

With his steady heartbeat as your lullaby, you have no problem falling asleep in his grasp.

[kitweewoos]

Bucktommy + The Last of Us

When the end of the world comes, Tommy Kinard slips away from the soldiers attempting to round everyone up and take them to the QZ, and he returns home to build up his defenses. A ex-soldier, Tommy is well-equipped to defend himself and his homestead from the infected roaming the world now. He isolated, and he survived, trading only when he needed to, communicating with outsiders as a last resort. He's doing just fine. One day, one of his alarms goes off, and something has been caught in his trap. He grabs his gun, and heads off to the edge of his property. He's expecting one of the infected, and what he finds.... is Evan Buckley.

"I’m not infected!" "Are you armed?" "No." "Why did you take that long to answer?" "I don’t know. I- I thought about lying for some reason, but a - a reason didn’t come. Look, I-I’m just trying to get to Boston. That's where my sister is.." "Alone?" "We started with 10. But yeah, I’m-I’m alone." "From where?" "Philadelphia QZ. It’s gone." "Are ya hurt?" "There’s just, just a bruise."

He's just supposed to stay the night. That's what Tommy tells himself. Evan had just looked so sad and hungry after he got out of the pit, his blue eyes so wide they caught the afternoon sun. He lets Evan use his shower, and he makes him dinner, rabbit that he pairs with a nice wine. Evan can't help touching his stuff in fascination, and Tommy feels on edge. Evan touches his piano and plays a song that aches in Tommy's chest, he has to at least try to shut that down. It's just, the look on his face when Tommy does so, it hurts. So, Tommy sits at the bench, and he plays the song, and sings along to the tune.

"So, who’s the girl? Girl you’re singing about?" "There is no girl." "I know. What’s your name?" "Tommy." "Go take a shower, Tommy." "Okay."

Before the end of the world, he'd considered that he was into men, but between his years in the army and then under a rigid fire captain, he hadn't been able to truly explore that. When he takes a shower, cleaning himself thoroughly, he steps out to find Evan underneath the covers of his bed, and goddamn he looks good there. He looks so good. Tommy can't imagine someone ever looking as good at Evan. He joins him, and for the first time, he lets someone in.

"I’m gonna start with the simple things." "Okay." "Okay. But before I do, I want you to know that I’m not a whore. I don’t have sex for lunches… not even great ones. So, if I do this, I am gonna stay for a few more days. Is that okay?" "Yeah. Yes."

It's the start of the rest of their lives together, of kisses, and fights, and guns, and strawberry gardens, and paintings, and growing old.

"I traded Joel and Tess one of your guns for a packet of seeds." "Which gun?" "A little one."

They love, and they live, and even though every day is tough, they're there to brave it all together.

'I’m sorry." "For what?" "Gettin’ older faster than you." "Ah, I like you older. Older means we’re still here. What?" "I was never afraid before you showed up"

[gilbirda]

Friendly neighborhood vigilante. Chapter 21

BatmanxDP crossover. JasonxJazz

[Read on AO3] [Read on FF.net]

Based on this post

First chapter || << Previous chapter || Next chapter >>

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“I’m so sorry.”

“I’m fine.”

“Your ankle is twisted.”

“Is not that bad,” Jazz said for the tenth time. And it really wasn’t, she had worse before, and it would be healed in a few days, tops. She wasn’t in top condition since she had to share her last dose of ectoplasm with him; but that didn’t mean she would let a sprained ankle bother her so easily.

“Are you sure you are okay? Jason is an absolute unit.”

“Hey.”

“What? You know it’s true!”

Dick nodded at Tim. “I almost broke my back trying to carry him piggyback once.”

“Really?” Jazz looked up from where Alfred was kneeling with the first aid supplies. She had already tried to insist she could deal with it herself and had been ignored twice. “Are there photos of that?”

“Sadly, no.”

“Damn.”

“Aren’t you supposed to be on my side?”

Jazz turned to smile at her boyfriend, not-that-secretly enjoying his slightly pink cheeks.

“Hmm?”

Everyone turned to look at Alfred when he hummed. The butler was frowning, eyes fixed on Jazz’s right foot — not in her red and swollen ankle he was about to bandage, but on one of her toes. It was crooked and stood out next to the other perfectly aligned ones.

Oh. Right.

“What happened?”

Jazz felt a bit crowded when the siblings leaned in to see her foot. She could feel their eyes scrutinizing her feet, and she never felt more self conscious before. She could have painted her toenails, at least, but she didn’t find time to do so before the dinner.

“I broke my toe a long time ago.”

Dick wore what she had come to understand was his “that’s nice” smile. She had seen him use it many times during gymnastics class, when he definitely had some comments to say but bit his tongue and said “that’s nice” instead. He had used it with her a few times, but she didn’t hold it against him.

“It didn’t heal fine.” Tim beat him to the comment. Jazz expected it, and sighed.

She gathered her thoughts as Alfred carefully twisted her foot this and that way, not upsetting her injured ankle.

“I was… eight? Ten? I think I was ten years old. I ran upstairs a bit too fast and stumbled with the last step and broke it.” She fixed her eyes on her feet when she continued: “I thought — It was just one toe. I thought I could power through and it would heal on its own.”

Someone tensed. From the corner of her eye she saw Bruce shuffle closer. She didn’t miss his troubled eyes as she ranted about her childhood back at the dinner table.

“Your parents didn’t take you to the hospital?” He asked, trying very hard to mask his horror and disappointment. Cute, but unnecessary.

“They would have, if I had told them.” Why did she get weirdly defensive, even after all these years? “But I knew I couldn’t afford the hassle of getting a toe splint and the bed rest. Danny — We had to eat. The house wouldn’t run by itself.”

Jazz had time to reflect and address how unfair it was for her to assume that role so young. She didn’t help either, trying so hard to be treated like an adult and shoehorning herself into the parenting position; but her parents gave up control to her too easily and faster than what should have been legal.

“So you walked around with a broken toe? For months?”

She didn’t look at Jason, but nodded in response. Memories of the pain coming back to her mind. It hurt so much. It really, really hurt, but she just couldn’t give up. Giving up meant not eating. Meant her grades slipping and having the school call her parents. Meant worrying Danny.

“At the time I was dealing with a lot of pain. It wasn’t until we discovered the long lasting effects of ecto contamination that we realized that the pain Danny and I experienced for the best part of our childhood and adolescence was the ectoplasm changing us from the inside out. I thought it was just growing pains. So I just… ignored it all and moved on.”

It truly was how she lived her life, huh? Ignore the pain and power through. That’s how she dealt with things when she was a kid, how she did during highschool. How she managed to just adapt and give up her dreams so she could become Danny’s pillar and support during the preparation to be King. How she came out in one piece after fighting at his side for so long.

She had always been such a hypocrite — advocating for staying in touch with your inner child, to address mental health, while ignoring her own. Nagging and pushing Danny to not let things accumulate and talk about them with her or with his friends.

And when it was about her? Power through. Ignore. She would have time to work through it later.

A soft touch on her shoulder brought her back to the moment. She breathed out slowly, looking into the eyes of the one person she knew would poke her until she admitted she wasn’t as fine as she thought, and sit with her as she worked through her thoughts.

“I’m okay.” She told Jason with a little smile.

And truly, she was.

Someone cleared their throat, and Jazz jumped, feeling her cheeks burn. Oh, Ancients. She hoped she hadn’t been staring at his eyes for too long.

By the quiet snickers and how the group that had formed around her dispersed, she assumed she did. How embarrassing!

“In any case,” she tried to get back some of her dignity, “that’s the story why the toe looks weird. It healed wrong but,” she shrugged, not really wanting to dwell on that.

“Well,” Alfred continued after a brief tense silence, “we may not have recent pictures of Jason at hand, but I know where the old albums are stored. If you want to see.”

Old albums? As in, Jason when he was a kid?

Jazz perked up at the thought — he must have been such a cute kid! — but looked to check on him if it was okay. Jason was very private and he didn’t talk much about his days at the Manor.

He looked… relaxed? He was lifting an eyebrow and looking at Bruce with a little smile. “I didn’t know you kept the pictures.”

The other man looked a bit tense. “I keep all the pictures of my kids.”

“Awww,” Stephanie leaned over where she was resting over Tim and Bernard’s laps on the other sofa, arching her back to look at Bruce upside down. “Even mine?”

“You are not one of my children, as you like to remind me every day.” Bruce said with a tired sigh, but that made it obvious he was joking.

“Damn right.”

Jazz giggled, a numbing cream Alfred was applying on her ankle tickling her a little. She stayed put as he bandaged her ankle with practiced moves, with just enough compression to support her injured ankle but not enough to cut her blood flow. Jason mentioned that Alfred usually patched them up after patrol.

“Thank you.” She said to the butler when he was done, a conversation about “baby pictures” and half hearted threats flowing around the room.

Alfred smiled at her, softly patted her foot and then gathered the first aid kit stuff and left quietly.

“Picture time!”

Jazz had little time to prepare before Dick dropped a thick album on her lap and sat down on her free side, opening the album on the first page.

The pictures were old and some were shaky and off-focus. They had this homey feeling that reminded her of the days before her parents became obsessed with the portal and family time took a backseat in their lives.

They watched her thumb through the pages and answered questions about the pictures — mostly Bruce, Dick and Alfred — and tried to not crowd her too much. Jason kept himself distanced from the situation, maybe to give her space too, maybe to be able to watch her react to the stories and the pictures of a faraway past. Jazz was polite and showed genuine interest, laughing at the memories with the rest of the group.

Soon they got to the pictures that featured the second addition to the family. Everyone breathed in relief when any reaction from the estranged family member was overshadowed by their guest’s high-pitched squeal.

“So cute!” She murmured, hand hovering over a picture with a much younger Jason covered in bandaids and glaring daggers at the camera.

“It was shortly after he arrived at the manor,” Alfred supplied the information, “and young master Jason didn’t like posing for pictures.”

Her cheeks colored pink, eyes fixed on the picture of a frowning child with curly hair. They watched in silence as she went through the pictures of her boyfriend, wondering what she was thinking. Back then Jason was a completely different person, did she notice the differences? Did she mourn the kid that he was? The man he could have been?

Jazz turned the page and a pile of pictures slid down the album. Jason was the fastest, picking up everything before it hit the floor.

They were Batman and Robin pictures.

“Oh shit,” Tim grumbled, trying to reach for the pictures, “forgot those were there.”

Jason moved his hand, and the pictures, out of his reach.

“I thought I told you to remove them, Master Timothy.” Alfred’s disappointment was perceptible, but his worried glances at Jason’s face minimized the impact.

Everyone held their breath as the man looked at the pictures, smiled, and showed the one at the top of the pile to everybody.

“I forgot how ugly the old uniform was.”

Jazz yanked the picture from his hand and held it close to her chest. “Don’t say that!” She reached for the rest of the pictures. “I liked it.”

“But that’s because you were a groupie.”

“You were a Robin fan?” Bernard jumped at the opportunity to keep the mood light.

“A me fan!” Dick smirked, flipping his hair like a diva. “Our dearest Jasmine was the club president for years!”

“Just two.” She grumbled, face red as a tomato. “And yes, I may or may not have been a Nightwing fan —”

“But you said—”

“I know what I said!” Jazz huffed, keeping her eyes on the pictures. The Robin in those pictures was Dick, given the wavy hair parted on the side. And the giant smile on his face, showing his dimples. “This is so embarrassing.”

“And yet you keep looking.” Did Jason focus on messing with her to ignore everything else? He was as calm and collected as he had been during the whole evening.

“Robin pictures have always been very difficult to come by. Good quality ones, at least.”

Tim smirked, pleased. “Some of my best work, if I do say so myself.”

“These are yours?”

“Yep,” he popped the ‘p’, “although I didn’t catch Dick until his last few months as Robin.”

Jazz hummed in response, eyes still focused on the pictures. “The resemblance is uncanny.” She murmured.

“With?”

“Danny, my brother.” She smiled up at Dick. “He dressed up as Robin one Halloween. Costume was really good, my parents bought the good quality stuff.” She chuckled. “I threw the biggest fit ever — Danny didn’t even like Robin! He thought he was lame and not as cool as Superman. But it was what my parents got him and everyone at school told him he could pass as the real thing; and well, he caved and didn’t give it to me.”

“You wanted to be Robin?” Dick asked, amused.

“Yeah! I was sooo mad. ‘Girls can’t be Robin, Jazzypants’” She scoffed. “Of course my parents weren’t helpful.”

Stephanie hollered, not looking up from her phone screen. “Yeah, girls can’t be Robin. That’s absurd.”

“In the end I went as Wonder Woman, since I didn’t have time to get another costume.”

“You don’t like Wonder Woman?” Jason asked her.

