#Ill never get a single game of theirs ever again

[nomtheburritos]

What the fuck Deck Nine?

"I'll be your faithful chauffeur and companion" "My powers might not last, Chloe." "That's okay. We will. FOREVER."

Sacrificing the entire Arcadia Bay, followed by "I'm never leaving you" from Chloe to Max.

TO LATER MAKE A GAME WHERE CHLOE AND MAX BREAK THE FUCK OFF BECAUSE *checks notes* Chloe's a free-spirit and they couldn't make it work?

D9 you're actually dead to me for this. What the fuck DID you get from the first game, you geniuses?

[britesparc]

Weekend Top Ten #576

Top Ten Years for Music

Yeah I’m doing it again, and this was the hardest one to do. Because generally speaking I don’t really associate music with the year it came out. Almost all of the time I come to it a lot later – which is why there are hardly any recent years on this list. I’ll probably be into a half-dozen songs from 2022 in fifteen years.

Music, to me, was always a background thing. I never had a desire to seek it out or find out what I was into in the same way I’ve always wanted to know more about film. And as such, when I became a bit older, I felt very out of touch and ill-informed by what music was around. The first CDs I ever bought were soundtrack albums because I just didn’t know what bands I liked, and by then I was also infected by the teenage need to like the right bands. What if I accidentally bought something by someone who wasn’t cool? Or if I mentioned liking them but then exposed how I only liked them because I liked that one song of theirs that was in a Curly Wurly ad or something?

Despite this, we’re still going to see a whole lot of nostalgia on this list. Is it always the case that the music that really resonates is the music you listen to in your teenage years? Even if – like me – you weren’t going to concerts or buying tons of CDs, the music permeates your social consciousness from the radio, from hearing it played in stores, from seeing the artists on TV, and from your friends talking about it. I didn’t own a Blur CD until 1999 and I don’t think I’ve owned one by Oasis, but I could have explained the broad strokes of their music and their rivalry back when Country House and Roll With It released in the same week. So it all sticks and it becomes part of your DNA, the soundtrack to whatever dumb crap you were doing at the time.

Anyway, enough wallowing in the Our Price of history: let’s just look at the years of my life that I thought had the best music. And, yes, this is the most subjective because I think of all things, maybe music is the most subjective? So it’s stuff I liked. You don’t like it? Get your own blog, they’re free!

1984: yes! Seriously! 1984 continues to be one of the best years of all time. If it’s not enough that films like Terminator and shows like Transformers and comics like Turtles all came out, you’ve got the debut albums of both Bon Jovi and Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds – I mean, come on. Queen’s The Works gave us songs like Radio Ga Ga and I Want to Break Free. Prince made Purple Rain. Springsteen released Born in the U.S.A., for cryin’ out loud! Dancing in the Dark, people! We had Spinal Tap! And speaking of movies, Ghostbusters! I mean, can you imagine? Flippin’ ‘eck, what a year.

1997: it’s tough to single out one year from the nineties, because there’s a period – ’93-’98 really – that’s just chock-full of absolute iconic bangers for me. But this is probably tip-top. We’ve got one of Nick Cave’s best, most soulful albums, in Boatman’s Call, which features possibly my favourite song – Into My Arms. Foo Fighters’ The Colour and the Shape, Radiohead’s OK Computer, Savage Garden’s, er, Savage Garden. Robbie Williams – love him or hate him – did release two of his best songs, Let Me Entertain You and Angels. And a personal favourite of mine was Del Amitri’s Don’t Come Home Too Soon, the best song ever about football.

2016: woah, we’re getting right up to date here! Can you believe it?! But it was a cracker, despite Trump and Brexit and everything else that was happening. Both Bowie and Leonard Cohen released their final albums, and in a way delivered their own epitaphs with Blackstar and especially You Want it Darker, the latter of which is an absolute masterpiece. “I’m leaving the table, I’m out of the game”, for goodness’ sake. If you really want it dark, Nick Cave’s Skeleton Tree was haunting beautiful but also a wail of absolute grief; “They told us our gods would outlive us but they lied”. Slightly cheerier was Foreverland by Divine Comedy, with its propulsive revolutionary undertones and superheroic love songs. And rocketing right to the other end of the scale from all the mournful ballads was Lonely Island’s soundtrack to Popstar: Never Stop Never Stopping. Is Finest Girl the funniest song of all time?

1996: yep, back to the nineties, and back to the Bad Seeds (Murder Ballads, which includes Cave’s famous duet with Kylie) and back to Divine Comedy (Casanova). Almost defnining my mid-teens, we had the Manics’ Everything Must Go and Spiders by Space, as well as the debut album from the Aquabats. Probably one of the most seminal releases – certainly for me at the time – was the soundtrack to Baz Luhrmann’s Romeo + Juliet, featuring possibly my favourite song of the year, the Cardigans’ Lovefool. What else? Well we had two other big debuts: the Spice Girls and Eminem. What more could you want?

1993: still in the nineties and it’s back to another perennial year for me: ’93, the year of Jurassic Park and, well, tons of other stuff. Check out m other lists. Anyway, musically we had Bat out of Hell 2, which was nice as I wasn’t born when the first one came out. He’d do anything for love, y’know, but he won’t do that. Radiohead’s Pablo Honey gave us Creep, my favourite of theirs, because I’m basic. Crash Test Dummies released Mmm Mmm Mmm Mmm, a weird delight. We also got 500 Miles, Loser by Beck, Insane in the Brain – which everyone my age was singing in 1993 – and sort of Whitney’s I Will Always Love You, which technically released at the end of ’92 but dominated the early part of the year and was ‘93’s biggest song.

1995: sticking with the mid-nineties and it’s another belter. Alright by Supergrass; These Days by Bon Jovi; the Foo Fighters’ eponymous debut; The Bends by Radiohead. I could go on. And I shall! One of my favourite albums, Different Class by Pulp, gave us some corking class-warfare ballads like Common People. And, yes, it was Britpop’s holy year, with the Blur/Oasis clash and the release of both What’s the Story (Morning Glory) and The Great Escape. Quite possibly my favourite song of the year – sorry, Jarvis – was Alanis Morrisette’s You Oughta Know from Jagged Little Pill, one hell of an angry tune and my generation’s equivalent to The Winner Takes it All. But with a bit more swearing.

1982: right back as far as we can go in my lifetime, really, and it all starts off so well. Madonna’s first album! Bloody hell! And Jacko’s Thriller! Scary stuff. That alone could get it rocketing up the charts, but we also have one of my favourite Bruce Springsteen songs, Highway Patrolman, even if (whisper it) I kinda prefer the Johnny Cash version. Also there was Iron Maiden’s Number of the Beast (spoiler alert: it’s 666), and Billy Joel’s Nylon Curtain, giving us tracks like Allentown and the phenomenal Goodnight Saigon. And – yes – Survivor’s Eye of the Tiger.

1998: another all-round classic year – Half-Life came out and I started going out with my wife – and the music wasn’t bad either. Space’s Tin Planet featured The Ballad of Tom Jones; we had Torn, Bittersweet Symphony, and You’re Still the One, just a bunch of stone-cold hits. Evanescence’s debt album provided turn-of-the-millennium action movies with great songs to cut scenes to. The Divine Comedy’s Fin de Siècle had some of the tracks that really drew my attention to the band. The hilarious One Week was a fast-paced good-natured highlight of a song, but let’s wrap up by lifting a glass to a genius movie ballad, Aerosmith’s I Don’t Want to Miss a Thing. I could stay awake just to hear them singing.

2002: another good year for Robbie, with probably – aw hell, definitely – his best album, Escapology, which has his two best songs (for me): Monsoon and Come Undone. Flight of the Conchords’ first album had so many all-time hilarious songs I don’t know where to begin. A Rush of Blood to the Head is my favourite Coldplay album, largely because of The Scientist. Avril Lavigne’s debut album was released, giving us both Complicated and Sk8ter Boi, and holy cats, can you get more millennial? But musically I have to say the year belongs to Johnny Cash and The Man Comes Around, an album full of incredible, emotional, resonant songs – including, of course, his cover of Hurt. 

1994: Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds’ Let Love In gave us a lot of tremendous songs (including the haunting and disturbing two-part Do You Love Me) but really it should be known most for Red Right Hand, one of the biggest and most important songs of my life (I first heard in The X-Files!). Also there’s Green Day’s Basket Case, Blur’s Parklife (in both cases the first albums I had from both bands), and the biggest song of the year, Wet Wet Wet’s Love is All Around. It really was everywhere I go in ’94. Sticking with movies for a bit, two of the best soundtracks of my life: Pulp Fiction and The Lion King. Yes, musicals absolutely do count; maybe I should have tried to look them up in a bit more detail. Too late now!

I very, very nearly had 2006 in there at the end instead of another nineties number, but despite a few good tracks that year I ultimately decided I was letting the sheer cosmic weight of Arctic Monkeys’ debut lift the year up too high. I’ve always tried to find a good balanced spread when doing this and not stick a year in there just because there’s one or even two things I like, and ultimately the epoch-shifting excellence of I Bet You Look Good on the Dancefloor was not enough to champion the whole year. But I’m mentioning it now, in dispatches, so to speak, because it’s still probably the most exciting and impressive debut of my life.

[potter-imagines]

Pre-Game Rituals (Fred Weasley)

Request: Hiya!! I was wondering if you could do an imagine with Fred. Where Ginny kind of idolises her like at hogwarts she’s always goes up to the reader and asks if she can do her hair for quidditch practice or something...

Pairing: Fred Weasley x Reader

Warnings: None

Word Count: 4.3k

The common room was dead with activity for a Saturday, although that was in large part due to the anticipated match up between Gryffindor and Slytherin tonight. You loved attending Quidditch games, especially seeing as most of your friends were on the Gryffindor team and you got to cheer them on alongside Hermione. Getting to see your boyfriend knocking opponents around and acting as a human bowling ball was an obvious plus as well. Before most games, your boyfriend would coin you into a pre-game ritual, which happened to be a nap. He claimed these snooze sessions next to you gave him his energy to play but, you’d seen him take his O.W.L.s on two hours of sleep and a ‘stay-awake’ creation him and his twin brewed up. Cuddled up in bed sounded like a blissful dream to you on any given occasion but currently, you were in the middle of another event. Not only did you have a pre-game ritual with your boyfriend, you also had one with his little sister who was on the team as well. A few hours to the start of every Gryffindor match, Ginerva Weasley goes prancing around the castle with her hairbrush in hand, searching for you and today was no different.

Your fingers brushed through the ginger locks as you separated the left half of Ginny’s hair into three parts. The silk like strands slipped through your parted fingers as you detangled the frizzed knots. Ginny’s hair was by far the most beautiful you had seen so you hardly turned down her request when she’d ask you to braid her hair. Her deep red hair mixed with auburn tones and long wisps was a unique find outside Hogwarts. Having the Weasley siblings around meant you saw a head of ginger around nearly every corner. In the Muggle world though, you had only passed a few with hair that resembled theirs.

However in those sightings, you never saw a single person whose hair was as fiery and bold as Ginny’s. There were times Ginny despised the color as it made her stick out like a sore thumb and put no mystery in identifying her. Everyone knew on sight that she was a Weasley. To you, she felt the flaming shade complimented Ginny, as well as her personality, to perfection. The youngest Weasley differed immensely from her siblings. Not only in terms of gender, personality as well. It could be argued she was the bravest of the bunch. Already faster on the Quidditch pitch than her older brother Ron, and possibly sneakier than her older twin brothers, Fred and George.