“No, I like her just fine. It’s just—” she sighed, leaning on the backrest of the sofa, gathering her thoughts. “Robin, for me, was more than a celebrity. I was… Growing up, I felt so helpless. Everyday I ended up exhausted and wondering when it would end, counting the days until I turned eighteen and I could take my little brother and leave that house. I think —” her voice got tight for a moment, but she cleared her throat fast, “ — I think that I was a huge fan because Robin was such a capable hero while being a kid like me. If he could do so many amazing things then I could, too.”

Jazz was suddenly pulled into a muscular chest, arms squeezing her so hard she was about to beg for mercy when Dick finally let her go. “That was so nice to hear, my dear number one fan.”

She chuckled, unsure of what to say, feeling everyone’s eyes on her person after such an embarrassing speech. She patted the man’s forearms a few times before moving out of the hug.

“I don’t think I’ve ever shown you guys a picture of my brother. The one with the costume should be somewhere in my childhood house — I remember taking pictures that day — but, here.”

She pulled her phone out and went to the gallery app, quickly finding a selfie of her with Danny. It was at the Nasty Burger and was a bit old, about a year old, but it was safe to show it. No Realms business.

“Tim, he could be your clone.” Bernard murmured, eyes on Jazz’s phone.

Jazz giggled. “Doubt so. We would know”

“What?”

“What?” She answered Tim, a nervous smile on her lips. The other narrowed his eyes, pondering her words, but let it go.

“I can see what you mean about the resemblance,” Dick moved on, “and I’m sure you could have passed as Batgirl, with the red hair. Babs’ is a bit darker, but it’s close enough.”

“I thought about it the next year but Danny said he was ‘too old for trick or treating’ and I also didn’t see the point of spending money on an expensive costume and, well, life happened.” She sighed, going back to the pictures, maybe looking for one of Batgirl. “I should have insisted, who knows. Is in the past now.”

“I mean, if you want the suit, it’s in the basement.”

She gave Dick a look, raising an eyebrow. “No, thank you.”

Dick opened his mouth to insist but he choked with the words, watching Jazz pick the next picture on the pile, showing a much younger Robin. It was Jason, of course, who was pictured running and flying around Gotham’s rooftops.

Everyone watched Jason. Jason watched Jazz.

“You look weird without the white streak,” she smiled up at him, lifting a picture where the kid wearing the bright colored uniform was clear and in frame, placing it next to his scowling face. “Yeah, I think I like you more with the punk hairstyle.”

“It’s a death souvenir.” He said, trying to act nonchalant, but everyone noticed the slight tension in his jaw as he watched her reactions.

“Oh I know. I knew it wasn't dyed since that day in the elevator.” At his incredulous look she added: “I told you. I know death, buddy.”

He rolled his eyes, but picked up the pile of Robin pictures in her hands. Eyes somewhat distant, the now young man went through the pictures without really stopping at any of them.

"These are really good." He commented.

"Thanks…" All Tim got in response was a grunt.

Jazz leaned in to look at the pictures too, one of her hands softly placed on his without drawing attention to the gesture. Jason didn't comment on it either, choosing to continue looking at the pictures.

"Hm." He finally said. "The short pants were a mistake."

Bruce exhaled slowly, realizing he had been holding his breath. Jason looked calm enough, even after everything that happened. Was this a sign that things were going to get better?

“If you hated them so much then you should have changed them,” Jazz’s voice lacked actual bite, and her glare was playful.

“Didn’t have enough time to change anything.” He stopped at a picture where the little kid looked more adolescent. Maybe it was taken the year of his passing. “And I knew Dickolas would flip if I changed the outfit. He hated me—”

“I didn’t—!” Everyone jumped at Dick’s outburst. He shrunk in his seat. “I didn’t hate you,” he started again, softer, “I was mad at Bruce. I shouldn’t have misplaced my anger like that.”

Jason considered his brother for a few seconds, ignoring everyone’s stares, and nodded. Without any other comment, he turned towards his girlfriend and asked:

“What did you think about the second Robin? Wasn’t he also a child hero?”

Bruce didn’t know what hurt more; that he spoke of that child like he was a stranger, or that “hero” was obviously not Jason’s first choice of words.

Jazz snorted and looked down at the picture of a serious-looking fifteen year old Jason Todd wearing the Robin costume.

“I hated him.” She answered in the middle of a tense silence. “He wasn’t as funny.”

Bernard was the first one to break into incredulous giggles, shortly followed by Stephanie. The rest watched in horror, waiting for the trainwreck to happen, unsure what to do at their guest’s statement.

Jason blinked once, twice, and joined the laughter as he grasped Jazz’s face with one hand, squishing her cheeks.

“You are weird.”

“And I’m right. You weren’t as funny.” Her words were almost incomprehensible since she couldn’t move her jaw.

“What are you talking about? I’m hilarious.” He leaned in, pulling her towards him so their faces were very close. His smile wasn’t kind but the corner of his lip twitched with amusement. “You love my death puns.”

Jazz rolled her eyes. “I’ve heard every death joke under the Sun. You are not special.” She said as best as she could articulate.

Everyone saw the young man’s eyes travel down her face to her lips, and what was once a tense silence became charged with the obvious attraction between the couple. If there was ever a doubt they cared for each other, it was gone now.

But instead of kissing, he let her go and leaned back to his lounging position. Jazz chuckled and let her body fall so she could let her head rest on his shoulder. She picked up the picture, admired it for a few seconds and gave it back to Dick to put it with the others in the pile.

“Thanks for showing me these,” she gestured at the album. Whatever else she was going to say was drowned by a big yawn she hid behind her hand.

“I think—”

“You guys could stay the night.” Bruce interrupted Jason. He smiled nervously. “I mean, it’s late and,” he vaguely gestured towards Jazz’s bandaged foot. “Alfred could give you a lift tomorrow.”

It was easy to see through the attempt, even for those that knew Bruce the least.

“Everything is as you left it. Your room—”

“Are you fucking serious?”

“Or I can prepare a guest room immediately.” Alfred manifested out of thin air, having left during the picture time to tend to his duties.

Jazz looked up at her boyfriend’s face, worried. She picked his hand but stayed leaning on his side, maybe hoping her weight kept him grounded. Jason was very tense, and she could feel his breaths grow quicker and shallow.

“You can show me your room another day.” She muttered, unsure if it was the correct thing to say.

He looked down at her eyes, searching for something. Exactly what he wanted, she didn’t know; but Jazz held his gaze with determination, letting him know she would follow his lead with whatever option he chose. If he really didn’t want to stay, she was fine with riding back to their apartment with her injured foot.

Jason clicked his tongue and breathed deeply once. “My old room is fine. Just for tonight.”

Goodbyes were brief and hasty, the mood ruined after the uncomfortable exchange. Tim left with Bernard and Stephanie, since the couple was giving her a ride home, and Dick decided to stay the night as well. Duke made a tactical escape to his room with barely saying good night. Cass disappeared for a moment and came back wearing her pajamas, picking up Jazz’ bag and discarded shoe to bring back to Jason’s old room, leaving a spare pajama set for Jazz on the bed by Alfred’s orders.

Bruce watched all happen from his loveseat with a worried face. He glanced at Damian as he passed by with Titus behind him, both coming back from the dog's last walk of the day.

“They are staying the night?” His son asked when he approached, watching Jason pick up the young woman in his arms.

The older man smiled at her blushed face and embarrassed antics at being carried like a princess. “It seems so.”

Damian considered the situation and nodded, his thoughts concealed. Bruce was positive his youngest’s opinion of the new addition to the family changed during the evening; but he didn’t know how Damian felt regarding having Jason back. His son didn’t deal well with change, even less when it was regarding family dynamics, and he was worried about the whole situation.

For the moment everything seemed okay — Damian nodded again and went upstairs to his room without asking anything else.

And so, Bruce was left alone with Alfred.

“I like her.”

The butler hummed at his master’s words. “Shall I prepare a new suit, Master Bruce?”

That finally made the man laugh. “She’s not a vigilante, Alfred.” He said when he calmed down. “I wouldn’t drag her deeper into this life than she already is.”

Alfred gave Bruce a look, lifting one thin eyebrow, like he knew better but was biting his tongue.

---

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[odyssean-flower]

The Winding Path of Fate Chapter 7 - Summer: Paintings and Sunflowers

Masterpost

Pairing: Neuvillette x Female Reader Summary: Your relationship with Neuvillette continues to develop. Warnings: None except for restrictive gender roles, also for some reason Fontaine’s regency england (sort of) now?. Also someone walks in on someone coming out from the bath Note: I update this story on AO3 first so please subscribe to the fic there if you’d like to read it faster Note 2: If you want to be on the taglist for this fic, please make a reply to this post, send a message or send a private ask

Have a pic of Neuvillette hanging out in front of his fellow dragon apep's house

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“This isn’t working...” you sighed as you stared at your watercolor painting, which was more water than color due to the fact that your paints were heavily watered down to make them last longer. 

You were currently trying to update your art portfolio, which was woefully inadequate. You had heard that governesses who could teach art were in high demand these days, so you decided to concentrate on art recently. 

However, the blobby mess that meant to be the view of the sea from the garden was highly unlikely to impress anyone. 

The sun was beaming down on you heavily. Even your old straw hat was having a hard time doing its job. You took a sip of Snezhnayan water. Seriously, what is the difference between this and water from Fontaine? Maybe I’m just too unenlightened to understand. 

Ever since you and Neuvillette decided to be friends, things had been...quite different. The two of you talked about everything and nothing. Neuvillette liked talking about water and the Melusines, while you would talk about the books you had read. After a while, you sensed that he was learning more about you than you about him, as he always steered the subject away from himself and towards you. It was odd to have someone be interested in your opinions about things...but you found that you really liked that feeling. 

You could ask Neuvillette for money to buy new paints, a voice said in your mind, but you shook your head. You couldn’t ask that favor of a friend, and besides, it was better that you didn’t rely on him too much, or you would get used to it in the future. 

Maybe I'll go check out the art supplies store again and see if they have anything on sale, you thought. Standing out here wasn’t going to do anything.  

Deciding to do just that, you went up to your room to change and spotted your sister’s letter on your desk. That reminded you that you had to buy her a birthday present soon. Since you didn’t have to worry about money as much these days, maybe you could buy her something nice this year.  

“Marie, I’m going out!” you called out to the parlor where she was dusting.  

“Okay, Madame,” Marie said, poking her head out from the door. Her eyes widened upon seeing your long-sleeved dress. “Are you truly going to wear that dress in this weather?” 

“Yes. Don’t worry, I’ll be fine. It’s in solidarity,” you said, thinking of Neuvillette’s heavy, multilayered getup that he wore every day. You idly wondered if he sweated.  

“Solidarity?” Marie repeated in confusion, but you were already out the door.  

“Ugh...” 

You were quickly regretting your choice to wear this particular dress. Your hair was already matted to your forehead with sweat.  

It was late afternoon, but the temperature showed no sign of dropping. Looking at the cold drinks held by pedestrians, you decided to stop by the Café to get some iced Fonta first. Ah, just the thought of it made your water. 

As you approached the establishment, you stopped in your tracks. Sitting in the corner table, far out of sight (but not far enough to not attract stares from other patrons) was Neuvillette and Menthe. Both of them reminded you of wilted flowers. 

“What kind of water do you serve here?” you asked the manager, Arouet.  

“...Just regular water, Miss?” the manager looked confused. You couldn’t blame him. 

“Alright, please get me a glass of cold water, an iced Fonta, and an iced coffee, please,” you said.  

After you got your orders, you walked over to the table. “You two look like you could use a pick-me-up.” 

“Ah, Madame,” Neuvillette said and attempted to straighten up in his chair. He looked as impassive as ever, but you had observed him long enough to know that he was in quite a lot of misery right now. “Such pleasant weather we’re having today, perfect for a walk in the city. I see that you have the same idea as well.” 

You stared at him. Is he being serious right now? “Please don’t force yourself, sir. We both know you can’t stand this weather,” you placed the drinks down on the table and sat down. “Here, water for Monsieur Neuvillette, and an iced coffee for Menthe.” 

“Thank you, Madame,” Menthe said with a yawn. “I needed this.” 

“What are you doing here?” you asked Neuvillette. “You know better to than to be out and about, dressed as you are.” 

“I was out for a quick shopping trip, and then I saw Menthe looking a bit dispirited, so I thought I would take her into the shade to rest.” 

I think you’re the one in need of rest here, you thought as you watched Neuvillette wipe at his forehead with a handkerchief. So he does sweat after all. 

“You were shopping? Why didn’t you just get someone to do it for you?” 

Neuvillette cleared his throat and looked away. It was only then that you noticed something wrapped in parchment paper in his lap. “I didn’t wish to entrust this to someone else. I was shopping for a present for someone important.” 

“Oh, I see,” you nodded. Was it a Melusine’s birthday today or something? “What a coincidence, I’m out shopping as well. For paints, and if I’m lucky, a birthday present for my sister.” 

“Paints?” Menthe looked at Neuvillette. “Oh, Monsieur—” 

“Ahem, Menthe,” Neuvillette cleared his throat.  