With a small pull, you began to braid from the top of Ginny’s head. You raked in a new strand of hair after every weave. Ginny’s hair was not only long but thick and heavy in weight. It always took a bit more force and harsh knotting to make sure the braids actually stuck, especially seeing as she’d be flying like the wind in a few hours, she needed them tight.

Ginny Weasley sat lazily in a criss-cross style shoulders hunched forward. It was unusual for her not to be talking your ear off in these moments. Ginny always had a story to share, a secret to tell, or an embarrassing memory of her brothers to spill. There was yet to come a day where she ran out of cringe worthy moments of your boyfriend, and her brother, Fred, to leak. In those countless hair sessions, a friendship outside your connection to Ginny through Fred formed. Within a month of hanging out with the youngest Weasley, you sincerely considered her to be a close friend. Between the endless laughter and feistiness of Ginny, a strong friendship grew. You could tell something was off but with Ginny, it was better to give her time to come around and at least open up a bit before you questioned her.

That moment seemed to be approaching as the bottom section of the braid fell from your grasp as Ginny moved her frame abruptly. Her head falling to face the floor caused your hold in her hair to grab her body back a bit. Resting your hand on her shoulder, you leaned her back so she was up snug against the bottom of the couch you sat on.

��You gotta stop fidgeting, Gin. Your braid is gonna be crooked if you keep squirming around!” You smiled softly down at Ginny but as her head turned to face you, you were shocked to find her face was dull, long like a horse. That one-of-a-kind glimmering light that typical lit her eyes was blown out. The residue left a worrisome display instead. She sent you an apologetic look then turned back to face the fire. Her body was as straight as a line and as stiff as Harry’s Great Aunt.

“Sorry… just a bit distracted.” The raspiness in her voice made you wonder if she felt ill. Usually before a match the young girl couldn’t sit still! Her knees would bounce in excitement and you’d have to pin her down to get the braids in but today, she was hardly moving an inch. Pausing your braid in the middle of her scalp, you arch your brows to Ginny.

“What’s on your mind Ginny?”

“A bit nervous about the match- that’s all.” She dismissed your worries with a sigh, clearly still crackling under stress. Although Ginny was your boyfriend's little sister, with time, she became your little sister. You stopped thinking of her as Fred’s sister and one of your best friends. Seeing her flooded with pressure caused concern in you as well but she looked up to you and it was partially your duty to make sure the self doubts you had as a young girl never disrupted Ginny.

Giving the girl a gentle smile, your hands began to rake through her hair again. The first braid was half way done so you resumed your work as you reassured her,

“Slytherin never plays fair but I believe in you guys. You’re gonna pull it off, don’t stress. Just fly clear of Malfoy and Flint and you should be fine.”

“Yeah you’re right…” She trailed off. Furrowing your fixation on her hair, you slowly pried further.

“What else is the matter-” But before you could seek out any further information, your body jerked forward as two arms snaked around your upper body. You shrieked in freight then quickly whipped your head around to see Fred Weasley grinning down at you. Should’ve guessed, you thought to yourself. He was bound to come searching for you sooner or later and drag you to his room for a nap.

“Ah, I was wondering where the two of you snuck off to. Good afternoon, angel.” Fred leaned his head towards you to kiss your cheek. After leaving one, he left another, and another, and another until you had to push him back. You managed to hold onto the already started braid as you held Fred back with your hand on his chest. His hand immediately went to cover yours and squeeze on your grip, then pulled away glancing between his sister sitting in front of you and yourself.

“Hello, lovie. Where is the other, less annoying half of you?” You smiled a sickly sweet grin to Fred as he gave you a warning glare. Reaching up, you used your free hand to pull Fred down by his collar and placed a sugared kiss to his lips. Always ready for your affection Fred returned the kiss softly, his hands cupping around your chin to leaned your head back. An awkward cough ruined the mood as Ginny fidgetted silently. Fred released his grip on your face at once and threw his leg over the couch. Inviting himself into the conversation, he threw either leg over the maroon couch and slipped in besides you. His face was bright and gleeful, the apples of his cheeks a tint red. The orange hair sprouting down to his shoulders was brighter, shinier than normal. You felt your heart race at the sight. Wrapping his arm around your shoulder, Fred glued himself snug to your side.

“Flirting with Alicia or Katie, can’t tell,” He tossed his head back to motion over to his twin talking up your friends in the corner. The three were laughing and talking hushly, all huddled close. You stopped your hands to glance over, then looked down as you felt Ginny moving beneath you.  Fred drummed his finger on the right unbraided, half of her head causing the girl to blindly swing her arm backwards trying to swat at him. You scolded him sternly, threatening him if he messed up the half you were working on. Chuckling at her flailing arms and your attempt at being stern, Fred leaned back into the couch and tossed his arm around your shoulder. “You ready for the big match, Gin?”

Although the only portion visible was the backside of her head, both Fred and yourself watched her shudder and wince at the inquiry. Fred was happier than ever which was a typical mood for him on any given day but especially the day of a match. Most felt the nervous butterflies and sickening feeling before an important game but Fred? You were almost 100% positive Fred had never experienced the feeling of anxiousness. His confidence seemed to flourish under pressure.

Ginny was never to the big stage, though. She didn’t bask in the glory and attention the same way her brothers did. There was that fear of not living up to everyones expectations that crept into her mind as she took the pitch each match. Ginny ducked her head as she scratched the side of her neck.

“Uh huh.” Ginny’s sigh earned a frown on Fred’s lips. You’d be lying if you said it wasn’t adorable. The concern read from his features as he sent you a short look. He had an idea based off the alarming gleam in your eyes, but as her brother, he wasn’t willing to back off. His long arms tightened around your shoulder as he tilted his head to Ginny in question.

“You don’t sound very confident at all- what’s the matter with you? It’s the biggest match of the season!” He cheered loudly, causing the young girl to jump in her spot. You tucked the three strands in a weaving pattern trying everything in your power to finish as quickly as you could so Ginny would be free to escape this conversation. Maybe it was a male thing but Fred was just not reading the room correctly. Between Ginny’s uncomfortable shifting and your stern stares, he still just wasn’t understanding her nerves. You snatched the hair tie off the couch cushion and wrapped it around the end of her braid. Tapping his side with your elbow, you looked to Fred sternly.

“I think she realizes that, Fred. Let’s not stress her out even more.” Your tone was pointed and you expected Fred to pick up but clearly, it went straight over his head. This earned a raspy chuckle of disbelief from Fred. Slipping his grip from your waist, Fred leaned forward. Placing his elbows on his knees, his chin rested in the palm of his hands. He had a teasing look as he scoffed,

“Stressed? Since when has a game ever stressed you out, Ginny? You’re the youngest starter on our team! There’s no need to be worried about anything.” Fred’s face was bright with excitement at thought at the upcoming match. His rosy cheeks were squished as he smiled gleefully. A loud groan emanated from Ginny as she threw her head back in frustration, though remained silent. Her once lively orbs reddening by the second as salty tears brimmed. The grin vanished from Fred’s face. He turned to you in confusion, his face resembling that of a wounded puppy.

At times, Fred had moments where he didn’t particularly like his little sister, but he always loved her. It was the brotherly instinct in him; the constant need to keep a watchful eye out for Ginny. He knew she could hold her own, but he couldn’t help that protective nature. Sending him a sharp look, you muttered quietly under your breath,

“Nice work…”

The common room was slowly beginning to scatter out as students made the most of their time before the big match. You caught a glimpse of George walking out the portrait with Lee by his side. You wondered what kind of mischief they were up to, it certainly couldn’t be anything good. Harry and Ron were trudging up the staircase to their room assumingly and Hermione was sitting on the opposite side of the room reading quietly. The atmosphere was relaxed like the calm before a storm. Win or lose, the common room would be buzzing with energy tonight. It was just a matter of happy celebration, or tense aftermath of defeat.

You reached out for the right half of Ginny’s hair and repeated your steps. You parted the bright strands and braided them tightly.

Fred on the other hand was lost to his sister’s emotions and eager for answers. Reaching forward, Fred squeezed Ginny’s shoulder in a comforting manner. His face was scrunched together in concern as he sweetly asked her,

“… what’s the matter, little one? I’m sure your big brother can help.”

You had to physically bite your tongue to keep from ‘aweing’ at him. The one thing you loved more than anything about Fred was how caring and comforting he could be. Your heart was dripping in adoration. There had been a handful of moments you heard Fred refer to Ginny as ‘Little One’. It was typically in mocking sense or playful, however in her fragile moments, it was said with such serenity and gentleness. He was always there to help his little sister and protect her. You couldn’t help but imagine how great of a dad Fred would be in the future. He was the only man you could ever see yourself with and knowing how great of a person he truly is just made you even more certain.

Standing from the couch, Fred shuffled around the two of you so he was sitting in front of Ginny. She sniffled quietly using the sleeve of her sweater to rub her eyes. Your eyes darted between the half finished braid and the pair. Fred was patient in giving Ginny her time and finally, she came around.

“What if I lose it for us? If we don’t win, everyone is gonna hate me! It’ll be my fault and Oliver will probably kick me off the team and I’ll have nothing! And you’ll all be mad at me and mum and dad will be disappointed-” Her frantic ramble was shut down when Fred started to talk over her. It was a crazy thought; one he could not allow to marinate in her mind.

“What’re you talking about? Do you even hear yourself, Ginny?” His voice was booming causing both Ginny and yourself to jump in surprise. Your eyes met for a brief second before he took a deep breath, “First off; Oliver Wood has lost a handful of matches for us and he’s still our captain. I mean, Harry has fallen off his bloody broomstick how many times and he’s still our top Seeker! You’re the best one on that pitch Ginny- well besides George and I, but you know what I mean.” Fred chuckled a bit as a small smile cracked on Ginny’s lips. Her eyes lifted from the ground to glance up at her brother. From your spot on the couch, you couldn’t read her features. You were also too invested in the braid to look away. But Fred bending down to wrap his arms around his sister and practically squish her was answer enough. Ginny squealed at Fred’s bone crushing grip, pleading with him to let go.

You rolled your eyes at the siblings, laughing to yourself as you finished securing the hair tie in the finished braid. Leaning back you smoothed your fingers over the weaved pattern. Her hair was somehow more ginger in this style and you adored it. Peaking your head over Ginny’s shoulder, you pointed out,

“And I don’t think it’s even possible for your parents to be disappointed in you. Fred, George and Ron destroyed the family car and your parents still love them and forgave them.”

“Well I wouldn’t say forgave-” Fred winced as he recalled the event. It had been years and Molly still brought it up when she was angry with the boys. They all knew it was something they’d never fully live down in Molly’s eyes. Even on her deathbed Fred was certain she’d find a way to bring it up. Flicking the material of his sweatshirt, you glared playful at Fred for his interruption. You wrapped Ginny in a hug from behind, your arms captured around her shoulders. She melted in your grip, embracing your comforting hold. Fred folded his legs together and just sort of watched.

There was a sudden jolt of awe, that moment where everything just clicked. It came out of nowhere like a car speeding through a red light. His back pressed into the coffee table for support while he just stared. There was no one more important in this world to Fred Weasley than his family. Seeing his little sister hurt and finding solace in you, it was difficult for Fred to string together the proper words on how it made him feel. The emotions brewing inside him were entirely new- like the feeling of opening presents on Christmas morning and finding you got everything that you asked for. This sheer hypnotic haze that covered Fred went unbeknownst to you as your attention stayed locked on Ginny.