“Oh, um, I mean, Monsieur Neuvillette told me that you paint really beautifully, Madame! He really likes your paintings of the sunflowers back in your hometown.” 

“Her sketches are wonderful as well,” Neuvillette said, sounding oddly proud. “You should show the Melusines your sketchbook some time, Madame.” 

“Ooh, may I?” Menthe looked at you with big eyes.  

He’s making too much of me, you thought, hiding your embarrassment by chugging down your Fonta. “Alright,” you said. 

“Yay!” Menthe clapped her hands together. Just then, the great clock in front of the café let out a chime, signalling the end of the hour. “Oh, I must get back to work. Goodbye, Monsieur, Madame!” 

“Goodbye, Menthe. Please take care of yourself,” Neuvillette patted the Melusine on the head, who giggled and skipped away. You found yourself feeling oddly jealous. 

Now it was just the two of you. You looked at Neuvillette, who was sipping his water. He looked back at you.  

“Um, I hope the water is to your liking,” you said. “I know it’s not the fancy imported stuff you enjoy.” 

“It’s perfect,” he said. “Just what one needs on a day like this.” 

You looked at his outfit. His cravat was tightly tied around his neck, and his cuffs were buttoned neatly, showing not a bit of skin. He must be dying on the inside right now, but he still managed to look put together. You felt very shabby next to him. 

“I know you said that you always dress according to your standing, and I respect that. But I feel like you could at least take off your gloves, or loosen your cravat a little when you’re on break. I doubt anyone would mind.” In fact, they might go crazy over it.  

“Very well,” Neuvillette said, then proceeded to take off his gloves. The silver ring on his finger glinted even in the shade. 

“You're still wearing the ring!” you blurted out in surprise. 

“Why wouldn’t I?” Neuvillette raised an eyebrow.  

You didn’t know how to answer that. 

“And you’re wearing yours as well,” Neuvillette said, indicating your right hand, which was mostly covered by your sleeve. To be honest, you put it on every morning without even thinking about it anymore. It was a reminder to yourself that as easy and comfortable as this “marriage” was, it was still a marriage, and one that was a means to an end. That was what you told yourself, anyways. 

Neuvillette continued to sip his water. He seemed to be enjoying it, which pleased and baffled you at the same time. You still couldn’t quite wrap your head around the idea of water from different places having distinct flavors, but Neuvillette swore up and down that the difference was real and that anyone could taste it if they savored the water patiently enough. Even now, you still wondered if he was secretly testing you or something.  

Still, what a shame it is that he doesn’t enjoy Fonta, you thought. He’s missing out.  

Back in your hometown, only the basic, original flavor was available. But once you moved to the Court of Fontaine, you were introduced to a veritable rainbow of Fonta flavors. You had even spent a week drinking nothing but Fonta. You suspected Neuvillette might have a heart attack if he heard about it. 

Neuvillette finished his water, and then stood up with the box tucked under his arm. “I must return to work. I shall see you at home, in the evening.” 

You nodded. “Make sure to stay cool, sir.” 

Neuvillette was about to walk away when he suddenly turned around. “Ah, Madame. Are you still going to visit the art supplies shop?” 

“Yes. Why?” 

He looked like he was about to say something, but then shook his head. Was he...smiling? Before you could look closer, he turned away. “It’s nothing. Please, enjoy your day.” 

You watched him until he was just a blue speck in the distance. 

Afterwards, you headed to the store. Unfortunately, none of the good quality paints were on sale. Maybe I should just make my own, you thought glumly. The owner, on the other hand, seemed to be in a very good mood. 

By the time you got home, it was already evening. You decided to take a nice long bath to wash away all the sweat. Ah, baths are the best, you thought as you soaked in the bubbles. Back at the boarding house, you had to share two bathrooms with twenty other girls. This was heaven. 

Just then, you heard a knock on the door. That was probably Marie. You wrapped yourself in a towel and went to the door. “Coming!” you shouted and opened the door. “Marie, what—” 

Your words got stuck in your throat as your eyes took in the tall figure standing in front of your room. He was holding the wrapped package from earlier in his hands.  

For a few agonizing seconds, the two of you simply stared at each other. You saw his hands start to shake, and redness creeping to his cheeks. 

You slammed the door in his face and hurriedly put on your bathrobe. Your thick, fluffy bathrobe with a sturdy tie that could be fastened tightly, leaving nothing to the imagination.  

Taking a few deep breaths to control your pounding heart, you flung open the door, catching your bright red face in the vanity mirror in the process.  

Neuvillette was still standing there. You were pretty sure that he hadn’t moved a single inch. His face was now visibly red. As soon as he caught sight of you, he closed his eyes and turned his head away from you.  

“M-My deepest, sincerest apologies to you, Madame,” he said. His voice sounded as though it was being uttered from the deepest trenches of the sea. “I have committed a disgraceful act—” 

“Let’s just forget about it,” you interrupted him. “We’ll both pretend that it never happened. And besides, um, I wasn’t completely naked or anything, I was wearing a towel, and we’re technically married, so...” 

What in Archons’ name are you talking about? Your mind screamed. Neuvillette seemed as though he might never look at you in the eye again. 

“So, anyways, that present is for me?” you said. Does that make me the important person? Despite the situation, your heart grew warm. 

Neuvillette nodded and held it out to you. It looked like he wasn’t going to speak to you again either. 

You carefully accepted the box and tore open the packaging. You let out a gasp when you saw a rosewood box with a carving of roses on the lid. 

It was the watercolor set from the art store you had always admired from a distance. It was too expensive for you to even dream of owning it, of course. 

But now, it was in your hands. 

You opened the box and was met with robes of paints, brushes, and an even a small palette.  

“Y-You got this for me?” you said, looking up at him. He still wasn’t looking at you. “Why? H-How did you even...?” 

“I-I did say that I wanted to help you achieve your goals, and I...I noticed that you were in need,” Neuvillette said. “And, do friends not give presents to each other?” 

“Yes, but...not anything so expensive!” you stroked the lid. “I cannot possibly repay you.” 

It was then that Neuvillette finally turned his head and fixed his gaze on you. “There is no need for repayment. I bought this because I wished to. Just seeing you content is enough for me.” 

His words struck something deep within you. You were so used to receiving hand-me-downs, of stretching things to their limits, that you had no idea what to do in this situation. Your hands felt like they should be doing something, but what? 

“Thank you,” you whispered, and before you knew what you were doing, your hands reached out and clasped his hand tightly. You could feel its warmth even through the glove, and the contours of his ring. You shook his hand vigorously. “I will treasure this gift for the rest of my life.”  

Neuvillette stared at you for a few moments, and then he turned around and walked away. It might have been a dramatic moment, if his brisk pace didn’t cause him to step on his coat tails and almost trip. 

For the third time in the hour, Neuvillette glanced at the clock. He was currently attending a banquet hosted by an important government official, which meant he had to attend. 

He forced another bite of the dry steak into his mouth. He reached for his glass to wash it down with wine. Wine wasn't his first choice of beverage, but it was better than nothing. 

The other dignitaries sitting near him engaged him in conversation about politics and other related topics, and he did his best to respond in kind. But perhaps because his mind was unfocused, his answers came out short and curt. The others seemed to take this as annoyance at being bothered and excused themselves. 

He held back a sigh. Even though social events like these weren’t his strong suit nor even his hobby, he generally tried his best to perform his role and to fit in. But tonight, he was suddenly feeling very impatient to go home. He had been feeling this feeling a lot recently.  

Neuvillette absentmindedly stroked his ring. I wonder what she is doing right now... 

For the past few days, his wife had been working on something and had promised that it would be finished by today. She had refused to let him see it until it was ready. All he knew was that it had something to do with painting.  

Neuvillette glanced at the clock again. There were still hours before this banquet was supposed to end. He closed his eyes and took another sip of wine, imagining calming things in order to quell the restlessness he was feeling. A perfectly flat water surface at night, a cool sea breeze, the smiles of the Melusines, his wife’s smile when he gave her the watercolor set, the feel of her hands around his... 

“Ah, Monsieur Neuvillette, thank you for coming,” a voice interrupted his thoughts. He opened his eyes to see the host of the banquet standing before him. There was a young woman standing next to him. “May I introduce you to my daughter?” 

The young lady curtsied gracefully. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Monsieur.”  

“Likewise,” Neuvillette nodded.  

The young lady stepped closer, and he caught a whiff of her perfume. He couldn’t help but compare it to his wife’s scent when she came out of the bath that day— 

“Oh, dear, Monsieur, are you okay?” the young lady and her father looked at Neuvillette with worry as he coughed violently, having choked on his wine. 

“P-Please excuse me,” he said after the fit subsided, and then proceeded to walk out to the balcony to catch his breath. There was no view of the sea from here. It was going to be a long day. 

The sky was dark by the time Neuvillette arrived home, but even from the front door, he could tell that his house was uncharacteristically noisy. 

There seemed to be a crowd of people in the parlor. Neuvillette paused at the door, listening to the snatches of conversation. 

“Madame, are you almost done with Rhemia?” 

“Blathine, don’t rush her. She has been sketching for hours now.” 

“Madame, could you teach me how to sketch too?” 

“Sure. It’ll be good practice, anyways.” 

Neuvillette opened the door. A group of Melusines were sitting on the couches and floor of the parlor. Even Marie was there. They were all holding sketches in their hands, and watercolor paintings were scattered on the floor. In the center of it all, his wife was sitting in his chair, sketching a posing Rhemia.  

“Monsieur Neuvillette, you’re home!” Sedene was the first to notice him.  

His wife turned her head towards him, and the corners of her lips turned up slightly. Neuvillette felt all the restlessness and fatigue he felt earlier drain away.  

“Welcome back,” she said and stood up, giving him back his chair. “How was the banquet?” 

“It was fine,” he said. “What are you all doing?” 

“Well, the Melusines all came over and asked me to show them my paintings. Then, they wanted me to sketch them, so I did.” 

“I see,” Neuvillette said, peering at the sketch of Rhemia. “They are wonderful.” 

“Thank you.” His wife seemed to be putting the finishing touches on the sketch. Neuvillette studied her profile. She looked completely focused on her work. 

“It’s done,” she announced, and handed the sketch to Rhemia.  

“I’m next,” Blathine said and stepped forward. 

"I think Madame Neuvillette needs to rest her hands a little bit,” Marie clapped her hands and gave Neuvillette a knowing look. “Why don’t we go into the kitchen for cakes?” 

The Melusines followed her outside, leaving Neuvillette and his wife alone in the parlor. 

“I apologize for their rowdiness,” Neuvillette said as he watched her gather the scattered paintings in her arms. “Please feel free to decline their requests if they inconvenience you.” 

“It’s no problem,” she said. “It was nice having so many people here. It reminds me of the old days. And I’ve never drawn Melusines before, so it was a fun challenge.” 

Neuvillette also stooped down to help her. He didn’t have the discerning eye for art, so he couldn’t make any comments as to technique, but he found that his wife’s paintings had a quality to them that made him yearn for something unidentifiable, which was what made them so fascinating to look at. 

“By the way, I finished your surprise,” she said. “Would you like to see it?” 

Neuvillette nodded, and she led him upstairs to her room. 

“It took me some time to work on it, because I had to use my imagination instead of drawing something I see,” she said, speaking a bit quickly. “And I wanted to use the paints you gave me carefully.” 

“Are they to your liking?” 

“Yes. The colors are so vibrant, and the brushes are so smooth, that I’m afraid that they are a bit wasted on me, since I don’t really paint because it’s my passion, so...” 

“But they are useful to you, are they not?” Neuvillette said. “Isn’t that enough?” 

“...I suppose so,” his wife said after a few moments of silence. She then cleared her throat and turned towards the covered easel near the window. “Here it is.” 

She lifted off the blanket, revealing a small canvas. At first, Neuvillette didn’t know what he was looking at. Then, his eyes recognized the amorphous blobs, the blurry line of blue in the distance. 

“This is a painting of the garden in rain,” he said, looking to her for confirmation. She nodded. 

“It hasn’t been raining at all recently, so I had to try hard to picture the scene in my mind.” 

“What made you choose this subject?” 

“Well...before, I’ve never really paid attention to the rain. It was just an excuse to stay home for me. But...then I would see you standing out in the rain, and I would suddenly notice all these things I haven’t seen before...so...” her voice trailed off, and she looked down. “I just wanted my first painting with your gift to be something you like.” 

Neuvillette felt an unfamiliar feeling in his heart. If he had to compare it to something, it would be feeling the heat of a warm current all around you after ages of swimming in the cold ocean.  

“Do you like it?” his wife asked, looking up at him. 

Neuvillette had to think about how to answer that. “...Yes, I do,” he said at last. “It’s my favorite of your works.” 

His hand reached out towards her head, his fingers running over her hair, gliding over her cheek, and rested on her shoulder. His wife stared at him quizzically. “Sir?” 

“...It’s nothing,” Neuvillette said. He wasn’t sure what came over him. 