“What I’m trying to say is, it really is just a game. No one's gonna disown you if you make a mistake; Freddie here makes twenty mistakes before breakfast every morning. And even if they are bigger and play dirty, you’re faster and smarter than their entire lineup combined. We all believe in you, Ginny. I’ve seen you do it a million different times and I’ll be right there cheering you on.” Letting go of her, your head lifted to greet the eyes of Fred Weasley. Immediately you took notice of the change in his gaze. Still mesmerizing as ever to be under, yet heavier than before. Instead of throwing a childish jab back, he just held your stare, speechless for once.

Your head tilted in confusion at his odd behavior as Ginny placed her hands on either side of her body to push herself up. This seemed to pull Fred from his trance as he mimicked her actions and stood from the floor. Brushing off her pants and sweater, she gave you both a look of gratitude and said,

“Thank you, Y/n. It really means a lot- thank you too, Freddie.”

“ ‘course, we’ll always be here for you- even if we do lose, you’ll still be my favorite sister.” Fred said with a cheek smirk. Ginny rolled her eyes in slight annoyance. Just when he was sweet, he was sour once again.

“I’m your only sister Fred but thanks. I should probably go get some homework finished so I’ll see you down at the pitch later. Thanks for doing my hair, Y/n. You’re the best- I wish you really were my sister.”

“So you’re telling me, after all this time, I’m not your sister?” You asked teasingly. Ginny laughed happily, clearly pleased with your response. Fred knew how much Ginny looked up to you, how badly she wants to follow in your footsteps, and it makes him thrilled. Not only does he loves how much his sister adores you, but how great of a role model you are to her. He understood how easy it could be to shove her away or dismiss her, and Fred wouldn’t blame you if you did. However you never once turned Ginny away and it played a role in his feelings evolving so intensely. Her cheeks tinted red as she gave you one last wave and skipped up the steps to her dorm. As she disappeared from view, you looked over to Fred only to see his eyes already planted on you. The weight of his stare was suffocating and made you fidget. The second you met his gaze, Fred’s mouth dropped open as he confessed,

“I’m in love with you.” The word vomit rolled effortlessly from his lips. The contagious smile Fred seemed to constantly cause rose to your face. Having been together for some years, Fred was no stranger to broadcasting his feelings for you. Something about this felt more serious than the other times. Sinking into the cushion, you nodded over to the boy in agreeance.

“I’m in love with you, too.” Shaking his head, Fred lunged forward so he was kneeling in front of you. His hands slipped inside your own as he set your intertwined hands in your lap. That playfulness has been swept away as his eyes read full honesty. Fred’s soft features were rough, sharp on the edges as his jaw clenched with tension. Giving your hand a loving squeeze, Fred locked his eyes on yours.

“No, Y/n, I’m like, Alice fell down the rabbit hole, deeply in love with you- I’ve never felt this way about anyone before. Just… promise me you’ll stick around, okay?” His voice was filled with worry and fear. You jumped forward to crunch him in a tight embrace. Fred chuckled at your abruptness but exchanged the hug nonetheless. His fingers trailed up and down the bones of your spine drawing circles and shapes as he rubbed your back. You could feel his nose pressing into your hair and soon enough, a sloppy kiss was planted on your head. Grinning like a fool, you glanced up to him with a cheesy smile.

“Hate to break it to you, Fred, but I’m not going anywhere, sorry.” You remarked, reaching up on your tippy toes to kiss his lips. Fred leaned into your lips, his hands wrapping around your waist for support. As he pulled away, you noticed that one of a kind glint reached his eyes. Before you could hypothesize his next move, Fred’s arm swooped around your lower back to scoop you up from your legs. He lifted you up and repositioned so he was carrying you in his arms. You hollered in surprise as Fred just chuckled.

“Good, don’t think I’d let you anyhow, angel. Now c’mon, someone owes me a nap.” He stated, sending you a cheeky wink. Fred began to walk towards the stairwell heading towards the boys dormitory. Clinging to his arm, you glared deathly to Fred.

“If you drop me I am writing to Molly the second I can reach a quill and parchment.” You threatened. Fred walked through the opening to the staircase then started to skip up the steps, still holding your body. You shook with every step, trying your best to mask your giggles with angry looks and sneers. Tightening his face, Fred thought on it for a moment then scowled at the idea.

“Relax, Y/n. Don’t have to take it that far- I just said I’m in love with you and that’s how you’re gonna treat me.” He teased you. His room was on the second to top floor and you could tell you were approaching by the way he slowed down. Fred’s fingers tickled at your side as he made his way towards his door. Instead of setting you down, Fred swung the door open still grasping on to you. He wasted no time slamming the door shut and practically flinging you onto his bed. Your melodic laughter filled every inch of his room making Fred glow red in pleasure. He tugged off his robes and tie, then crawled into his bed next to you. You reached over the side of the mattress for a comfy shirt of his and some pajama pants he kept lying around. He couldn’t tear his gaze, nor did he want to. Winking over to Fred, you threw his comforter over your body and cuddled up next to him.

“If it’s any constellation, I’m like, furthest rock down in the ocean, deeply in love with you.” You admitted softly. Fred’s head snapped down in your direction as he grinned to himself,

“I reckon that’s gotta count for something, love. But could we switch so I’m the little spoon? You know we’ll lose the match if I’m not and then it’ll be your fault, not Ginny’s.”

You let out a dramatic groan as you flipped around to throw your arm over Fred. His face was lit in joy as he snuggled into your hold. You smiled to yourself as you felt his lips brush against your hand and leave a small trail of kisses on each finger. Fred and his rituals, you laughed to yourself as the feeling of sleep entered your body and your eyes fell shut. The soothing sound of Fred humming was a perfect lullaby for any person to find sleep in but it had become your favorite sound. Soon, Fred would have to get ready and go face Slytherin but for now, your arms seemed to be the only place he wanted to be.

[wri0thesley]

May I request some La Squadra childhood headcanons (upbringing/family/habits/demeanor) :)) Maybe Mista and Abbacchio too if it’s not too much trouble since we already saw a bit of baby Bruno and it made me so curious about the other two! I always imagined Abbacchio to be a bit of a teacher’s pet as a kid lol. Your writing brings me life tysm!!!!

warnings for abusive family, human experimentation, misogyny, illness, hospitals, death, etc! 

Risotto’s family did not care much about him. He’s the middle child of five - they grew up in a rural part of Sicily, in a house that used to be a farmhouse but was merely a house by the time Risotto came along (aside from a flock of chickens constantly in the gardens). He had a traditional Italian family full of people - various aunts, uncles and cousins - but his cousin was his favourite, seeing in Risotto’s quiet nature something similar to his own. Risotto was uncomfortable with there being too many people around and found his home life cramped and uncomfortable and loud. At the local village school he was often hunted out for games of sport (his height and muscle growing in at an early age), but he shied away from making friends, not sure how to handle himself around people who shouted and laughed, envying his siblings for everything seeming so natural. He often stayed with the cousin, and it’s through them he discovered metal music and his now signature look. His parents didn’t have time for him, but his cousin always did, becoming a makeshift father figure where Risotto’s failed. He grew very attached, and as we know, his cousins death hit him hard. 

Formaggio grew up with a single father; his mother simply disappeared in the middle of the night and he never heard from her again. He was always loud, brash and cocky - his father was much the same way. They moved around from place to place, his father taking odd jobs to sustain them and never really getting the hang of them. His father was fairly young and a perpetual teenager, and Formaggio was much the same way. Despite living in occasional poverty, he always had a smile and he and his father were close to one another. He did not really make friends - other children were aware of his unwashed clothes, the fact his lunch was not made as neatly as theirs, the fact that his address was a one-bedroom apartment on the bad side of town - so he turned to acting out and violence, gaining a reputation as a Badly Behaved Child. His father fell into Passione in the need to support his son, and like father like son, Formaggio followed in his footsteps at fourteen (finding a camaraderie and sense of responsibility he never had at school and subsequently just stopping going there). 

Illuso got into Passione for the money and the power. He was an only child and he had a nice upbringing, honestly - he just found himself not special at anything, and he desperately wanted to be. He flitted from hobby to hobby and interest to interest; he was clever and he noticed things, and neither of his parents really knew how to deal with their sharp-tongued child. He was a bit of a bully at school, but not the kind that is ever found out - Illuso’s bullying was quieter than that, whispered words and rumours that never seemed to find their way back to him. He was well-acquainted with blackmail before he turned sixteen. He knew how to sniff out weaknesses in other people - he was always surrounded by people, but it was a lottery as to whether they liked Illuso or whether they just didn’t want to be on his wrong side. Always willing to volunteer for things, too confident for his own good - eventually, he stopped caring about being ‘special’ at something, and just worked on being the ‘best around him’. 

Melone’s backstory can be found here. Both of his parents were academics and lecturers in genetic science, and he’s the eldest child by eight years. His family moved around rather a lot. He has two younger sets of twins as siblings; one set of boys, and one set of girls. Growing up, his parents considered him less interesting and a little slow - he turned to science and genetics as a way to get their attention and praise; despite the fact he showed a natural affinity for it, by this time, they were far more interested in experimenting on their younger children and Melone was ignored. His nature is curious and insistent - he learnt to insist or to be ignored. He had to look after his younger siblings a lot growing up; they were home-schooled where he was not, and the strange separation of them and him and all of the children at school (Melone not quite fitting into either group) meant that he always seemed just a little off. 

Prosciutto is a mafia man through and through. His family are entrenched in old bloodlines and uninvestigated deaths - unfortunately, though, they are a family that had somewhat fallen from grace by Prosciutto’s birth. The definition of faded glamour and keeping up appearances; rooms in a big, drafty old house that have an old bed and a falling apart dressing table. His father always talked to him about how it was his and his brothers’ job to keep the bloodline going - a traditional chauvinist of a man. His mother was very quiet and pretty; she encouraged him to small interests like old music and fashion, but was always silent around her husband. He grew up knowing his life was expendable. Youngest son of two; his elder brother died within months of finally being given his assignment within Passione and honestly, Prosciutto knows his father would rather he have died. A quiet little boy who did not make friends (he had a tutor) and had too much of the weight of the world on his shoulders in the knowledge of how many of his mother’s jewels were pasteboard, where the guns were kept, and just how many people he saw regularly were murderers. At his assignment at sixteen, Prosciutto had to learn exactly how to blend in, because many of the mafiosos he was suddenly surrounded by did not appreciate what they saw as his superiority. 

Pesci was an only child of a single mother; his father passed away when he was young. He was rather sickly growing up, and it made his mother indulgent - despite growing up fairly middle class, he never wanted for anything, and they lived well beyond their means. His mother fussed over him, always afraid that he was going to have a relapse into his childhood illness - very much a child wrapped in cotton wool. It gave him his own complex about taking risks; he didn’t want to get hurt. He didn’t want to be rejected by other children. He was slow at his schoolwork but devoted to his mother, and other children saw him as a prime target to bully. He was kicked around a lot at school and it eventually made him too easy to subdue when he suddenly filled out and shot up and became a threat; found himself, too often, a henchman to more articulate, meaner children. Grateful to be accepted, he went along with the flow, despite feeling in the very core of his gut that he was disgusted by them. He ended up in Passione because his mother needed medical treatment and in trying to sort it out realised just how much debt they were in.

Ghiaccio just had a normal run-of-the-mill described as ‘average’ by everyone upbringing - both of his parents, an only child, a mother with a professional job, middle-class. His father was partially deaf - in my experience, people with deaf parents either speak very loudly or very quietly, and Ghiaccio has gone for the former. He learnt LIS at a very early age, and it’s part of the reason he can be so anal about pronunciation and language as a whole - he’s utterly fascinated by it, and that fascination started in early childhood. His parents were also indulgent of him, but having a younger brother meant that he didn’t get the full brunt of that indulgence - his brother was a little more of a ‘rough and tumble’ boy. He liked football and weights, and when he took up a sport Ghiaccio’s parents decided Ghiaccio should learn to do something too and asked him what he thought - they were surprised when he said ice skating, but figured he would go into ice hockey or something. He didn’t. For a while, he was fairly well-known in the competitive figure skating under eighteens circuit. It gave him two things; one, a competitive need to win and be good at things (and a propensity to tantrum when he lost) and two, a taste for flashy, expensive things (have you seen this man’s car). His parents eventually didn’t know how to deal with his arrogance, and he fell into Passione based on a ‘sponsor’ he ended up embroiled with at nineteen when his parents didn’t want to fund his ‘hobby’ anymore (they kept pouring resources into his younger brother, of course - Ghiaccio always felt a bit like they didn’t take him seriously). He left ice skating competitively behind, but he couldn’t leave behind the nice things or the anger issues he accrued. 

I’ve written about Sorbet and Gelato’s childhood/backstory here! But a brief, shorter version:

Gelato had a loving family and a privileged upbringing. Always enough money, always enough to eat - an only child, who perhaps was a little rowdy at school but whomst his parents were very proud of. Both of them were traditional types; thinks a man should be strong, should be the real driving force of all relationships - they were extremely proud of him going into the army. Cleverer than people tend to give him credit for, sharp-eyed, a constant humming need to be doing something with his hands. 

Sorbet was orphaned at a young age in a house fire and taken in by a church orphanage. He’s quiet but equally clever; his cleverness tends to be a little less in your face. He was a comforting presence to other people and took care of the younger boys (even now, he feels a sense of duty to some of La Squadra) - being low-voiced, soothing and commanding. He spent a lot of time reading. The church orphanage was poor; Sorbet has learnt to appreciate luxury where Gelato takes it for granted and it’s part of the reason he’s so concerned with finances even in his forties. 

Abbacchio grew up in a houseful of women. His father left when he was still young; he was . . . not a nice man, and Abbacchio has vague memories of his mother carefully applying concealer over black eyes. It’s part of the reason Abbacchio became a police officer - knowing that he was still out there, not paying for what he’d done . . . Abbacchio wanted to ensure other people did not go through it. He had a little sister (by six years) who adored him, and his grandmother (who had once been an opera singer and still had a touch of that old-time glamour). He was fairly well off; at least, after he and his mother went to live with her mother again. His grandmother was EXTREMELY indulgent of her serious pretty-eyed grandson (his affinity for opera comes from her) who wanted so hard to be a Good Man. He was made fun of as a child for being a teacher’s pet and a nerd, you’re right - he adopted being a goth and dressing like that fairly early in his life. Nobody was going to threaten to punch him in leather and black lipstick, he thought - and nobody, too, needed to know that his CD player was blasting Monteverdi and not heavy metal. 

Mista was the only child of an unreliable mother and a father who left when he was four (he kept very vaguely in touch; Mista has three little sisters who he sees occasionally but keeps quiet about his employ to. After the events of VA, he’s established a fund for each of them, but he wasn’t really permitted to see them much growing up). Even after his parents leaving and his neighbour’s loss of an eye (and the subsequent setting in of his fear of the number four), he was an easy-going child who made friends easily and smiled at all and sundry; he was never particularly book-clever, but he was good-natured and had many friends. His mother’s lack of reliability meant that he became very fond of simple things other people took for granted - when she died, he was sad, but his life did not change much. He’d already learnt to fend for himself when it came to food and the like; often coming home to an empty house and simply making do. (The lack of food in the house is part of the reason he gained such an affinity for things he saw as luxuries like wines and cheeses). He learnt to use his dark eyes and charming smile and warm nature to win sleepovers with schoolfriends and evening meals with their parents. Always a little bit behind his peers in having cool gadgets or interesting stories, Mista was content just to have a simple life and good health. 

[jimlingss]

Moirai [2]

Chapter 1 - Chapter 2 - Chapter 3

➜ Words: 6.2k

➜ Genres: 60% Fluff, 40% Angst, Isekai!AU

➜ Summary: Death is supposed to be the end. Or at least that's what you assumed when you're hit by a TRUCK. But the moment you open your eyes again, instead of being sent to the afterlife, you've become a baby. And not just any baby. You're the female villain of a video game.

You turn the corner and dart down the hall.   “My lady!”   There’s a parade of maids chasing after you, Joan included in the bunch, and a frightened guard whose metal armour clanks with each movement. You grin, swinging your wooden sword around at them with a ‘huzzah!’. Pretending you’re a champion, you twirl around the pillar with one arm. But even with your theatrics, they’re still meters away and out of reach.   “Please! Come back! You have your dance lessons!”   You stick out your tongue. “Then catch me!”   It’s been one full year since you’ve started learning swordsmanship and admittedly, it’s become one of your most favourite times of the day. It beats sitting at a desk with the old fart droning on and on about dumb things you already know or having your posture criticized over and over again during dance lessons.    You’re frankly getting tired of having information and insults shoved down your throat.    Sword lessons are the only time you can be out in the sun and do whatever you want. You can tell that you’re improving too. It’s a pain in the ass to get the guards to take you seriously, but sometimes the tips and tricks they give are pretty helpful.   It’s fun.   Especially when there are people desperately chasing you.   “P-Please!” one of the girls cries out, running out of breath.   One of the best perks about being a five-year old is having endless energy in your body. And you’ll happily take advantage of that while you still can. “Pirates never give up! Argh, matey!”   But your play time is unfortunately interrupted by a deadpanning voice—   “What are you doing?”    The familiar sharp voice sends shivers up your spine and you freeze.   Your parade halts on their heels as well, immediately dropping their heads to the ground and placing one hand over the other reverently. “Your grace.”   “What is going on here?” Your mother’s footsteps echo through the marble hall, ball gown dragged behind her as her scrutinizing eyes lay on the help, the knight and then to you.   “I’m so sorry,” Joan is quick to confess, “The lady refuses to attend her dance practices.”   And she’s quick to throw you under the bus.   If you could, you’d stick up your middle finger at her.   Your mother turns, her glare laid upon you. You brace yourself.   “This is not how the future Devereux head should act.” Her voice is above a slight murmur, yet chilling and heavy. Her narrowed eyes have dimmed as they look upon you. She doesn’t need to yell to be frightening. “The Chevalier household has their youngest daughter playing piano and they recently went to the castle to show her talent. How will you compete, Anastasia?”   ��I—”   “Or will you continue to tarnish our family’s name by being a child?”   You are a child. Technically.    The woman looms over you, her demeanour imposing and the burden of the household’s name lays upon your shoulders. You can’t help but feel small. It’s no wonder Anastasia took the Prince’s kindness as love and fell for him so quickly. Moments with him were her moments of freedom.   You stay quiet, solemn, knowing it’s not worth arguing. Your eyes instead focus on a younger maid who’s silently snickering to herself and before you can make note for later, your vision blurs.   “From now on, your swordsmanship lessons will be retracted until you’ve caught up with the rest of your lessons,” she says while looking straight ahead, not sparing you a glance. “The only places you are to be permitted in for the next month is your room and the study—”   It’s unfair. A punishment that doesn’t fit the crime.   But your voice doesn’t come out of your mouth.   The world tilts on an axis. It swirls. Your head is lightweight.    And before you could figure out what’s happening, there’s a shrill cry for you — “my lady!” — and you feel yourself falling back before the universe becomes pitch black. An abyss of nothing.   //   “Why did she faint?!”   When you come to, your first thought is that you’ve died. Again.   Illness. Heart attack. Maybe from the plague.    Fuck.   It’s frightening and you feel an urge to cry, knowing that you yet again didn’t complete your goal of living a long and fruitful life. That the years spent fighting for your survival were ultimately useless. But then you hear far away voices and realize your fingers can twitch. The soft mattress underneath you registers soon after and it sinks in that you’re in your room, bedridden.   “Well….your grace…”   “On with it! I didn’t bring you here to waste my time!”   “Herrick…”   Oh right. It’s the Eve of the Solar Festival, isn’t it? A day where commoners celebrate the empire and wish for its everlasting prosperity. You remember since you’ve never gone before. Around this same time last year and the year before that, you fell ill in the exact same way — cold, chest aching, dizzy spells.    It’s odd. Usually you aren’t so weak and yet somehow, you always get better in the morning once the festival is over. You don’t remember this ever being mentioned in the original game either. Or at least Anastasia never said anything about it and she would’ve totally milked it for the Prince’s attention if she could’ve. But maybe it’s an outside detail. Something the game developers were going to include in a future DLC.   “We don’t know what’s happening to the lady, your grace,” the healer says.   Your father bellows from his stomach, “Excuse me?!”   “H-Her pulse reads well and she has no fever either. I-It’s a very unusual case.”   In your half-consciousness, you perceive the bitter silence.    “Heal her at all costs.” Your father’s footsteps fade and your mother sighs.   You wish you couldn’t hear. Otherwise, it would be easy to demonize the pair as unsympathetic, psychopathic parents who only consider their daughter a chess piece. You’re sure the only reason they’re expressing so much concern is because you are the only heir after all. They really have no future if Anastasia dies.    But it’s still hard to quell the hope that they actually care for your wellbeing.    Still, you wish you couldn’t hear their desperation. It wouldn’t have to be so conflicting. Or bittersweet. The only time they show an ounce of their affection is when you’re on your deathbed.   You muster the strength to open your eyes once everyone’s left the room.    Most likely, you’ll live through this. You still have yet to have any of the game’s encounters or even start. Anastasia was alive for most of it, enough to terrorize the main character, so you’ll live too.   Shit. When does the game start again?   The opening scene was right before the debutante ball was held for all the girls in the empire.   You count on your fingers — give or take, there’s twelve or thirteen years left….   But you remember from the wiki fan page that Anastasia became engaged to the Crown Prince when they were kids.    Oh god. If you weren’t so weak, you’d roll over and scream into your pillow.   There’s an unsettling feeling boiling in the pit of your stomach.   No matter how much effort you put forth, you don’t know how you’re going to avoid that arrangement.