“Monsieur Neuvillette!” Sedene’s voice sounded from downstairs. “We have a request for you!” 

“Sounds serious,” his wife quipped. 

The two went downstairs to the kitchen, where the Melusines were looking at paintings of houses with sunflowers standing in front of them. 

“Monsieur Neuvillette, what do you think of planting sunflowers in front of the front door, just like in Madame’s hometown?” Sedene asked. 

“I think that’s a wonderful idea,” Neuvillette said. “One rarely sees sunflowers in the city.” 

“I can ask my family to send us some seeds,” his wife said. “But one thing I’m worried about is the lack of rain lately, since sunflowers need a lot of water to grow.” 

“I’ll see what I can do,” Neuvillette said, drawing a confused look from her. 

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[lost-girl-2021]

Adopted Spider AU Idea

Okay so I had this idea for a avatar AU, where Spider is raised/adopted by the Sully’s from a young age and they don’t tell him Quaritch is his father. As far as he knows, his mom was a pilot on the Na’vi’s side and died during the battle. They didn’t really want to lie to him, but when Kiri gets to go see her birth mom, he wants to see his too, assuming she’s in a pod or something like Grace is. He’s already just so sad when they tell him he can’t visit his mom, because she’s not anywhere anymore, that they can’t bring themselves to break his heart and make him feel any more like the alien he is. So, they paint Paz as a brave warrior and keep it vague enough that they won’t get caught in any lies. And that was enough for (maybe five to eight year old) Spider. Besides, he loves his mama (Neytiri) and papa (Jake) and all of his siblings. Even before he was old enough to fit into a mask, they would visit him constantly and teach him about the woods and their home. When he was around seven or eight and old enough to go outside, he was instantly welcomed into his family’s home and never spent a night alone again.

(Also, in this, I’m aging Spider down to twelve, Neteyam is sixteen, Kiri and Lo’ak are fifteen, Tuk is eight. So, Spider’s the youngest Big Kid and his siblings are protective of him not only because he’s human and tiny, but because he’s also younger. I think to do this logically, it’d have to be a situation where Na’vi kids age faster than human kids, like maybe there ages start to even out/slow around puberty or something. Idk, haven’t super thought it out.)

Anyways, the rest of the movie stuff still happens. Except, it’s Kiri, Lo’ak, and Spider (Tuk is at home, silence bought with the promise of bringing her back fruit or something cool). When Lo’ak calls in about the Avatars, Neytiri flips, because she knows her children are all capable and strong and skilled, but those are her babies. And Spider— the boy who never remembers his spare mask and is always finding something death-defying to try? She thinks she’ll have the Na’vi equivalent of a heart attack.

So, they’re trying to head back home, get attacked and when Quaritch approaches Spider, Lo’ak and Kiri go crazy screaming at him to get away from their brother. And Lo’ak also recognizes Quaritch as the somehow reanimated murderer who was also Spider’s birth father. He’d overheard a conversation, years before, between his parents and Neteyam. His parents had explained it to the oldest and Lo’ak had accidentally found out as well. He ended up sneaking into the lab shack and finding a picture of the man (and his file). So, when Quaritch asks for Spider’s name, Lo’ak flips.

“Don’t tell him! Don’t say a word!” Lo’ak screeched from a few feet away.

The Avatar didn’t even glance his brother’s way. “I asked you a question, boy. What’s your name?”

Spider glanced at his siblings, heart racing. “Spider. . . Socorro.”

“His name is Spider Sully, he is my family!” Lo’ak hissed in English this time. “He is not yours!”

“Miles?” The man kneeled in front of him, looking at him strangely.

Miles. Miles. Miles. When was the last time he’d heard that name?

“Nobody calls me that.” It came out a near-whisper and he looked towards his brother. “Why does he know my name?”

“Don’t believe anything he says! He’s a ghost! A demon! He’s a liar!” Lo’ak screamed back, before one of the Avatars covered his mouth.

A little ways away, Kiri looked just as confused, still fighting against her captor as she tried to lean his way. Spider risked turning his gaze back to the man in front of him. He looked . . . weird. Emotional.

“I thought they’d send you back to Earth.”

“You can’t put babies in cryo.” He said as bravely as he could manage. “Why do you care, dipshit?”

The man’s brow furrowed as he settled a heavy hand on his shoulder. “Because, I’m your father.”

Spider reared back, breath catching loudly inside his mask. He looked over the large man’s arm, meeting his older brother’s wide-eyes.

“Lo’ak?”

“He lies!” The boy hissed, thrashing harder, two Avatars pinning him down this time.

“I’m telling the truth, Miles.”

“Don’t call me that.” It came out as a whisper. “My— my name is Spider.”

Quaritch gave him a curious look, letting him go and standing up once more. He turned away from the boy as another Avatar grabbed him, pressing two fingers to the communicator around his neck and calling out some code talk Spider didn’t have the capacity to process anymore.

He glanced down at the pack strapped to his loincloth, double-checking that the light hadn’t started blinking. Everything was working correctly, the seal had been done right when he’d left that morning. His parents always insisted on checking his mask when he put it back on after morning meal. His spare was strapped to his brother’s waist, Lo’ak learning long ago that Spider couldn’t be trusted to remember something so important. Spider had visited the shack the day before with the others to visit Grace and Max had replaced his mask and battery before they left. He should be fine.

But, it was kind of hard to breathe. And it was getting harder to focus. He sucked in a breath, looking over at his sister. She looked just as lost as him, yellow eyes locked onto him. She whispered to him, words reaching him from across the semi-circle.

“Be calm, little brother. Be calm.”

He forced himself to breathe in once more.

__

By the time Spider felt somewhat normal again, it’d been almost a half hour. Just . . . standing. Waiting. Spider wondered where their parents were. Spider and Lo’ak were five feet away from each other, but it felt like twenty. Both had guards on them, but they whispered as softly as they could while still being able to hear each other.

“Why does he know who I am? Is he really my . . . ” Spider asked, glancing towards the large Avatar called Quaritch.

“He’s not.” Lo’ak insisted. “You don’t have a father, like Kiri. We just have Dad. That demon is going to lie and try to trick you— he’s a monster, Spi. Don’t let him get inside your head. If he talks to you, don’t— “

A short whistle made Lo’ak stop speaking. All three of the Sully kids turned their heads South. Another call sounded. Mama.

Instead of Spider getting left behind, Quaritch flat-out yoinks Spider up onto his shoulder and hides him, cuffing him to a branch or him or something. And the chopper is arriving to pick them up, so he’s out of there first with Spider and—

Spider thrashed, mask fogging from tears and heavy breathing. He looked down, eyes meeting with his mom’s.

“Mama! Mama, please!” He screamed, trying to get away, to reach towards her.

He could see that she was crying too, climbing a tree like she could go high enough to grab him. He could see his dad, looking up at him, looking so angry. Angry at Spider? Angry that he was weak enough to get caught? Spider clawed at the monster— Quaritch, they’d called him. The man just tightened his grip. Spider didn’t care if he fell, didn’t care if he ended up tumbling towards the ground. His dad— his real dad would catch him. The year before, when Neteyam first got his Ikran, he’d taken Spider for a ride. Spider had fallen, goofing off in a way that a new rider couldn’t handle. He’d been caught by his dad before he could even have time to scream. Dad always caught Spider. Every time he fell from a tree or tripped over a root— dad was always there. Because, Spider was too weak. Spider was too human.

The whole thing ended up super long, so part two will be up later.

[bumblebugwrites]

chapter 7: sign of the times

Pairing: Victor!Treech x fem!Reader

Summary: A reunion. An explanation. But can you salvage what already seems like a lost cause?

Warnings: Cursing, Suggestive Themes, Alcohol Consumption (Both Characters 21+).

Word Count: 6.7k

Taglist: @nekee-lilac02, @mr-panda357, @yourfavmiki, @blackoutdays13, @dialuvsbangtan, @emgunther, @qirsupply

Series Masterlist | Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

You do not speak at first, feet rooted to the ground as you take him in, and really, he is not so odd, but there is something different about him. Something you can’t recall having seen in years. His hair is the same, just as long as the last time you saw him, though perhaps a bit more unkept as a result of the long train ride over. Nothing about him seemed out of place at first glance. Still, you are sure to check again. You always check again with Treech. But it’s not there, the change you are looking for. No. It is in his eyes. Careful. Steady. Unguarded. Pooling with– 

“What the fuck are you doing here?” But you shake the thought because this is Treech, and the last time he looked at you like that, he had been sure to let you know it was a lie. He merely balks at your tone, flat and unimpressed, leaving you to huff and roll your eyes before pushing past him to guide Bluebell toward her stall without a second glance.

“You weren’t at the train station this morning.” You nearly freeze at the weight of his words. He had been looking for you, or at least intrigued enough to note your missing presence.  But how had he known to find you here? The mayor certainly had no idea as to your whereabouts. Sure, Calpurnia may have made a good guess, but she had long since stopped trying to stick her nose in your business. And more importantly, how had he managed to slip away from the festivities unnoticed? Questions clutter your mind faster than you are able to supply them with makeshift answers. Still, you don’t ask.

“I had work.” And you don’t have to see him to know he is narrowing his eyes just behind you, face probably painted with the same scrutiny he typically reserved for lectures from Hilarius.

“I thought we weren’t supposed to work anymore. Isn’t that the whole point of victory? A quiet life of rest?” You can’t resist huffing out a laugh at the familiar snark that edges its way into his tone, and for a moment, you are both eighteen again, scared shitless and shoulder to shoulder on a train headed for the Capitol. It doesn’t last.

“Well, I don’t see them here putting me under arrest, so if you don’t mind, I think I’ll keep at it.” As you reach Bluebell’s stall, you feel Treech hesitate at the door, and a look over your shoulder confirms he has trained a weary gaze on the horse. You muffle a laugh, and his face hardens into a glare.

“The mayor said you weren’t feeling well.” Ah. So that’s why he is here. To catch you in a lie. You shrug in response and listen to the sound of his nervous shuffling before Treech forces himself to speak once more.

“Crowd was pretty focused on Maple, so I– Well, I snuck off. Thought I’d check in at your house, but you weren’t there. Obviously. Your sister said I might find you here.” You feel your shoulders tense. 

“You talked to Fawn?” Your voice is cold and sharp as the words pass your lips, and Treech is quick to raise both hands in defense. 

“I’m not here to– I want to talk to you,” he begins, but you can feel yourself already starting to lose patience.

“Why? You haven’t cared about me in years.” He looks hurt when you turn to face him, shoulders sagged and his eyes heavy with apparent exhaustion.

“I–” His eyes flit to the upper corner of the stall. To the camera used by the Peacekeepers on duty to ensure you are on task at all times. “Is there–” And no, Treech isn’t your favorite these days, but you understand immediately, halting yourself in the process of removing Bluebell’s saddle. You are supposed to be back at the bunkhouse for lunch in ten minutes. Lunch, midday meeting, and then the rest of the day off, your boss, a short, stalky man who had grown up with your father, had insisted, not wanting you to get yourself into any more trouble.

“I have to make a call.” You pronounce each word slowly, the implication heavy in your voice, before dropping both hands from Bluebell’s side to make for the phone beside the double doors to enter the barn.

Treech has never seen a horse before. Well, maybe that’s not completely true. He could remember seeing a couple of your sketches from back home and the old photographs from his textbooks in school, but to be face to face with the creature felt completely different. It is large, barely moving aside from the occasional shifting of its legs or a slow blink, though the remainder of the barn is filled with their subtle sounds, huffing and knocking at the ground with their great hooves. He swallows the air in his lungs, pushing it further down and taking a step back so that he comes in contact with the wall. The horse swats at several flies with its tail in a single practiced motion. Treech thinks about stepping out of the stall completely, and it is only as he turns his head to consider an escape route, back still flat against the wood-paneled wall, that he notes that you have returned. 

You lean against the doorframe, arms crossed tight across your chest and eyes gently considering his situation. Though, he can sense something else as well, a brewing aura of mischief as you stifle another laugh at his expense.

“It’s not funny. That thing is really big,” he mumbles, and you allow a full-on chuckle to escape. The sound of it fills his chest with warmth.

“It’s a little funny, given that you're about to get on one of these things.” The warmth is gone in an instant.

“What?” 

“Only way to get where we’re going. Unless you’d rather spend the rest of your day walking.” Treech swallows hard, face drained of the vast majority of its color. He looks as though he might be sick.

“Don’t worry, you can take Baxter. He only bites a little.”

At nineteen, Baxter is one of the oldest horses in the barn, docile and gentle with age. Still, Treech doesn’t know that, and you make no effort to tell him as you journey out with a tight grip on his lead and your own. The man beside you is stiff as a board, though you’re surprised to see his grip on the bridle has loosened significantly over the last thirty minutes.