Turns out, it’s unavoidable.   It begins two years later at seven years old, the D-day that you were dreading, the first domino that begins all the others.   “No! Please!” The entire household is stunned at how you’ve grabbed onto the Duke’s leg and wrapped your limbs around his appendage, practically dead weight and not allowing him to move a single step.    All your life, you’ve kept a good amount of distance between your parents — never daring to overstep your boundaries or sass them back no matter how much you wanted to. It’s more trouble than it’s worth anyway and it’s better to play on their good side.   But you’ve thrown in the towel. This is your last desperate attempt.   “I’ll be good, I promise I’ll go to all my dance lessons and all my history lessons and all my math lessons. Please, papa! Please!” You’re practically crying aloud. You wish someone would help you. “I don’t want to go to the Royal Palace!”   Edith is shaking her head while Joan is mortified at the sidelines.   Your mother’s expression is twisted in disgust while your dad is wholly aghast. Hey — it’s not like you wanted to do this either, alright?!   But your pleas fall on deaf ears. To them, it’s merely the whining of a child. A temper tantrum.   “My lady, please stop this,” Joan harshly whispers and rushes to pry your grip off of the Duke’s leg. Several others come too, maids and kitchen staff alike. Your strength is no match for theirs.   “My stomach hurts!”   Your father has no sympathy. “We’ve delayed enough times, Anastasia. If we postpone the meeting with the King again, it would be shameful to our house. Now get up.”   He’s done hearing the excuses — and while you’d usually internally call him out for being an ass, the moment you heard he wanted to take you to the palace, you did claim you have a fever.    Then you claimed diarrhea. A cough. Hid for several hours.   You’re actually surprised you managed to delay it for this long.   “There’s no choice, my lady,” Joan mutters quickly as she fixes the ribbons in your pretty hairdo. “You must go with the Duke today.”   Deep down, you know it’s true. You’ll be pulled along anyhow.    But you wish they would understand that this is a matter of life and death for you.   Your silence is a sign of raising the white flag and Joan retracts back to her place as your dad turns to leave the manor. He adjusts his hat as he’s escorted to the carriage and you’re about to trail after him, but your mother stops you.   You expect her to reprimand you, give an earful of what you should and shouldn’t do. But you’re surprised when she lowers herself down to your eye level.    She catches you off guard when she reaches out to button up your pea coat, attentive and careful in each swift movement. “This is a really important meeting, Anastasia. Do you understand?”    Her voice is soft, quiet enough that no one else aside from you can hear. You nod.   “You must be on your best behaviour. Your father, me, all the workers here, and the whole House of Devereux will be relying on you.” Wow. Way to not pressure a seven year old. “Today is the day that might change our lives for the better.”   As she finishes buttoning, her hands stroke your shoulders down your arms. The Duchess smiles gingerly, tiredly. For a moment, you feel guilty for being so selfish — for prioritizing your own survival and desires when everyone else was quite literally relying on you for their livelihood.   You find yourself swallowing hard before nodding again.    You get into the carriage without another word.    Well fuck. What now?   A part of you wishes you ran away when you had the opportunity — even though there was a good chance you would’ve been kidnapped and sold at an underground market or gone hungry or be shipped back right to your parents. Ashea, like any other place, doesn’t take kindly to wandering children.   But at least then you would’ve had more control and choice.    You know this isn’t just a fun field trip to the palace. The only reason the Duke and the King would meet like this is to seek an engagement. Your engagement with the Prince’s.    Half an hour later, you peek out the carriage windows to see the castle at the horizon.   Stone walls, seven towers, lookouts, the empire’s flag fluttering in the breeze — it’s a beautiful place with rolling green hills and beds of flowers that wind up the path. It’s a hundred times more grand than the Devereux estate and ten times the size too, stretching across for miles. But it’s also the location where all of it happens.    The beginning. The climax. The end.   “Anastasia.”   Your attention is taken when your father steps off the carriage. You take the servant's hand and hop down onto the cobblestone, following your father closely. He greets an important person or two and you lower your head to them in greeting as they complement how mannerly you are.   The two of you are led through open, lavish halls full of life-sized portraits and marble statues, and then through the garden. Even in both your lifetimes, you’ve never seen so many different kinds of flowers and vivid hues in one place.    Pansies. Orchids. Marigold.    Magenta. Lavender. Marmalade.   But you don't get to admire it for long. Not when the gazebo comes into sight.    A man with straight posture, dark hair streaked with gray to show his age and deep set eyes sits at the rounded table. Even with the absence of his crown, his status is shown through his navy cape ornate with golden swirls held together by an emerald jewel embellished with the royal crest. Wrinkles around his mouth, he has a fiercely stern expression until he cordially smiles as your father approaches.    Beside him is a spitting image, a smaller boy slumped in the white chair, visibly bored.   “Herrick! Good to see you, my old friend.”   “Your Majesty.” Your father bows and you follow suit, giving a curtsy and lowering your head. But at the same time, you can’t help peeking at the boy. His eyes meet yours and you look away.   Oh fuck.   It’s the first meeting between the Prince and Anastasia.    You’re sure for her it was impactful, nerve wracking, life changing. And it’s like that for you as well, but not so much on the positive side.   “Please, the formalities. Is this the daughter you've been speaking so highly about?”   “Yes, this is my only child, Anastasia.”   You plaster on a perfect, little smile. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Your Majesty.”   The King hums. “A very lovely child indeed. The Devereux House is blessed.”   The Duke smiles. “Thank you.”   “Please sit and make yourselves welcome.” The King gestures and the servants nearby scurry over, pulling out your chairs, pouring tea and placing plates of biscuits on their table. In a blink, they’ve finished and you can’t help but muse how much better they are than the servants back at home. The King smiles and looks at his son. “Jungkook, don’t you have anything to say?”   “Nice to meet you,” he deadpans before his doe eyes wander out to the gardens.    Jungkook is wholly disinterested in you and this entire affair — you don’t blame him. You bet any seven year old would be itching to get out of their seat. But looking at him, you can’t believe you liked him so much in the game. You even had him as your phone wallpaper for a few months.   But from the perspective of Anastasia and knowing your outcome and your impending demise, he’s not even cute as a kid.   If anything, sitting across from him stresses you the fuck out.   You weren’t supposed to even meet him. This was the exact opposite of your battle plans. And yet the engagement is going to happen whether you like it or not. The greatest irony of all is that you know he’ll end up falling in love with the main character anyway instead of you. Aka. the orphaned girl who ends up adopted by a baron.   This whole ordeal only serves to make you suffer.   The only way you could sabotage this meeting now is by slamming the teapot over Prince Jungkook’s head. And that would either get you thrown in jail for treason and executed or sent back to the Devereux estate on house arrest where your mother would kill you.   Oh god. It’s death either way.   “Are the sweets not to your liking?”   It takes a second for you to register that the King is looking at you. That he’s speaking to you.   You go wide-eyed, realizing you haven’t had a bite of the cakes, the biscuits or sipped on any tea. You’ve completely tuned out their conversation. But he’s been watching you and Jungkook from the corner of his eye, assessing your interactions closely.    Your palms go clammy as you open your mouth before closing it.    “She’s just shy,” your dad swiftly informs with a polite smile. It’s a complete lie, but one the royal monarch believes.   “Ah. We shouldn’t bore them with adult talk then.” The man turns to his son. “Jungkook, why don’t you go off and play with Anastasia here?”   “Okay,” he mumbles and slides off his chair.   You follow suit, a bit relieved that you were dismissed from the overly formal atmosphere.   The two of you go deeper into the gardens until the gazes of your father and the King’s fade from view. Jungkook is wearing a white ensemble with a cape which he dirties with the way he’s kicking rocks in his path. He seems burdened that you’re beside him.   “What do you like playing?” he asks.   You’re perplexed on how to answer. You’re not sure how you should play with an actual seven year old. Then again, you like to run away from the maids and swing your sword around on your down time. But that’s just because you like their reactions.   “Sword fighting.”   Jungkook blanches as if he just bit into a lemon. “What kind of girl plays with swords?”   Suddenly, you’re overwhelmed with an urge to kick the royal prince right in his shin.    But as the annoyance floods you, an epiphany comes along with it — if you can’t avoid Jungkook, maybe it’s time to switch strategies. Maybe you can start sowing the seeds of your future survival right here, right now. If one day, he’ll be condemning you of countless crimes and looking down at you as an evil villain, maybe you can turn his perception in the opposite direction.   Harmless. Overbearingly nice. Arrows that practically point ‘I’M NOT A THREAT WHATSOEVER!’.    You’re a genius.   You force the highest pitched giggle you can. “Really?”   Jungkook kicks another rock. “Girls have flimsy arms and trip every time you touch them.”   Ah. The ancient version of: girls have cooties and so you should stay away from them. Alright, alright. You can work with this.   “What do you like playing, Your Highness?”   “Anything that’s not with girls.”   You pause and laugh, hoping it doesn’t sound too stiff.   Jungkook suddenly lifts his head and turns to you with the swivel of his heel. You stop as well and his index finger juts right in your face. “Since I’m the prince, I’ll have mercy on you. We can play servant and king.”   “What’s servant and king?”   “I’m the king.” His thumb pokes himself and then he’s back to pointing right between your eyes again. “You’re the servant. You have to follow me and all my orders or off with your head!”   What a little shit.   How is this going to be any fun for you?!   But you draw an enormous grin on your face, left eye twitching in the process. “Sounds like fun, Your Highness!”   He strolls off. “Let’s go, dumb dumb.”   Your teeth grit and you inhale a deep breath. It hurts your pride to be insulted by a literal seven year old, but you can handle it. When it comes to life or death, you’ll easily befriend the hero.   “Fetch that stick, peasant!”   The prince points at the distance and looks at you expectedly.   Your teeth grit. But you muster a smile and dash forward.   When it comes to life or death, you’ll befriend the hero……….probably.   “Here you go, Your Highness.”   You present the stick to him with both hands and the brat smirks. A rush of air leaves his nose and then he takes the stick. You’re not sure what to expect, but your entire body freezes when he hurls it as far as his arms can go. He points between your brows a second later. “Go get it!”   Motherfucker. “Yes!”    Once Jungkook’s tired of having you fetch like a dog, you trail after him closely. The green hedges are triple your size, acting like corridors of the garden before they open up to certain areas filled with beds of flowers or a fountain. Some paths are unpaved, so you listen to the crunch of rocks underneath his shoes amidst the quiet.    When you’re not out of breath and running at his command, it finally sinks in that it’s the first time you’re with a main character of the game. For the seven years of this lifetime thus far, there was only really you. Your parents were supporting characters at best who just took the opportunity to slyly diss the main heroine a few times at royal gatherings. But other than that, you’re currently facing the backside of someone you know a lot about.   Who he will become. What his future holds. What his desires are.   You pipe up, “Prince Jungkook—”   “That’s Your Highness, peasant!”   You clench your jaw. “Your Highness…”   “What?”   You quicken your steps until you’re beside him and he turns his head. “I’ll support you forever if you want to fall in love with anyone! I don’t care about being the crown princess or the queen!”    For good measure, you flash a wink and a thumbs up.   “What?” His boyish face is twisted up in disgust. “Why would a peasant be a queen?”   You hold in your sigh. “I’m just saying. If we ever get engaged or something, it can always be annulled when we’re older. So feel free to love on, Your Highness. Make love, not war!”   Your words completely fly over Jungkook’s head.   His face reads that he has no clue what you’re talking about.   And he turns away from you. “You’re weird.”   You scoff.    You’re not sure how you can become friendly with a seven year old when you’re internally twenty years older than he is. If you had chocolate on you, you’d use that as a bargaining chip. But clearly, you only have your body, brain and the surroundings at the moment….   What do seven year old boys like?   What do they like?   As you scan your surroundings, your eye catches something in the bushes. You stop and get closer.   At the same time, Jungkook realizes you’re not following him anymore and turns around. “What are you doing, peasa—” His words are cut short by a shrill shriek of absolute terror.   Your brows furrow and you thrust your hand closer to him. “It’s a ladybug.”   The tiny red and black polka dotted bug is crawling in your hand. Jungkook screams again.   He’s stumbling back, nearly tripping onto his butt, doe eyes reflected with complete horror as if you just chopped off his mom’s head. “Get that thing away from me!” his voice cracks up and down two different octaves and realizing his weakness, you grin.   You know your plan was to seem as harmless as possible, but it’s just too much fun teasing him.   “What thing, Your Highness? Your servant is merely showing you a small forest creature.”   “No! Stop!”   He scrambles and starts running away.   You chase after him while giggling manically. “Prince Jungkook! Where are you going!”   “Get the bug away from me!”   He turns over his shoulder with eyeballs nearly falling out of their sockets, face bright red, and you take the opportunity to toss the ladybug at him. Jungkook’s shrieks echo, pitched and earsplitting.   You’re forced to stop with how hard you’re laughing and by then, he’s ran for the hills, completely gone from sight.   Oh god. You can’t believe he’s so scared.    You can’t believe you were so scared — he’s just a kid.   Your giggles taper off as you wander the gardens by yourself. It’s freeing to stroll at your own pace without a brat demanding you to fetch sticks or barking at you to do this and that. It’s a chance to finally admire the surroundings.   You’re sure the first time Anastasia saw the castle, it became her dream home. The place is similar to the aesthetic background graphics of the game and it was always described as beautiful by all the characters. And it really is that way.   But this is also the place of her demise and possibly yours.    You’re sure the only time you’ll be able to enjoy the palace and be this carefree is right now.   You’re admiring the blooming carnations, peony and roses as you turn the corner. The figure standing by the sprouting fountain doesn’t register until after a delayed moment and your eyes lift to see a woman — mysterious in her gray dress. It’s simple attire, but the fabrics are layered on top of one another, light enough that they drape down and flow to the breeze. Her brunette hair is tied into a bun and as if she feels the pressure of your eyes, her bright irises turn towards you.   You realize you’re staring and you blink several times, approaching her politely.    She pulls her charcoal shawl closer to her and smiles. The light wrinkles around her kind eyes crease. “Are you lost, child?”   You shake your head. “No. I’m just looking.”   She crouches down to match your height, gazing at you tenderly. “Where are your parents?”   “My dad’s talking to the King.” You point off in the distance as curiosity eats at you. She doesn’t look like an ordinary worker but not a visitor of the castle either. “I’m Anastasia.”   She searches your expression as if she’s endeared by you. “That’s a beautiful name.”   “Thanks! Who’re you?”   She’s soft-spoken, voice above a quiet murmur, “My name is Erena Robane.”   You frown. The name rings a bell. “Lady Robane?”   “No.” Her laugh tinkles. “I’m no lady.”    Before you can press your mind any further and pick apart your brain at why her name sounds so familiar, she reaches into the small pouch she was carrying and hands you a wrapped piece of candy. “Would you like one?”   Your eyes light up at the pink square. “Yes, please!”    You know better, as an internal twenty seven year old, than to take candy from strangers, but the Duke and Duchess never give you any sweets. So you’ll happily take what you can.   Erena smiles and drops the treat into your outstretched palm.   Not wanting to risk getting it confiscated by Edith, Joan or your mother if you brought it home, you quickly unwrap it and throw it into your mouth. It’s peppermint and it’s pretty damn good.   The woman looks at you patiently, waiting for a reaction, so you give her a thumbs up and a “Yummy!”   She laughs faintly. “Do you like candy?”   “Yep!” You hold out both hands as if you’re trick-or-treating. “Can I have another one, please?”   Might as well seize the chance while you can. It’s a dog-eat-dog world.    “You have very good manners.” She smiles, taking another out of her endless pouch and dropping it in your hand. Oh man, you’re starting to really like this lady. “My son likes chocolate, but I only managed to get candy for today.”   You chew the hard candy in your cheek, crunching down on it. You hope it rots your teeth and makes Edith’s life a living nightmare when she has to deal with it. “Your son?”   Her lips part to speak. But she’s interrupted—   “Mom?”   By sheer coincidence and coincidence itself, a boy with floppy, brown hair turns the corner of the garden. Thin lips, but chubby cheeks and bright eyes of deep mocha. You’ve known him the second your eyes have laid on him. A younger form of the person you fear most.   Taehyung.   You gasp and immediately spin around, hoping he didn’t see you, pretending you didn’t see him.   “I have to go now!”    Before Taehyung’s mom can utter another word, you run away. You don’t notice how Taehyung slows as well, brows furrowed at your receding form.   To see Jungkook is one thing. But to see Taehyung, the one who will use, coerce and lead you to your doom, is another. Jungkook handed down your judgment, but Taehyung is the one who led you there.   He’s the villain.   //   “You did decently,” your mother informs a few days after the whole affair. “We might have to go to the palace more often from now on.”   You nod, unable to dwell in her approval, mind still lost in a daze.    Taehyung — a half prince born a year before Jungkook. He has the blood of a royal with his father as the King, but his mother is merely a palace maid. You remember that he seeks revenge for her death after she’s poisoned by the jealous Queen.   But if she’s still alive, that means it’ll happen soon.   This year.    Springtime.    You’re slowly recalling the details of the event, the catalyst that begins Taehyung’s descent into madness, how he became the game’s villain. But you can’t involve yourself. You just can’t.   You shouldn’t have met any of them in the first place.   You shouldn’t get entangled in their story, in their lives. If you want to live, if you want to survive, you have to avoid Taehyung at all costs. So you can’t. You can’t. Can’t.   A day passes as you focus on your studies.   You can’t.   Another two days goes by, six meals eaten.   Can’t—   On the seventh, your silver spoon clanks noisily against the porcelain bowl, slipping from your grasps, dropping downwards in your deep trance that throbs your temples. Joan turns at the ruckus and you look at her, already standing up.   “I have to go to the castle.”   The guilt eating at you has won its battle.    “Pardon me?”   “Today. Right now.” You rush out of the room and down the hall, determination set in your strides. Maybe you can avoid this. Maybe if you do, he won’t become the game’s villain. Then he won’t be a threat to you, and you won’t be a threat to anyone. You’ll live and so will his mom who’s done nothing wrong.   The maid struggles to catch up to you. “My lady! Please! Wait! What do you mean?”   “I forgot something really important!”   “Y-You can’t just go. My lady! You must ask permission from the Duke and Duchess!”   “There’s no time to.” You’ve never been more serious and somber. There isn’t an inch of mischief, no childish selfishness. Twenty seven years has amounted to this very moment. And you use your status as the Duke’s daughter to command the girl. “Come with me. If the Duke or Duchess gets mad, I’ll take the blame.”   Joan sighs, annoyed as she looks around as if someone else could reason with you. But as you turn to her, looking her dead in the eye, she shifts on her feet and hesitantly calls for a carriage.   You’re in it before you can blink again.   There must be time. There hasn’t been any news yet. No reports of a death in the castle.   You can warn him. You can avoid this tragedy.    “We’re here, my lady,” Joan informs, peering out the window at the enormous stone walls and towers looming high above the clouds. The carriage doors open and she guides you out.    Your feet land onto the cobblestone.    But there isn’t any welcome. No guards that ask what your business here is. No servant passing by.   Instead, there’s chaos in the distance.    Your head whips to the noise and Joan shouts as you dash off towards it. Yet no one notices you in the midst of the pandemonium. No one would pay mind to a small child. You’re left to linger in the open halls, butlers that quickly walk past, maids whispering amongst themselves—   “Did you hear?”   Your head turns towards two girls.   “The King’s mistress just died!”   You came a moment too late.

No one cries.   The arrangement is short and unluxurious, the bare minimum of what would be acceptable for a royal family. A priestess in front drones on impassively about the afterlife, but as you look around, no one grieves. After all, they wouldn’t shed tears for a mere maid.    This is merely a charade to quell away scandalous rumors and to give nobles an excuse to come to the castle and be acknowledged.   You’re overwhelmed in black, a tulle skirt and puffed sleeves. Your parents stand on either side of you, your father in a jacket with the house’s emblem and your mother with a veil covering the right side of her face. Like many others, your family has come for appearance sakes.   But for you, it’s different.   The woman inside the closed casket has shown you a kindness that you so seldom receive.   And because of your hesitation, because of your self-preservation and selfishness, this happened.   Once the burial ceremony is over, your parents mingle amongst the nobles, laughing cordially behind gloved hands as you follow after them and cutesy. It feels like you’re a show pony, brought around to show what the future of the Devereux looks like.   But after a while, you manage to slip away from the scrutiny.    And by sheer coincidence and coincidence only, you find him.   At first it’s the noise of heart wrenching sobs. It’s unrestrained wails and choked hiccups in between that attracts your attention. You twist through the familiar hedge corridors and the moment you turn the corner, your eyes lift to a small figure underneath an oak tree.    He sits alone. He cries to himself.    The boy with floppy, brown hair has his knees pulled together. He incessantly rubs at his eyes as if that alone could stop the tears that well and pour. He cries enough for the tens of people at the funeral, substituting their apathy with his anguish. His entire body wracks and the moment he whimpers “m-mom” in-between, it’s shaking to your core.    This is the beginning. The start of his path of destruction.   In this entire castle that stretches across the horizon, only his mother ever loved him. The half-prince. The Forgotten Prince. The one dirtied by regular red blood, not blue enough for the golden crown.   Taehyung mourns, vision blurred by his grief.   But as he rubs his eyes with his small fists, black shoes appear between the gaps of his hands.   He looks up. Your arm is extended in front of him.    Taehyung looks down to your folded, pink handkerchief. He looks stunned for a moment, as if he’s surprised that there was someone here. That someone actually heard him. That someone came.   He takes your handkerchief and sniffles.   “I’m sorry,” you murmur.    Sorry that she passed away, that he has to endure this, that you didn’t save her when you could’ve.   This isn’t just a game you’re playing anymore. All these people aren’t just characters.   You’re living a new life. And all these people have emotions, desires, thoughts of their own.   You’re not sure how you can comfort Taehyung. What you can say to make it better. “Your mother loved you a lot. I’m sure she wouldn’t want you to be crying so much by yourself.”   He hiccups, snivelling uncontrollably. “B-But if I don’t cry for her, who will?”   You don’t know what to say.   Tears continue to slip down his cheeks and as you linger awkwardly, you decide there isn’t much that you can say. So you sit beside him. You sit underneath the canopy of the tree and branches of rustling leaves, on the soft bed of grass, looking out at the garden.    This is all you can do.   You don’t notice the way Taehyung looks up in-between his mourning, glossy eyes pinpointed on the profile of your face.    The pair of you sit next to one another in the silence of his sniffles until it levels. Until he can breathe again—   “Anastasia!”   There’s a sharp call of your name, one that can only belong to your mother. You immediately come to your feet again as if a dog whistle has been blown. But as you hurry away, you turn over your shoulder. Your eyes connect with Taehyung’s brown ones, and for a moment you slow.   You leave a second later.   You twist down the hedges and turn the corner, nearly bumping straight into her. She looks down at you with her brows furrowed. “Where did you go?”   You smile. “I got lost.”   It’s futile. You know it now.   Trying to avoid the three that will lead you to your demise is like trying to wish you’d suddenly vanish off these lands. You know it won’t be the last time that you see Taehyung. It won’t be the last of Jungkook either. Or whoever the heroine will be. It seems like the more you try to run, the more you inadvertently become involved. But you’ll hold your head up high and face whatever is to come head on.