There are three blind spots in the entirety of the ranch when it comes to cameras. The first is where most ranchers take their smoke breaks, though it is commonly occupied and never lacking in company. The second is the small stretch of land between the showers and the bunkhouse and the third is at the very periphery of the ranch, where someone a long time ago cut the wires on a camera no one ever bothered to fix. That is where you are headed now, and you feel your shoulders sink in relief as it comes into view just over the next hill. Relief, which you assure yourself, has nothing to do with the tense form beside yours and his comfort whatsoever. 

Getting Treech onto the horse had been seemingly more trouble than it was worth as you coaxed him into mounting following several demonstrations, only to be forced to start from ground zero after Baxter chose to adjust his stance as Treech lifted a foot to the stirrup.

“This thing is trying to kill me.”

“I promise you he is not.”

Still, concern over his perceived well-being had long since stopped being a pressing issue for you, though even you can admit seeing Treech in any real danger always sent a sharp twinge through your chest.

Upon arrival, you give the reins a quick tug, signaling it is time to stop before swinging yourself off of Bluebell and tying both leads to a nearby post. Treech is admittedly steadier on the dismount, probably out of sheer desperation to come in contact with the ground once more. However, he stumbles a bit as his feet hit the dirt, and you note the immediate distance he creates between himself and Baxter. 

“It’s safe here since you’re so hellbent on talking.” You toss the words over your shoulder, focus locked in on checking Bluebell’s saddle for anything out of the ordinary. Nothing catches your eye, but then, you knew it wouldn’t, using the task at hand as a welcome distraction from the itch of the gaze on the back of your neck.

“I didn’t– I–” Treech’s words seem to trip over themselves on their journey out of his mouth, and you find yourself surprised at the uncharacteristic nervousness in his tone. A glance in the man’s direction reveals his body to be giving the same impression, eyes darting in an awkward dance around each feature on your face, hands clasped tightly together.

“If you have something to say, you might as well just say it. I’m not gonna be all ears for forever–” His eyes are steady now, fixed on you with the only emotion you have known them to hold for what has become the majority of your time together. Frustration. Anger.

“Would you stop that?”

“Stop what? I’m just saying you should probably pick up the pace. I mean, how long do you really think the crowd is gonna go without noticing that the Capitol’s favorite pretty boy is missing in action–” You are agitating him on purpose; there’s no question about it. But what’s the fun in letting him have it easy now? After what he did? After the way he left you feeling all that time ago?

“Stop! Patronizing me! Just let me explain. God, when did you become so mean?” Your body goes rigid, and regret, immediate and palpable, paints itself across his face. 

“Mean? You wanna talk to me about mean?”

“No! I– You know I didn’t– Fuck me, I’m messing this all up.” And really, you’re ready to pounce. To take four years of heartache and anguish and make every second of pain his problem. But then it happens, so subtle you almost don’t catch it, at the tail end of his last sentence. A break. A warble. Call it what you want; you can hear the tears, and any snide remarks die on your tongue at the sound. 

“Can I start again? Please?” He doesn’t deserve it. Won’t even meet your eye to ask, but something about how he looks, the way he had at eighteen, that first night at the bar, so hopeless and lost, makes you give in.

“Whatever, sure.”

“I– Do you remember that night I came to your room after that first party at the President’s mansion?” His hands on your waist. Your fingers deep in his curls. His lips pressed against yours. Close. So close.

“Yeah.”

“Okay. Do you remember the morning after?” Treech reappearing in your room just as sleep began to slug off, presumably attending to business of some sort. Presumably deciding he didn’t want you anymore. 

“Look, if you just came here to relive the glory of telling me–”

“Do you remember that phone call I got?” Phone call? For Treech? In your room? Phone call. It must have been close to seven in the morning. He’d bent down and kissed you goodbye on his way out the door. How could you let that slip?

“Well, it was from Snow.” Your heart just about stops in your chest, mind moving a million miles an hour and though you probably don’t need Treech to explain the rest, he goes on.

“He saw us together. I guess there were cameras in the Victor’s Suite. He called me that morning. In your room. That’s when I should have known something was wrong, but I still managed to get all the way to the end of the hall before having the brain to realize something was up. Anyways, he– He told me I had to end things. Two victors from different Districts? People might get the wrong idea. Said he wouldn’t go after us. That he’d start with our families. With your family. And I knew I couldn’t do that to you.”

“And look, you’ve always been braver than me. I was worried if I just told you, you’d get it in your head that we could fight this. You know? Find some way to defy fate. So I told you I didn’t want you. And I spent these last four years pushing you away, praying it would be enough to keep you safe.” He stops and though he hasn’t even been talking for that long, he looks as though he’s out of breath. You feel lightheaded.

“Wh– Why are you telling me this now?”

“Because about two years into my genius plan I realized that I was probably doing a pretty shitty job of looking out for you if I didn’t even know what was going on with you anymore. You can’t protect someone you don’t know and I made you into a stranger,” he finishes, eyes scanning the grass as though each individual blade were the most interesting thing in the world. That’s probably why he doesn’t see it coming. Your first shove that is. Still, by the second one, he seems almost resigned to the onslaught.

“You. Are. Such. An. Idiot. I can’t believe you. I hate you so much.” But there is no real malice to the words and he catches your fist, tight in his hand as you bring it down to punctuate the end of your final sentence.

“I– uhm–” And he goes to speak, but perhaps realizes just how close the two of you are, faces only inches apart. You breathe him in, the same scent of cedar still populating the space around him. You want to sink down inside it. Want to kiss his face. His lips. Dig your hands into the curls you have not touched in four years. Your mind flashes with memories of that last night. Of the morning after. Of the things he’d said. You pull away.

“Well, don’t expect me to just come crawling back to you. I do have dignity, you know.” 

“Right, of course.” Treech brings a hand up to scratch at the back his neck. The same nervous tick from all those years ago.

“But– Maybe we could try being friends again.” And there he is, all open and smiling and bright. And your heart warms at the sight.

“I’d like that. I’d like that a lot.”

Upon your return to the barn, with you having guided both horses back at a far more leisurely pace, you promise to meet again before tonight’s event at City Hall at your house in the Victor’s Village. The trek home isn’t so bad with his company, and you spend the time filling in the gaps four years had left you with before bidding him farwell and parting ways.

You’ve only just finished buttoning your jeans when Lennox appears at the door to your room. Since your move to the Victor’s Village, you often found yourself longing for the closeness you once shared with your siblings. Still, they found ways to get under your skin even in a house as impossibly big as the one the Capitol had so generously gifted you. 

Your father's vest still fits like a glove with the alterations your mother had made several years ago, its denim softened by age and still smelling faintly of tobacco, the one habit your father never could quite shake. 

With one final glance at the garment and an additional once-over of your outfit, you had turned to face the youngest member of your family, only to discover something missing from his newly pressed dress shirt. 

“What the–”

That was fifteen minutes ago, though no amount of time passed seemed to be bringing you any closer to an answer.

“Lennox, I don’t understand. Where did the first three buttons on your shirt go?” 

“I dunno.” Still, the boy refuses to meet your gaze, and something about him reeks of a lie. You crouch to deliver your next sentence, forcing him to look you in the eye.

“Well, you better start thinking because it’s not like buttons just get up and walk away.” He squirms beneath the weight of your calculating stare, which holds him unrelentingly, hands coming up to keep the boy in place and negate all chances of escape.

“Urgh, fine. I traded them.” And it’s almost bizarre, but then, this is Lennox, and he is a child. And to children, things like buttons seem so simple and uncomplicated. So unnecessary and silly. You almost want to laugh.

“What do you mean you traded them?”

“I gave them to a boy at school.” You force yourself to hide the smile settling into your lips, dipping your head, and making an exasperated sort of sound.

“No, that’s not– I understand where you traded them; you don’t go anywhere else. What I’m trying to figure out is why. We have everything you could possibly need here.” 

“Not honeydrops.” The smile is gone now, banished in a moment. And Lennox knows. At least you’ve told him the way your family must live now, what must remain off limits. But then, it really is nothing more than candy. 

“Oh my god. Tell me you did not.”

“I don’t understand why all the other kids get to have it, and I don’t.” And you feel it again, that creeping sensation of guilt that arises every time you must pull something from your siblings’ grasps.

“Because candy is a contraband item, and we are basically living in the Capitol’s spotlight. Lennox, we’ve talked about this.” He frowns, and the action darkens the entirety of his face. His lip jerks out, beginning to shake.

“Please don’t tell Mom.”

“I’m not gonna tell Mom, just–” There is a knock at the front door. You can hear it from upstairs. Fixing the boy before you with a look of warning, you deliver a final address. “It better be gone when I look in your room tonight.”

He is off in an instant, presumably intent on packing every remaining honeydrop into his mouth at once, and you bite back a laugh at the absurdity of it, but it is the kind of laugh that rattles cruel and unforgiving in your chest, bitter in its birth and you force yourself to shake it before making your way downstairs. Fawn beats you to the door.

“What are you wearing?” You open your mouth to scold her for the remark, blatant in its disrespect, but another voice cuts off your own, ringing out through the foyer.

“My dress clothes? Why do we look bad?” Treech. By the time you hit the bottom of the stairs, it is clear what Fawn is grimacing at. The outfit is by no means abysmal, similar to those you’ve seen Treech don while arriving at the Capitol following the Reapings, but it is certainly not appropriate for where you are going. Behind him, Maple stands rather awkwardly, a similar look of worry spreading across her face.

“No. She looks fine. She looks like some Capitol stylist at least had the sense to look at a single picture of District 10 before arrival. You look like you can not wear that to City Hall. You– You– You have to come inside before anyone sees you in this outfit.” At this point, you make your presence known, pulling Fawn from her position blocking the doorway before ushering the pair of victors in with a smile. 

“Sorry about her; clearly, we haven’t hosted guests in a while,” you grit out, flashing a glare in Fawn's direction. Maple laughs, covering the sound with a cough.

“Is my outfit actually bad?” Treech fusses at his selection of clothing, pulling uncomfortably at the hem of his jacket.

“Well, no. It’s just not–” You begin, though Fawn does not let you finish.

“Yes.” You are quick to deliver an elbow to her gut, though she only responds with a shove in return and an offer to Maple to join her and your mother in the kitchen.

“Really, don’t worry about it. How about I try to find you something here?” You offer, and Treech shoots you a grateful smile before trailing after his charge.

Upstairs, you take to alternatively rooting around your closet and considering the same three work shirts laid out on your bed, none of them formal enough. You are just about to give up entirely when a knock sounds at your door.

“Fawn said you needed something suitable for City Hall tonight?” Your mother’s head appears, followed by the remainder of her, a single, pressed shirt hooked over her arm and an accompanying vest tucked beneath it. Your father’s clothes.

“Oh, Mom, I couldn’t possibly–” She only shakes her head. Laying the garments out atop your mattress. In a subtle act of care, she fidgets with the cuff of his old shirt’s sleeve. 

“Don’t be silly; it’s just for tonight. Besides, all these clothes do is sit and gather dust anyway. He would’ve wanted them to go to good use.” You don’t say anything, only moving forward to pull her into your arms before pressing your words into her shoulder, unsure if she will even be able to catch them.

“I miss him.”

“I do, too.”

She is kind enough to alert Treech to the need for his presence in your room, and with her disappearance comes his arrival, stepping timidly across the threshold as though entering a sacred space. 

“It’s not a museum; you’re welcome to move around,” you chuckle, barely looking up from the bed. When you finally do draw your gaze away from what’s been set out for him, you note he is taking in the drawings on your wall, hand outstretched, as though it is itching to trace the lines of each design. You clear your throat.

“Sorry,” he nearly jumps at the sound, though he appears to have been reminded of something, reaching into his coat and dipping a hand into an apparently hidden pocket. “I just remembered I have something for you.”

The wrapping is plain, and you recognize the paper from the butcher’s shop, but each corner is folded carefully by hand with only the subtle imperfections indicating that he has likely completed the project himself. You take a seat on your bed, careful to avoid the clothing spread across your quilt before tearing into it. You blink in surprise at the contents, nearly confused at the book in your hands. It is beautiful, bound in leather, thick and heavy. But it is not until you open it that you process the true weight of the gift, each page just as blank as the last.

“I figured it would be nice not to have to draw on butcher paper anymore.”

“It’s– I– Thank you.” You pull a quick hand across your tear line, eradicating any evidence of a more emotional reaction before swallowing hard and looking away. Friends. You are trying to be friends. 

“Uhm, I laid these out for you,” you say, standing to indicate the clothes your mother had brought in. You swallow any stories about your father, unprepared to be quite so vulnerable yet.

“Do I get a hat?” Treech asks, and you let out a laugh, real and warm.

“Do you want a hat?”

“I wanna look like a real cowboy.” Your mind flits back to that first conversation. The smile on his face tells you his does, too.

“You can wear my hat.” And he doesn’t have to know what it means. Still, Fawn sends you a knowing smirk on your way out the door, and even Lennox allows a curious gaze or two to pass over the addition of your accessory to his outfit. Yours. Yours. Yours.

The barn in the back of City Hall is crowded when you arrive, with most being relieved of their work early in favor of seeing the Victory Tour pass through. There are, of course, formalities to begin the affair, the mayor makes a speech, and Calpurnia, although initially shocked by your presence, brings you up on stage with Treech and Maple to make the ‘welcome statement’ you’d been meant to deliver this morning. Still, after all the fuss is over and the lot of you clear the way for the band, the atmosphere seems to settle into excitement typical for nights when the Dance Hall opens up.

You make your best attempt at teaching the two victors from 7 several easy steps, and though Maple seems to catch on with relative ease, it is not long before the shadow of frustration casts itself over Treech’s features, incapable of keeping up. It is only then you offer to take a break, though the opportunity is quickly lost with the appearance of Lennox who is determined to take over your attempts at tutoring your old friend.

“You’re just not explaining it right,” he says gruffly, skirting quickly around your legs to take his place between Treech and Maple.

“Oh? Is that right. Well then they’re all yours,” you relinquish, casting both hands up in surrender before shooting Treech an apologetic glance. His eyes only grow wider with fear upon taking in the speed at which Lennox is talking, the pace of his feet nearly matching that of his mouth. Back at the table you had claimed before, Fawn remains seated, your mother having disappeared to chat with several of the other women from work while your younger sister picks gloomily at the vegetables that some well-meaning friend of the family had heaped onto her plate without asking.

“Aren’t you a bit old to still be playing with your food?” Still, she does little to acknowledge your comment, instead staring past you, and a glance over your shoulder confirms she is looking directly at Treech.

“You still love him, don’t you?” The question nearly has you jumping out of your skin. Still, you elect to avoid any direct sort of answer, because the truth is, you aren’t sure.

“How would you know?”

“I’m your sister. I know you better than I know myself,” Fawn does look at you now, with those big brown eyes, just like your father’s. And you look away. Look at Treech. At the slow, anxious smile he wears trying to follow Lennox’s fast-paced teachings. At Maple two feet behind him attempting to swallow a laugh. You’re not sure you’ve ever seen him so rattled.

“Yeah. I do.” And really you always have, but the moment it passes your lips, there is no taking it back.

“Well, was it worth it?” Fawn presses.

“What?” You ask in return.

“Whatever reason he had for breaking your heart all those years ago?” You think back to this morning. And I spent these last four years pushing you away, praying it would be enough to keep you safe. Keep you safe. Had he? You’re still unsure.

“He seems to think so.” 

“And you don’t?” Fawn lifts a single brow in question, always so adept in peeling back the layers you press on to conceal the truth.

“I think he was doing what he thought he had to in order to protect me.”

“And is that a bad thing?” You aren’t sure if you’ve thought about that before, so focused on the anger and frustration at time lost for a plan you cared little to acknowledge as worthwhile that you forgot to consider the weight of his intention.

“No, but he lied to me to do it. Purposefully kept me in the dark about things and pushed me away. How am I supposed to trust someone who does things like that?”

“But he told you the truth eventually, right?” You are almost arguing just to argue. Determined to be right. To be acknowledged as right.

“Well, yes, but–”

“All I’m saying is, I haven’t seen you look after yourself since Dad died. So maybe having someone to take care of you wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world.” This time, you are quiet and when Fawn looks to you for some sign that she should continue, you only manage a nod. 

“Look, I don’t know what it’s like for you out there, but I know things are a hell of a lot different. And I also know that you’re not very good at playing games–” The hair on your neck prickles with indignation.

“What the fu–”

“Stop. I’m being serious. You’re blunt and emotional and a terrible liar.” You could just about wring her neck.

“Careful, I think you might be about to say something nice about me–” She only presses on, leveling you with a cool and even stare.

“But this guy, he seems like he gets it. Like he knows the right things to say and do. And he looks at you like you hung the moon and the stars. And if he thinks he did what he had to, well then I’d trust his gut before I’d trust yours.” Your mouth opens and closes several times before any singular thought is given the opportunity to fully formulate and you can only gape, because suddenly Fawn seems so old and you’re not quite sure how you managed to miss it. Not quite sure when you looked away and the old Fawn, squealing and pigtailed got up and disappeared.

“Fawn I–” You are interrupted, of course you are interrupted. Still the resentment is incapable of running deep on a night like this, especially when the distraction looming over your shoulder has the prettiest smile you’ve ever seen.

“I was thinking maybe I could steal a dance from you?” Treech extends a hand in your direction and you tilt your head in question before noting the relaxed sway of the dancefloor’s current occupants as a slow tune rings out around you.

“I would–”

“Actually, I get the next dance,” Fawn cuts in, quickly abandoning her now cold leftovers in favor of catching the man by the wrist and tugging him away from you.

“Fawn–” You nearly choke in surprise.

“What? Just because you okayed him doesn’t mean I’m not still gonna grill the fuck out of him.”

It is much later when Treech finds you again, Lennox’s slumped form curled up in your lap, his head resting easy on your shoulder. By now, it has long since been time to go, but Fawn had insisted on putting the poor lumberjack through the wringer of a myriad of line dances, leaving him flushed with embarrassment and itching for an escape.

“Not so fast, pretty boy; I still haven’t gotten that dance you promised me.” 

The barn is all but cleared out now with most of the stragglers getting ready to go and even the band starting to pack up, but a single nod from you to the woman with the fiddle has her pulling the instrument from its case once more with a smile and striking up a slow tune. You turn to your mother deep in conversation with an old man you recognize from the ranch and unload your brother into her arms with practiced ease, before lacing your hand with Treech’s and pulling him to the center of the floor. 

“Should I waltz, or–” His hand wraps itself around your waist, eyes immediately falling to the ground. 

“Relax. It’s just us. You have to stop thinking so hard. Just listen to the music and look at me. Your feet will do the rest of the work I promise you.” He takes a deep breath and you squeeze the hand holding yours, subtly encouraging him to loosen up. Eventually, it works, and the beginnings of a grin crack through the mask of nerves.

“You’re smiling. I thought you hated dancing.”

“It’s easier with you. Everything is easier with you.”

The tune is an old one, soft and sad. You can recall your father humming it to himself after a long day’s work, perhaps that is why you know the song has only just reached its halfway point when your mother calls out, letting you know it’s time to go.

It is later that night when you finish your dance, drunk in your kitchen, two pairs of clumsy feet trampling all over one another. Between the two of you, you manage to down a quarter of your mother’s contraband bottle of whisky before making your best attempts at sketching one another out on the brand new pages of your sketchbook. Treech only manages a crude drawing of your face, echoing the skill level of a child and though your sketch does little justice to the talent you boast sober, you sit, feet draped across his lap and quiet giggles passing your lips, copying down every aspect of his face. Hoping to etch the memory of it into your mind aswell, his curls a messy halo, his cheeks flushed with the liquor’s effects. Beautiful, you think absently.

“What?” Treech’s eyes shoot up to meet yours brow arching in a question, but the lazy smile on his face betrays the fact that he’s heard you, and you fight the urge to shrink away with embarrassment.

“I–”

“I think you’re beautiful too. Always did. That’s why I remembered your hat, you know? From your Games? It was the only time I’ve ever had to stop like that. Like nothing else in the world mattered except looking at you.” The confession slips happy and slurred from his mouth, though he follows it with a quick dip of his head which does little to conceal the blush that has now spread to his ears.

“I called you pretty the first night we met,” you share, hoping to ease his discomfort.

“I know. I heard you that time too.” And that smile has returned, and you’re certain it could provide you with enough warmth to survive every winter for the rest of your life.

“You little shit.” And you laugh, and that kitchen in the Victor’s Village, that has always felt to big, fits just right. For one moment. One blissful moment.

“I’m leaving.” The knock at your bedroom door had come as a bit of a surprise and, you won’t lie, with the added bonus of your hangover a nuisance of sorts. It was early, the hands on your clock indicating the time to be several minutes past 5:00 am, still your best efforts at ignorance did little in the way of driving your unwanted guest away, so you’d risen, groggy and half unsure of your footing only to find Treech, poised to knock again on the other side.

“Well, I hate to break it to you, but this isn’t the train station,” you groan eyes only just beginning to peel open, but upon allowing the light to break through, you note the desperation contorting his features and that alone is enough to pull you from the maw of sleep.

“I can’t say goodbye to you in front of all those people.”

“Why not?” You know why not.

“You know why not.” Still, you’d promised just friends, and not amount of drunk waltzes in your kitchen or late night sketch sessions with his hair brushing your cheek as he propped his chin on your shoulder to watch could change that. You offer stiff handshake, palm extended in search of his.

“Friends?” Treech blinks, slowly. Once. Twice. His hand slides perfectly into your own, fingers wrapping gently around your skin still warm with sleep.

“Friends.” But then a minute passes, and there is his hand, still in yours. And there are all those thoughts you’ve been working so hard to suppress. And he is pulling away, mumbling something about getting going, but your grip just won’t relent, eyes beginning to pool with inexplicable tears before you tug him closer. So fast. Too fast maybe. 

You are nose to nose and he blinks steadily in return, though his breath comes out labored and heavy. 

“I don’t want–” You look down, your hair invading all pretense of personal space as you lean forward into him, eyes fixed on the floor. His grip on your hand tightens.

“I don’t wanna be your friend.”

“I don’t wanna be your friend either.” And when you lift your head, it is as though he is drinking you in for the very first time, studying a face that has somehow become lost to him, before his hand drops yours and moves to grip at your waist, pulling you close and his eyes drop down to your lips, almost closing entirely. Still, he waits, just as he always has, for you. And when you give in, you do give in, it is bliss, his mouth on yours once more, arms tightening against your form, rendering you inseparable. Nearly inseparable. 

“Your breath stinks.” Treech pulls back, a grimace lighting his features and you instantly recoil in embarrassment, hand flying from its place on his neck to cover your mouth. You squirm in his arms, attempting to free yourself from the scrutiny, but he only tightens his hold on you, letting out a low laugh before dipping to trail several kisses down your neck. You elect to bring both hands to your face instead, obscuring your visage entirely.

“Sorry about that, my asshole ex woke me up without warning.” He expels a sharp gust of air against your shoulder, an indicator he finds this situation all too charming before shifting his tone to fake indignance.

“I thought we were friends?”

“Friends don’t usually taste eachothers morning breath, but maybe that’s just my opinion.”

And he mumbles something low and indecipherable into your hair, pressing additional kisses into the mess. Something that sounds like I love you. And in the dull silence of those quiet morning hours, the beat of your heart sounds exactly the same.

Treech has been gone for two weeks when the letter comes. There isn’t even a stamp in the corner. Just an envelope with your name on it and a single piece of paper tucked inside with an address printed in neat lettering across the page. Beneath it, someone has scribbled down a time and date as though that information was some sort of afterthought. Your stomach drops immediately upon opening it, and you are quick to assume the worst. That they saw you with Treech, in your own home. Of course. Snow would have to be some sort of idiot not to have cameras planted in the newly constructed Victor’s Village.

The letter is from the Capitol. That much you can be sure of. The heavy feeling of the cardstock between your fingers is enough to signal the mail has emerged from a place of luxury: the best most people could find in 10 is old butcher paper. Still, perhaps you are wrong. You remember the feeling of Treech’s letter to you from 7, along with a scrawled comment about how being in charge of paper production had its benefits. You remember the sketchbook he’d left you with less than a month ago. Your heart feels lighter, if only for a moment.

But you know Treech’s handwriting like the back of your hand, the boyish charm to his messy lettering and rushed sentences. Besides, everything that came from him smelled of cedar and arrived veiled in a thin layer of sawdust. You liked to imagine sometimes he wrote to you from the same desk where he sat hard at work, carving whistles in the shapes of birds for his little sisters.

No. This letter was different. Drenched in the stink of expensive cologne with ink that appeared dark and smudged in certain places, too wet to be from the cheap pens you know most Districts keep on hand.

Your chest bundles with nerves, remaining tight and suffocating until the very moment of the meeting arrives, the address bringing you to an old ranch most had believed to be unoccupied for some time. You take a steadying breath as you raise your fist to the door but find no time to knock as it swings open, revealing a familiar figure. Hilarius Heavensbee in the flesh.

“Oh good, you’re here. Come in; I have a proposition for you.”

[fertabranche]

Trying to list off the r1999 references I can find.

I’m only doing the very beginning in this post so I think it’s a lot of things people already know, but if I don’t do this in order I will simply perish so here we go

Prologue : This is Tomorrow

Part One : Rock 'n' Roll Radio

• This Is Tomorrow

The prologue title is a reference to a contemporary art exhibition that took place in 1956. From what I understand, its purpose was to update the definition of art by challenging the prejudices of the institutions of the time, for instance by using pop culture symbols, this kind of stuff. It would later be regarded as the precursor of the British Pop Art movement, one of the main aesthetic movements of the 60s, which is therefore also relevant in the prologue.