[wastelandlovingscenarios]

companions react the sole taking a knife for them in the middle of a fight? The would is pretty bad, but nonlethal.

interesting request! i really like this one. i’ll make it romanced! i had this in my drafts for about 2 weeks cause it was hard to come up with ideas.. haha. thank you for requesting! ❤️

of course, out of all places they could’ve gotten into a fight, it was a bar. some drunk guy was getting all personal, talking about how (companion’s name) had stolen their caps. the man was too wasted to really understand what was going on. i mean, they both clearly saw him put the change in his pockets way before this situation built up, but they knew explaining the issue to him would be the equivalent of talking to a brick wall. “i’d advise you to step away.” he warned through gritted teeth, standing besides sole protectively. he was getting a little too close for his liking and comfort. the man scoffed and moved closer to him threateningly. “or what? you’re gonna shoot me?” he was irritated and troubled by the stranger, yearning for this issue to end, “if it comes to that, i may have no other option.” sole caught the evil glint in the mans eye and saw how he reached for his pockets, eventually noticing the knife he had partially pulled out. “i guess two can play at that game..” with panic, sole rushed in front of him, only to feel a sharp pain hit the side of their stomach.

Danse:

as the man pulled the knife back, danse watched in pure shock as sole fell to the ground and looked back at the weapon that the man had wrapped around his fingers. it was blood. soles blood. his other half’s - with little to no reaction time, he had charged at the man, tackling him down and throwing punches uncontrollably at his face. angry was an understatement he was feeling- he was furious. furious that someone had dared to harm his loved one, especially right in from of him. it took about a dozen people to pry danse off of the poor man who now was bruised and broken by his hits. the man whimpered quietly as he curled into a ball, covering his face. “if i were you,” danse spat venomously, catching his breath, “i’d suggest you don’t cross my line of vision ever again.” he quickly rushed over to sole, who was being assisted by a resident and took them into his own arms. he pressed down on the wound, hoping that it would somehow slow down the bleeding. “you’re gonna be okay, sole. just stay awake.” sole gave him a weak smile as they brushed their hand over his now bloody one from covering their injury. they felt the fear radiating off of him and knew by the look in his eyes that he was petrified. “i-ill be okay, don’t worry.” without another word, danse picked them up and ran to the nearest medical center, not wanting to waste another minute as soles life depended on it. sole was definitely gonna get a scolding on how they shouldn’t risk their life for him.

Deacon:

it was terrifying. terrifying on how slow everything moved. deacon was paralyzed, his mind trying to catch up with the events that were occurring; it just went too fast for him to process. the sound of soles body hitting the ground would snap deacon out of his daze and he would pull out his gun, shooting towards the direction of the man without sparing a single glance at his direction. the bullet had lodged into the man’s shoulder as he fell back, gasping in pain. deacon didn’t care. he only cared about the person who was laying on the floor near his feet. crouching down almost too quickly, he quickly flipped sole to face him and immediately felt the panic bubble up within seconds. “fuck. fuck. fuck.” he began moving his hands around them, not knowing how to handle the pressure of the situation. it only gave him bad memories after all. he lifted them off the floor, placing a trembling hand on their cheek gently, “h-hey, sweetheart, let me know you’re okay,” his voice faltered, feeling a heavy, familiar weight on his chest, “please, say anything,” soles eyes weakly fluttered open as they stared wearily into his eyes, “anything.” he brushed his thumb across their face as he let out a choked laugh at their gruesome sense of humor, “that’s why you’re my partner.” deacon leaned his forehead on theirs as he continued to soothe them until help came. soon enough, the doctor had rushed through and taken sole into his own care, carefully treating their wounds. deacon refused to leave their side and held their hand for the rest of their treatment.

Maccready:

“no!” maccready cried, seeing sole drop to the floor almost lifelessly. with anger building up inside him, he pulled up his gun and shot the man clean on the head. he didn’t care if there were bystanders who witnessed it or if he got into trouble. this man - no, this thing - hurt the only other person he’s ever loved and cared for in his lifetime. he dropped to his knees, a stiffled sob escaping his throat as he took sole into his arms. maccready felt his heart drop seeing soles eyes closed and their blood staining their skin and clothes. “no, no, no, no. please god.” he pleaded helplessly, shaking sole gently in hopes that they were still somewhat responsive. he didn’t want this to be another lucy. he didn’t want more blood on his hands and he certainly didn’t want to lose his better half when his life was just getting better. “someone get help!” maccready begged, hearing his own sobs echo the now quiet room. he looked around the bar frantically to find anything to halt soles bleeding, even just for a mere second- “mac..” his eyes met with them in an instant as he let out another strained sob. he buried his head into soles shoulder, his hat falling off of his head while doing so. with all the energy sole had left, they wrapped their arm around his neck. “i love you. i’m sorry.” he apologized hoarsely. as help came, maccready made sure that sole was resting for the remaining of the night. sole woke up to maccready sitting on a chair near the hospital bed. he slept on the edge as he tightly held their hand, tears stains on his checks.

Hancock:

in the matter of seconds, sole fell like a rag doll, letting out strained noises. he angrily looked up at the man who’s cocky look turned into a fearful one instead. the man backed up, dropping the knife as hancock inched closer to him, picking up the abandoned weapon in the process. as the man hit a dead end with his back pressing against the wall, he felt himself palpitate with immense terror. hancock leaned down to his ear, whispering calmly, “i think you dropped this.” hancock shoved the knife straight into the mans torso, and repeated the action twice, almost like he had done with finn. once he was finished, he threw the knife to the side and strided over to sole who was now sitting against a wall thanks to a settler that assisted them and went to call for help. he quickly crouched down in front of sole, only to meet eyes with his other half who was half smiling in pain and half in amusement. “almost like the first time we met, huh?” they joked, trying to lighten the situation. hancock put a finger on soles lip, shushing them as he assessed the wound on their side, tearing open the cloth that covered it. his eyes saddened at the sight of his other half being injured, “fuck, it looks bad, sunshine.” sole only snickered weakly. “looks can be deceiving, handsome.” even during this time, sole chose to be tough instead of acknowledging their pain. hancock placed a hand on the flooring near their thigh, and leaned over to kiss their forehead as he spoke softly, “i should be the one protecting ya sunshine, not the other way around. next time, let me take the hit,” soles eyes softened at the sight of remorse on hancocks features, “i don’t like seeing you in this state. it really breaks my heart.” with their free hand, they relaxed it on top of hancocks own which rested next to them. as sole got patched up by a doctor, hancock combed their hair with his fingers to somewhat distract them from the actual morbid situation occurring. from now on, he’d instantly become more protective of sole and make sure he’d go out of his way to ensure their safety.

Nick Valentine:

he flinched at the sound of their body hitting the floor. never in a million years would he ever think he’d hear something that would surely embed in his mind for a while. he swiftly brought out his gun, shooting the man in the thigh without hesitation. with an irate tone, he’d glare at the guy with his bright yellow eyes piercing through him. “i’ll let the authorities deal with you later. i’m not letting you take the easy way out.” he’d quickly attain to sole, who was now near to tears, “it hurts, nick..” they whimpered, holding onto their wound a little too tightly. nick lifted soles upper body off the floor, allowing them to rest on his lap as he spoke in a comforting tone, “i know it hurts sweetheart, but help is on its ways now, okay? “ though he was outwardly calm, he was screaming concern in the inside. how bad was the wound? how deep did the knife go? did it hit a vital organ? he didn’t know - he wasn’t a doctor. nick slowly removed their hand that gripped onto their wound and replaced it with his, which lightly covered it. he knew sole was panicking from the shock and sudden condition they were placed in. “nick, am i gonna be okay?” he continued to mollify them, trying to maintain himself in the process, “of course you will be, sweet pea. you’re stronger than anyone i’ve ever known.” sole trusted his words, eventually calming down soon after. as sole received help from a nearby medical assistant, he was beyond relieved to hear that sole was definitely gonna survive and had no serious damage to their organs. sole saw as he entered the room, immediately walking towards them and placing a kiss on their forehead. “don’t know if this old geezer could handle another one of those moments,” he half smiled, pulling back. “let’s avoid more of that in the future.”

[that-yandere-life]

Hello! I saw your post about your birthday, and I was just going to submit this so I don't forget! I would love a yandere NSFW alphabet for Spencer Reid from Criminal Minds, please. I absolutely love that boy. If you're not able to do that, it's totally fine! By the way, how are you doing right now? Just thought I should check in as well with everything going on right now. Thank you so much, and Happy Birthday!! 🖤🖤🖤

[Thank you so much for helping me celebrate! I hope this is everything you were looking for darling!]

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

Spencer isn’t exactly experienced in the bedroom, but he is a genius who would want to make sure that he does everything right by you. So that means plenty of research on how to properly pleasure you and take care of you. 

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

Favorite part of his: His hands, the way they feel touching you sensually, to using his long fingers to bring you to orgasm over and over again. Also the sensation of gripping your hips as he thrusts into you with all of his might. 

Favorite part of yours: Your hips, especially with remnants of a bruise from the tight grip he keeps on them while plunging into you as deep as he can. Or light nail marks left behind during a rougher session. 

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

Inside of you is his clear favorite choice, while you might not exactly expect that from him. If you are uncomfortable with that he will compromise and cum on your stomach or chest. 

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

Lowkey has a breeding kink, even though he is worried about passing on any mental illness to your potential children. Being with you makes that risk worth the price to him. 

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

Not very experienced, but is very good at reading people due to his job so he knows how to pleasure you better than anyone you have ever been with before. Not to mention is an exceptionally fast learner, listening to your feedback and taking it to heart every single time. 

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

Missionary because he loves holding you down and taking you, while being able to watch you fall apart. This is also because it helps him read your body language so he can adjust his technique if need be.

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

Spencer will likely be more serious most of the time, but that doesn’t mean that situations don’t happen where neither of you can help but laugh. It’s never perfect or easy to engage in the act of lovemaking. 

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

Spencer keeps it trimmed, although sometimes he let’s it go for too long as it’s not something he constantly gives attention to. If it bothers you however he will make a conscious effort to maintain his landscaping for you.

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

Spencer is very romantic in the moment, kissing you, complimenting you, and telling you how much he loves you. It’s never just about pleasure to him, it’s about that connection that you get during and after.

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

When he was single he didn’t really think about it much, especially with his high pace job that kept him on the go most of the time. Now if he has to be away from you he can’t help himself, might even ask for nude photographs to be securely sent to him. (There is no way he will let that kind of thing get out)

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

I mentioned a breeding kink but that isn’t the only kink our seemingly sweet innocent lad enjoys participating in. Another one he engages in is spanking, and possibly even a daddy kink underlying. Try calling him Daddy, see what happens. ;)

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

Mostly in the privacy of your bedroom, or hotel rooms depending on where he is that week. (If he keeps working, he will bring you with him everywhere. It would be a requirement, even if it breaks policy.)

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

Honestly, the most sensual moment to him is any time you touch his shoulder, even if it was absentmindedly. The soft gesture really gets him in the mood to worship your body, not to mention the ground you walk on. ;)

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

Nothing with intense pain, he has gone through enough in his life that he doesn’t want to cause harm to anyone else. Would try a little wax play, or the like if you wanted though, as long as it doesn’t really harm you in the end.