I’ve already written a post about this, but I feel like this title choice is more than an artistic reference, it also makes sense thematically. Later on in the chapter, the Sixties are described as such:

Thanks to our 20/20 hindsight vision we know this is meant to be read in a tragic irony kind of way. The title reads the same to me: there will never be a tomorrow long enough for progress to take root in a world where the Storm is still raging, and in that sense the game began painting that picture here.

• Rock 'n' Roll Radio

This is the title of the prologue's first part. I think it’s named after the song "Do You Remember Rock 'n' Roll Radio?" (1980) by the Ramones. From what I understand, it’s as much of a love letter to rock music from the era Regulus was from as it is a warning about the threat nostalgia can pose to creativity.

Once again, it kind of reads as tragic irony given how it’s the second time they’ve been in the 60s. This is worse than nostalgia they’re literally stuck in the past lmao.

The Great Gatsby

Now that the titles are out of the way: the story opens up with the last lines from The Great Gatsby by F. Scott Fitzgerald. The game does not include the first sentence of the quote, but I’ve chosen to use a slightly longer version here because that’s how it makes the most sense to me.

Gatsby believed in the green light, the orgastic future that year by year recedes before us. It eluded us then, but that's no matter-tomorrow we will run faster, stretch out our arms farther.... And one fine morning——

So we beat on, boats against the current, borne back ceaselessly into the past.

I have not read the book, so I’m not fully confident trying to analyze it, but from what I understand, the green light is a motif throughout the novel that symbolizes longing. (Or the American Dream, but I don’t think that line of interpretation is terribly relevant in the prologue.)

To be super brief and include as little spoilers as possible, the book tells the story of a man named Gatsby, who grew up in poverty and decided to reinvent himself as a rich man in hope of winning back over a woman he once loved. Though he is known to throw lavish parties, one of the key points of the novel is apparently when the narrator finds him outside of one, staring across the bay at a green light coming from the end of that woman’s deck. This obsession eventually ends in tragedy.

As highlighted in the end quote, this is the story of a man forever stuck in the present, between a past he can never forget nor escape, and an illusionary future he can never quite reach. Just like with the other two references, I think R1999 is quoting this half literally, since the characters share similar issues with the flow of time, but like, for real this time.

What I do find interesting here is that from what I could research, I don’t think the quote is meant to be read as a wholly nihilistic take on the purpose of the human condition? There’s also a little bit of an implied admiration for the resilience synonymous with such cyclicality.

And I do find that sense of neutrality kind of accurate to the vibe of the game? Life sucks, but they beat on quite beautifully, don’t they? :,)

Newton Street

Granted this one may be a reach, but I do find it a little too convenient that we meet Mr.Apple on Newton Street of all places. I could write an entire other post on the references to Isaac Newton in his profile, but since that aspect of his character has never been discussed in the main story, I don’t think it’s relevant here.

Regulus’ Record Collection

In the first part, we get two peeks into her record collection. I don’t think they are all meant to be real records, and it’s kind of way too pixelated to see anyway, but I’m pretty sure I see Please Please Me (1963) and perhaps Rubber Soul (1965) by the Beatles on the right side of her office, though I might just be losing it from staring at pixels for too long.

On the wall of the other picture, I think there’s Please Please Me again, My Generation (1965) by The Who, December’s Children (1965) by The Rolling Stones, and potentially an upside down Aladdin Sane by David Bowie even though it was only released in 1973?

If anyone has caught more, I’d be super interested to know :]

Sixties Fashion

Another area I’m definitely not an expert in, so take everything with a grain of salt but I unfortunately cannot shut my mouth.

Idk how much I should source this, but basically, Regulus’ clothes are super inspired by the fashion trends of the Sixties. For example, from what I’ve read, one of the most popular looks of the era for women was what was apparently called a mini dress with "go go boots" (low heeled mid calf white boots), which is pretty much what she’s wearing right? Similarly, the 60s were apparently the era where sunglasses truly became fashion accessories, as it’s when plastic became more mainstream to use than metal, which allowed a lot more freedom of design.

I also read a bunch of articles to try to see if her accessories had any historical significance: this article on chiffon scarves throughout history explains they were mainly used in the 60s to "coordinate with an outfit", but could have bold prints, just like hers does. This one on knee high socks in the 60s, says that they apparently became quite popular because of the mini dresses, in order to still provide coverage. This one was about the newsboy cap, which was apparently very trendy amongst young women back then. And finally, this one explains that backpacks became popular among young people in the sixties, as it’s around when they were modernized for day to day use by becoming smaller and lighter.

I did fail to identify what kind of jackets she is wearing though, it kind of looks like some kind of motorbike jacket on the left and perhaps a type of rain coat on the right? In which case, both were popular at the time as motorbikes were an integral part of the counter culture of the era, and raincoats were apparently a fashion trend for women back then.

Radio Pirate

I feel like this is a pretty well known fact by now but I’m including it in order to be thorough: there is a historical reason as to why Regulus is calling herself a pirate.

In the Sixties, the growing interest for pop and rock music was not catered to by the official radio stations just yet, so what we call "pirate radios" started broadcasting it from offshore ships. This was technically not illegal as they were in international waters, but was still kind of frowned upon because they didn’t observe copyrights law and stuff like that?

And that’s exactly what Regulus is doing when the Manus attacks her in the prologue.

Okay that’s it for this part. I’ll cover part 2 in another post if I have the energy, hope I didn’t make mistakes o777

[fushiglow]

a short fic for the prompt: gojo, megumi + last embrace

i wrote this yesterday so i'm hoping the fortuitous timing is a good omen. time to bring this baby boy home 🖤

thank you for enabling my angsty ass, @miidnightzone, i really enjoyed writing this — hope it hits the spot for you too! i really ran away with this one. it's about 1.5k words and i'm quite proud of what i achieved with it, so i might upload it to my ao3 at some point. we'll see!!

content warning: angst

‘I’m sorry, I don’t know what happened, I’m sor—’ ‘It’s alright, Tsumiki.’ The girl was near hysterical — and who could blame her when her eight year old brother had disappeared in the middle of the night wearing only his Keroppi pyjamas? Satoru pinched the bridge of his nose in a fruitless attempt to quell the pain behind his eyes. It had been a big jump — probably the longest distance he’d ever attempted to teleport in a single leap — but when the children’s nanny had called in the early hours of the morning using the number dedicated for emergencies, he’d had little choice but to make it. ‘You didn’t do anything wrong.’ Satoru smiled at Tsumiki in a way he hoped was reassuring. It felt more like a grimace to him. ‘So there’s no need to apologise, is there?’ Cheeks shining with tears, the little girl took a great shuddering breath. Then, faster than Satoru could blink, she stopped crying— —and a pleasant smile found its home on her features instead. It was downright disturbing. Not for the first time, Satoru wondered where Tsumiki had learned such behaviours; how he was supposed to make himself feel safe to the child. ‘Tuck yourself back into bed,’ he said, as softly as he could manage. ‘By the time you wake up in the morning, Megumi will be home safe and sound. Alright?’ Tsumiki gave a tight nod, but hesitated when the children’s nanny placed a hand on her shoulder. Fingers fisting into her pyjama top, she looked at Satoru with wide glassy eyes, searching for something he wasn’t sure he could give her. The Fushiguro siblings were particular about physical contact, starved of it and yet reluctant to seek it out for themselves. Megumi would scratch and hiss if Satoru even dared to ruffle his hair, but Tsumiki seemed to yearn for it even if she didn’t know how to ask for it. The problem was, Satoru didn’t know how to offer it either. These days, he barely even knew how to exist around other humans without Infinity, let alone how to comfort a child with tender affection — how to cradle a small body to his chest and whisper soothing reassurances and make himself soft and warm and safe. Satoru didn’t know how to be a home, but he could track cursed energy better than anyone else. Offering Tsumiki one last grimace, the man with the Six Eyes made himself useful the only way he knew how.

The children’s nanny had been worried about kidnappings — Zen’in sneaking into the compound or something equally ridiculous — but Satoru thought it much more likely that Megumi’s disappearance was related to the little green frogs adorning his pyjamas. Dimly, he realised it probably should have aroused his suspicion when Megumi took a sudden interest in the character after learning about the Ten Shadows. Rather, after Satoru had taught him about the Ten Shadows. Shaking fears of the worst from his head, he searched with renewed focus. Not that it was hard to follow the trail of an eight year old with poor control over his cursed energy. Megumi's residuals were all over the place, tracking all the way — as expected — to the edges of the Gojō estate and beyond. Even without the Six Eyes, it was easy enough to find the boy in the light of the full moon. When he did, however, Satoru needed a moment to piece together what exactly he was looking at. Traces of Megumi’s technique were everywhere, a blot of haphazard shadows over the terrain — like one of the finger paintings he’d brought home from school — but there was no sign of a struggle with a curse. No sign of anyone else either. Only the unique residuals of shadow shikigami. Perhaps the most telling evidence of what had happened, however, was Megumi himself. There were no visible injuries on the boy, save for the dried blood trickling from his left nostril. As Satoru suspected, then. He crouched down next to the boy sprawled out in the dirt, taking in the slow rise and fall of his chest. It was exhaustion, plain and simple, but it was still shocking to see Megumi in that state. What had possessed him to sneak out in the middle of the night and tackle the challenge unaided was beyond Satoru. ‘Does it bother you that much to rely on me?’ he wondered aloud. The response came in the twitch of a nose. Opening one bleary green eye then another, Megumi blinked up at Satoru with a disgruntled expression on his face. All at once, he seemed to recognise the man. ‘Gojō.’ No honorific. He really was out of it then. ‘Look.’ Megumi elaborated no further. Instead, with monumental effort, he raised two trembling hands to touch the tips of his thumbs and forefingers together. Finally, he mumbled the command. ‘Gama.’ Summoned from the shadows — strong in the light of the full moon — a tiny frog sprang forth. Something strange swelled in Satoru’s chest. The feeling caught in his throat, escaping as a gasp rather than the shout of excitement it felt like it wanted to become. He watched the creature hop once, twice. It gave a weak croak before immediately dissipating, bleeding back into the shadows. When he looked at the little boy again, Satoru was smiling. What was truly miraculous, however, was the fact that Megumi was smiling too. It was just a tiny upwards curve of the lips — barely even enough to qualify as a smile — but it was something Satoru had never seen on the boy before. It faltered when the nosebleed started up again.

Megumi had pushed himself too far — or perhaps exactly far enough. Though his cursed energy reserves were well and truly depleted, the fact that he’d managed to summon the frog at all spoke of his growth. Not for the first time, Satoru felt a rush of anticipation for the sorcerer that Megumi would one day become. Strong enough to stand with Satoru. Not just strong either. Yaga would probably scold Satoru for praising Megumi and then scold Megumi for good measure, but Satoru couldn’t help feeling impressed by the tactical intellect the boy had already shown at such a young age. His potential was boundless. ‘Full moon, huh? Smart kid.’ Megumi merely grumbled in response. Looking at the boy, barely able to raise his head off the ground, Satoru understood what was about to happen. It didn’t stop him from asking the question, just in case. ‘Any chance you can stand up?’ When Megumi didn’t even turn to look at him with that dead-eyed stare of his, Satoru sighed, giving in to the inevitable. He reached out, hands hovering over the boy before he snatched them back, hesitating. He didn’t know how to do this. ‘Megumi, I’m going to carry you. Is that alright?’ No response. Satoru swallowed, tentatively reaching out again. ‘I’m going to touch you now, okay?’ The boy didn’t say yes, but he didn’t say no either. Setting his jaw, Satoru slid his hands under the little body on the ground. Despite the fact that Megumi was as limp as a rag doll, Satoru found it surprisingly easy to hoist him into his arms. Whether that was because the boy was particularly light for his age or simply because Satoru had never held a child before, he didn’t know. When he got to his feet, a head of wild black hair dropped onto his shoulder and Satoru's stomach gave a strange lurch in response. He felt stiff, awkward, with one hand tucked under Megumi’s thighs and the other hovering uselessly at his back. He even started to panic a little. Because as the moment stretched on and Satoru found himself frozen in place still, it started to become painfully clear that he wasn’t built for this. No, Gojō Satoru was built for blowing things up and crushing things down and sometimes doing both things at the same time. The fingers suspended at the place over the boy’s heart were the same fingers capable of levelling an entire city. They were weapons. Could they really be trusted to hold this little life?

Megumi probably didn’t know what he was doing when he reached around Satoru’s neck, clutching at the uniform on his back with small fists. He was probably delirious with exhaustion — probably hallucinating that he was in the arms of his father, perish the thought. Still, Satoru found that it settled him all the same. The weight of that small body pressed against his suddenly felt like a comfort — because he'd almost forgotten that hugs were warm. He let his fingers fall onto the boy’s back and pulled him in close. — It was the first and last time Satoru held Megumi. The only time — because this? The body of a boy he loves in his embrace, strong and tall and brimming with power? This isn’t Megumi. It feels like him, looks like him, sounds like him — but Satoru has been deceived by a devil wearing someone else’s skin before. There are no little hands grabbing at his back, no soft black curls tucked into his neck. The shadows scattered across the ruined landscape are unfamiliar. This isn’t Megumi. The man with the Six Eyes makes himself useful the only way he knows how. Gojō Satoru falls back and raises his weapon.

if you wanna submit a prompt or request, head over to my retrospring — make sure to read the guidelines first!

[4ce-of-2pades]

I see you're into PJO. If you had to assign yourself and your mutuals a Greek/Roman God/Goddess, who would it be and why?

(Mutuals, don’t feel left out if I… leave you out. This is just who I happened to get ideas for.)

Myself: My instinct is to answer Hephaestus, because he’s really cool and I love steampunk, or Hecate, because magic is awesome, or even Apollo, because I’m both an artist and a singer. But I think I’d be a/be a demigod of a wind god. For starters, my moods often shift quickly and dramatically enough, but I love the wind itself, and will always say so aloud whenever it’s windy. Wind fills me with life, the way touching water energizes Percy. Plus, I really really want to be able to fly, Jason-style. (I had a very vivid dream as a kid that I did fly once, and I believed it for years. Perfect backstory.)

@lexiconic-light: I associate you with Hestia, ‘cause you’ve got that same kind, welcoming personality. If we’re talking demigods though, Hestia doesn’t have kids, so maybe you’d be a plant nymph or a child of Demeter, because you have a lot of plants and take care of them very well. Or maybe a child of Calliope, because of your writing and love of stories.

@many-gay-magpies: Either somebody artsy, or somebody nature-ey. One of the Muses, Demeter, a nymph, a satyr, etc. Though I also get Hecate vibes from you, so maybe her. You’re mysterious and magic-y. And you like birds. And draw/paint really freaking well. Something along those lines. I feel like I’m missing some obvious connection.

@disneyautistic: Maybe it’s just because you were really into Pirates of the Caribbean the last time we saw each other, but I diagnose you with Posideon. You’d decorate everything with shells and bits of sea glass, and paint ocean creatures on your walls, and wear a sea captain’s coat everywhere. Plus, I think you’d enjoy shapeshifting powers, if you could have them (I know it’s rare for Poseidon demigods, but you never know).

@linklog: Based purely on vibes, I assign you Hermes. No solid evidence for that, I just think you have a good personality for a trickster. Or maybe you’d embody the theatrical side of Apollo or Dionysus. Is there a Greek god of fashion and cosplay? Because I’ve always admired the creativity of your outfits.

@whosectype: Both Hecate and something nature-ey, no question. Maybe a satyr that is also a student of Hecate, learning magic like Hazel was? You’d cast dark spells involving bird bones and fungi and lots and lots of teeth, to increase the growth of moss or make something rot faster. You’d draw your spell-circles-on-the-floor™ in fresh mud. You’d enjoy being a little unnerving to the other satyrs, who prefer frolicking in sunlit fields to lurking in the shadowed areas of the forest and watching trees get overtaken by parasitic bugs.

@cupid-shortcake: Between your username and your pastel pink aesthetic, assigning you Cupid or Aphrodite seems like such an easy answer that it can’t possibly be right. I think it actually works though. On one hand, you show a lot of love and kindness to your friends, lifting them up and making them feel supported and appreciated. But you’ve also got that evil streak where you’ll make an endless series of terrible things happen to your characters because it makes a better story (as most writers do). If you applied that evil streak to real people’s lives and relationships, then you’d make an excellent Greek goddess of love.

(Actually, I think assigning the whole @cupheadocscasino crew gods from the Greek pantheon would make a REALLY COOL AU. I just don’t have ideas for all fifteen, and the characters themselves would probably be different gods than their creators would, so even the three here aren’t set in stone.)

[noteguk]

24. Summer Camp + 29. 7 minutes in Heaven/Never Have I ever/Truth or Dare 🫶

Starring: Jungkook + OC 🫂

Genre: Fluffy time turned thiller!! 🫣

These are so cute together!! And I like the thriller twist ohohohoho

— contents and warnings; drinking, truth or dare, mentions of death/murder

You were pretty sure that Jungkook’s eyes couldn’t even look at the same spot anymore. His cheeks were painted by a vague shade of red and he would sniff every three seconds, slender fingers playing with his empty bottle. When you agreed to play truth or dare, you didn’t think he would be drunk enough to insist on spinning the bottle even if it was only the two of you playing. But there you were.

“It’s me again,” he says as the bottle stops on him. “Ask me.”

You groaned, leaning back against your hands. It was probably two in the morning by now, and the novelty of sneaking into the abandoned barn of the camp just wasn’t doing it for you anymore. You needed a comfortable bed and a good night of sleep. “Seriously, you’re not tired?” You asked. “We have to be up at seven to greet those little demons’ parents.”

“Pick up day is the best day, it always has to be eventful,” he speaks as if he’s thinking out loud. Probably is. “Ask me. I want truth.”

“Fine.” You sigh, looking around the dark room as if it would gift you with any semblance of an idea. Nothing came up, so you decided to return to the previous game lore. “When you dared me to kiss you earlier, did you think of doing that before? Kissing me, that is.”

You didn’t even need to see the sly smirk that curled up in his face for you to have your answer. It was obvious: Jungkook has been eyeing you all summer, especially when your camp shirt got all wet from the lake activities. If you two weren’t surrounded by kids, you were sure he would’ve made a move by now — not that you would complain, Jungkook was the definition of a hottie.

“Yes,” he finally answered. The bottle scratched against the old wooden floor as it spun, landing on you. “Truth or dare?”

You yawned. “Truth. The less effort the better.”

“Are you scared of being alone with me?”

Confused, you took a second to take that in. What a weird thing to say, you thought, followed by the notion that, yeah, maybe the situation was very prone to fear. The barn, as previously stated, was abandoned and about fifteen minutes from the main camp. Everyone was asleep, even the other counselors. And you knew Jungkook for, what, three weeks? If he decided to hurt you, there was no way you could overpower him or call for help.

The newfound realization made your heart rate pick up. “Should I be scared?” You asked, trying to make the situation lighter. He only smiled, which didn’t help at all. “Uh… I think this place is a little creepy, yeah. But I’m not scared of you.”

“Why?” Jungkook sounded awfully sober now.

You blinked. “Because I trust you.”

“Do you trust everyone you know?”

Now, you were really starting to feel off. Under the pale light from the moon, his face was distorted and evil, as if he was waiting for you to run just so he could chase you.

Before you could answer, he spun the bottle again, landing on you. “Truth or dare?” He asked.

“Truth,” you spoke faster than you’d like.

“Do you remember the lake murders that happened last year? The three counselors found in the lake,” Jungkook asked. You nodded. “That wasn’t your question. Weren’t you scared to come here? I was here last year. That’s why I came back. They never caught the guy who did it.”

You swallowed dry. His sentences were so disconnected, it was like he was trying so say everything at once. “They never knew the killer’s gender,” you deflected.

“No, but it’s the most likely. Statistically,” Jungkook argued. There was a thick knot in your throat you couldn’t swallow down, heart beating fast against your chest. At the same time you were on edge, you were frozen in place.

“I don’t know where you’re trying to get at,” you said. “Jungkook, I really think we should go to bed…”

“I think you know exactly what I’m saying.” The bottle spun again. It landed on him. Suddenly, you noticed the absent weight of you phone. The barn keys had also left your back pocket. “Say it.”

You felt dizzy. “Truth or dare.”

He smiled. “Truth.”

“Was it you? Who killed those counselors?”

[1d1195]

I LITERALLY SPENT ALL DAY READING HONEY DURING ALL MY FREE TIME AND UGHHHH☹️🫶🫶🫶🫶 THEYRE SOOOOO CUTE my goodness when he went down in the towel, PLS SHES SO MUCH STRONGER THAN ME I WOULDVE FOLDED FASTER THAN A LAWN CHAIR✋

I WAS SO SCARED THEY WERE GOING TO TAKE BABY CECE🥺 but MC was too smart for them so ofc not. THE HALLUCINATING ??? AND HIM BEING THE REASON SHE GOT OUT ???😭😭😭 GOSH i can imagine her telling him that after some time and he just…. bawls. because that is SO precious. AND HOW SHE KNEW IN SOME WAY THAT HE WAS CLOSE BY UGHHHH

IM PRETTY SURE I GOT THAT PAPER KITES SONG RECOMMENDED TO ME ON APPLE MUSIC BECAUSE OF PAINT AND HOW MUCH IVE LISTENED TO IT SINCE U SENT IT SO I KNEW I HAD TO SHARE, SO GLAD YOU LIKED IT <3333

(i know EXACTLYYYY what you mean. like, i can love a song and listen to it all the time but the second i hear something too much on the radio its just…no. HAHAHA. ALSOOOO THERE IS DEF SOMETHING ABT HIS SONG LET IT GO BECAUSE I WENT THROUGH THE SAME THING)

honestly i don’t even know, everyone is probably so done with me and my bs. i don’t want to sound ungrateful because things are so awesome but i just have NOT been feeling myself here at all. i don’t want to go out anywhere or see anybody, im so done with being perceived😭 the people we know are just wayyy to judgy, talking to them is literally draining. i’m always soooo tired, for some reason my hormones are different here and i went through the. ABSOLUTE. WORST. PMS-ING. LIKE… TERRIBLE. and things with my dad are :/// (when are they not though pfftt) i feel like my days are the same?? the only thing that changes are my outfits but i have this weird feeling like my life is on pause when it should be the opposite. i’m feeling veryyyy nostalgic for fall-winter last year.

i LOVE enjoying the little things, it really does make your day-to-day life just a little better. shifting your closet is soooo cool girl, i feel like you just get to enjoy the different times of year more wholly, you know ? COFFEE HERE IS TERRIBLE IM SO JEALOUS I MISS MY DAILY ICED COFFEE😭😭 and gilmore girls is ALWAYS right🫶 i hope you find time to read soon, other than a fanfic here and there i haven’t been reading either, i brought a bunch of books with me that are literally just sitting on a shelf. BUT I 100% GET WHAT YOU MEAN ABOUT READING A CERTAIN PART OF A BOOK JUST TO FEEL SOMETHING, i am unfortunately VERY guilty of this😞🫣 wishing you and your book boyfriends a very happily ever after 😉 AHH NOT A WEDDING😭😭😭 HAHAHA i do hope you end up having a ton of fun tho. and is it just me, or is there always a certain, something in the air when it reaches this time of year?? just a different kind of craziness than the rest of the year.

you are an absolute sweetheart and I WANTED TO TELL YOU, MY SISTER ABSOLUTELY ADORED LOVE & OTHER WORDS. LIKE, SHE WAS OBSESSED WITH IT. and i was all “omg yeahhh a friend recommended it to me☺️😌” BECAUSE WE AREEE FRIENDS !!!

i think the ranting got a lil out of hand so i’m sorry about that but THANK YOU FOR BEING SO AWESOME AND FUN TO TALK TO, IM SENDING YOU ALLLLL THE LOVE, MWAHHHHH

~🎶

Ma'am you give me some of the best ideas for check-ins. MAKING HARRY BAWL HIS EYES OUT IS ONE OF MY FAVORITE PAST TIMES. She's way stronger than me, I would have pulled that towel clean off and had a different kind of breakfast.

Idk how many hours it's been but I haven't moved on from this Paper Kites song, I'll check back in when I move onto Gregory and James.

Things can be going well and you can still feel out of sorts. I really struggle with going out and being social. I have a pretty small social battery. Also dads are the worst more often than not. I'm convinced. My bf was telling my best friend some stories about some of my rage fits I've had in the past (they still happen but they're not as bad as of late) and I'll tell you exactly what (WHO) the common denominator was in each story. Are you still out of the country at this point? Will you be coming back home soon(ish)? I honestly feel like you're homesick, maybe? Being on pause is difficult. It adds to the drained feeling. Hopefully something changes so you can get back into the swing of things and start feeling less stuck 💕

My sister did a semester abroad in europe and I know europe specifically is weird about ice. Or maybe I'm just INSANE (obvi) because I love ice so much. I want my drink cold. I probs use more ice than liquid but I don't even care. ANYWAY. Upon reading more of your message, I kind of feel like you're going through iced coffee withdrawals and if you had one all your emotions would be cured (I hope you're reading this sarcastically because of course I'm joking because I know it's more than that, but I'm hoping you know what I mean). I'm almost certain coffee fixes everything.

Me and my book bfs will def live happily ever after. The -ber months are so busy. It's insane. There's def something in the air.

I LOVE THAT SHE LOVED IT AND OF COURSE WE'RE FRIENDS 💕 I sincerely think it's one of the best books I've ever read. I had an idea to write about Harry based off it. Maybe one day. It's lost to the drafts along with a 100 other things I want to write 😭

This is a ranting blog and there's no such thing as out of hand. I'm so happy to hear from you. I was missing you so much 💕

xoxo