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

At first he felt a little awkward when you would get down on your knees for him, or offer to give him a blowjob. However after reassuring him that you don’t mind doing it, he gets really into it when you do it for him. Ultimately he is a giver, so he will truly enjoy returning the favor, or just offering whenever the two of you have down time. SIT ON HIS FACE!

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

Mostly slow and sensual, but after a really bad or rough day he will plow you into the mattress until you can’t go anymore. It’s a very therapeutic way for him to relieve the stress that his life is filled with on a daily basis.

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

Spencer usually wants to take his time with you, not being one for rushing. That’s not to say that he won’t be able to hold back from the thrill of taking you someplace while others around you have no idea what is about to happen. 

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

For the most part he would try most anything you asked him, unless it had a chance of affecting his job or reputation too negatively.

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

Definitely can go for a few rounds, but can’t exactly go all night like some can. That is not to say that you won’t finish multiple times before he is finished with you.

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

Spencer will buy all the toys you want, knowing how they can seriously stimulate intimacy in the bedroom. Only the best however, and trust that he has looked up everything about what is on the market.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

Doesn’t really do the teasing, but responses VERY well to being teased, or challenged in anyway.

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

Usual grunts and groans, will likely tell you multiple times how lucky he is to have you. Praising you intermittently, the words just falling from his tongue in the moment.

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

Wants to watch you masturbate with the toys he buys you, demanding a demonstration whenever a new one is purchased. Watching you use what he gets you really gets him off, and will even sometimes help you use it.

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

I would say a bit above average on length, and average thickness. 

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

Average sex drive, especially when he starts dating you. Before he didn’t really think about it all that much so it didn’t affect him as much.

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

Absolutely would not fall asleep until you are taken care of, even if he is exhausted beyond belief. You are his number one priority.

[ilguna]

Redamancy - Chapter Two (f.o)

summary: it’s time to forgive and repair.

warnings; swearing, mention of murder.

wc; 8.8k

NOTES; I give reader a last name to fit the world.

–

One second, you’re running through a dark forest. With your heart pounding in your ears, hot breath tingling your lips, legs aching and burning the more you push on. You weave through the trees, fingertips scraping against the bark. You’ll move one way, but jerk the other when you hear a voice call your name. Loud, teasing, and hauntingly familiar. You reach the top of the cliff, with nowhere else to run. One blurry glance behind you, and you know that you can’t stay. 

Your only option is to jump.

Before you have the chance to reconsider, the wind is already whistling in your ears, clothes painfully whipping at your skin. You can see the water coming closer and closer, the jarring rocks becoming more clear. From the height you jumped at, the water is concrete, and the rocks are spears. You’re about to hit the water and feel every single bone break in your body--

The next second, you’re jolting awake, now in the Capitol. For a moment, you can’t catch your breath, feeling the painful ache in your lungs from sucking in air while you ran. With shaky fingers, you wrap your hands around your throat, closing your eyes. You’re safe, they can’t get you here.

The only place they reign in is your nightmares, and even then sometimes they lose. They just got lucky this time, they caught you off guard. Next time, they’re not likely to be as lucky.

When you feel like you’ve got a hold of reality again, you open your eyes and stare into the sun yellow room. It takes a second for you to realize that it’s not the morning dull color, it’s the afternoon one. The sun that makes the room warmer and feel like home. You sit straight up in bed, immediately looking to the clock.

It’s past noon. Your tributes went to the Training Center by themselves, with hardly any direction. You doubt that Elysia gave them the advice that you would, you’re not even sure if she’s authorized to say stuff like that. Which means that they might have just gone and screwed up their big debut to the gamemakers, something that will surely have an effect on their score later on.

You bury your face in your hands, letting out a soft groan. You wipe the sleep from your eyes, and then slip out of bed to take a quick shower to wake you up. As soon as you’re done, you let the Capitol machines have their way with your hair, making it as soft as silk, and free of tangles. All that’s left to do is to style, but you leave it alone today.

You spin the ring around on your finger, already feeling nerves growing in your stomach as if Elysia will yell at you for slacking on your duties. Out of all your years of mentoring alone, you’ve never slept in. You’ve never had a day where you just forgot to get up on time to tell the tributes what to do.

You knew you should’ve taken it easy on the alcohol last night. It wasn’t even that you, Elysia and the stylists stayed up late, because you didn’t. You talked for maybe half an hour to forty-five minutes after Finnick left. You went straight to bed after that because you were afraid something like this would happen. At least you were right, and you know that you won’t be doing this ever again.

As much as you enjoy being around your Capitol friends, and the nights where you can celebrate like that, they’re not good for you. They throw you off, and since this year has already been different from the start, you’re already on your way down a different path. There’s no reason to start slacking now.

Elysia isn’t in the dining room, and she isn’t in the living room either. The apartment is as empty as it was yesterday when you came around for lunch. You should’ve expected this, with your luck, Elysia is doing what you’re supposed to be doing. And she’s already swamped with trying to keep things on track.

You pause in the doorway of the hallway, staring into the apartment, feeling tired and miserable. You don’t know where to go, or how to start. To the stylists? Find Elysia? Wait for the tributes to come back and tell you how their first day went? Is there even time for a quick bite before you go? Probably not.

You take a single step towards the door, figuring that you’ll start off with the easiest place to go; the stylists, and work your way from there. They might have some idea on where your trusty Capitol escort is. Then, the front door opens, and you’re met with Finnick’s red face, running a hand through his hair.

The door slips shut behind him, he’s definitely distracted. It’s like he doesn’t even see you, with how he moves to the living room and turns on the tv. You open your mouth, going to question what he’s doing, but he finds the channel. There’s no time to ask, you gravitate towards the television set as if it’s got you under mind control.

Once in a blue moon, the gamemakers will hint at what the arena will be. It’s rare, even more rare than allowing two tributes to win the Hunger Games together. Finnick hears the tapping of your shoes against the steps, and looks over his shoulder briefly. Your mouth falls open slightly, eyes glued to the screen.

The tributes are never allowed to see the broadcast, and the gamemakers show it once. Which is exactly why Finnick’s out of breath, he must have ran all the way here to make it in time. It’s a good thing that you got up thirty minutes ago, or you would’ve had to take Finnick’s word for what they’re showing. 

It’s a beautiful landscape, like it is every year. One that manages to look better than the last. The Capitol has done it all when it comes to arenas; from deserts, to islands, to frozen tundras, to cities that are nothing but crumbs after the rebellion. They’re all intricately planned, and they were ready years before they were actually used.

The Capitol doesn’t show much, only one snapshot of the arena. You have to figure out the mystery of what this year’s nightmare personality may be. What will be the final twist that they have to offer? During your games, there wasn’t one. You and Finnick made it entertaining all by yourself. But other games need that little push to make it memorable.

The picture on screen is of a deep green hill with thin trees and colorful flowers. They won’t do much for hiding, not even climbing. They’ll hold body weight, but it’s hard to climb trees that you can almost wrap your body around twice. There’s a stream, maybe a bit bigger than a stream. Blue water, clear as day. Makes you suspicious that it’s not as clean as it appears to be. It’s hard to trust good-looking water after you’ve been betrayed once before.

There’s a small building, a shack like the one you had in your games. Only, this one is much more beaten down. It’s roof is caving in, definitely looks like wood rot, it won’t provide much protection. Especially since the door is half gone and there’s no windows. A strong enough gust of wind could blow the place down.

But that’s not the main attraction, something as simple as a shack could be easily written off with the monster behind it. In fact, you don’t think you’ve seen anything more terrifying in the Hunger Games before. At the start of this new decade, the gamemakers are trying something new this year. Luminous fear.

It’s a large dam, a great wall of grey concrete. The only thing that stands between the rest of the arena, and an unfathomable amount of water. You’re not sure that knowing how to swim could save anyone in this situation. Just staring at it, you think that there’s a ton of water being hidden behind the dam. 

You’ve never seen a dam in person before. You know that District Five has one, though. It’s what gives the districts and the Capitol most of their power. Get rid of that, and there’s a nation-wide blackout. From what you’ve gathered when you’ve seen it on tv, it’s fucking huge. A hundred times bigger than what’s going to be in the 70th Hunger Games arena. 

This dam compared to the one in District Five, is childsplay. But that’s where you stop underestimating it, because it’s still dangerous. The gamemakers wouldn’t choose to shower it unless they had ill intentions. You cross your arms slightly, using one of your hands to play with your lower lip while you stare.

Unfortunately, you can’t tell the tributes about what you’ve seen. Neither can anyone else, it’s cheating and the tributes will be targeted inside of the arena because of it. If they tell anyone that they know about it beforehand, it’s an immediate target. If the tribute never goes towards where the snapshot was given, then they’re a target too.

Normally, no one breaks the rules because of this. It’s too risky to have the Capitol find out. But you’re sure that Districts One and Two will find a way around this rule, because they always do. It’s their tributes funeral, the faster they get killed, the better chances your tributes have.

The program zooms in on the dam a little, you’re sure that they’re getting ready to take it away. So, you try and memorize the last that you can, thinking that you’ll need to locate the placement in the arena when you have the chance. But you’re stopped when you see something dark on the screen. You move forward, squinting, wiping the screen under the assumption that it’s a hair or a smear of alcohol from Pleurisy when she continued to drink last night.

But it doesn’t come off, and the more you stare, the more your blood begins to run cold. It’s not on your side of the screen, it’s on theirs. It’s thin, barely noticeable if you’re not looking for it. And you just found it by accident. They zoomed in on purpose.

No human structure is unbreakable. Not even the better creations.

This wasn’t a mistake, they wanted a mentor to notice that the dam is cracking.

“What is that?” Finnick asks.

“A crack.” Your hand falls, you back up to look at the whole scene one last time before it disappears, “There’s more.”

It’s gone right after. There’s a warning issued right after not to warn the tributes or find a way to prepare them in advance. Doing so will result in immediate trouble for the mentor. But your mind is already finding ways to make up for it.

You can’t brainstorm out loud here, maybe somewhere in the street, away from the Tribute Center. You gnaw on the inside of your cheek, Finnick turns off the tv since the main show is over, and they’re not talking about it at all. 

A low hum sounds from you. A plot is already beginning in your head for a subtle way to push your tributes in the right direction. You’d say that you’ve never cheated in the Hunger Games before, but then again, your tributes have trained since they were children.

You’re already cheaters, what’s a little more?

“I talked to the tributes this morning.”

“About what?” You ask, pressing your lips together for a moment. 

You then turn your body away, heading up the steps and to the dining room table. You wish you could write your thoughts onto a pad of paper. But paper is traceable, they’ll be able to find out that it came from you guys.

“About training.” Finnick says, following you, “You weren’t up this morning.”

“I had too much to drink last night.” You thank the avox that delivers your late lunch. You pause for a moment, thinking over what Finnick has just said, and then you turn to him, “You were at the table this morning?”

“You said you would fill me in.” Finnick says, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world, “I figured the best time for you to do that would be this morning before you got busy. But you didn’t show up so…” he trails off for a moment, picking up a sugar-covered grape, turning it over in his fingers, “I told the tributes that they should show off their skills to the careers.

“They told me that they don’t want to ally themselves with the careers, and I told them that was fine. They don’t have to succumb to the pressure of the tradition of teaming up. All that matters is that they show the careers that they’re just as good and they’ll be missing out on two good tributes.” Finnick looks at you.

“And they’re keeping at least one hidden?”

“Yes.” Finnick nods, and then eats the grape, “I warned them that this might start an early rivalry that they probably won’t be able to remedy. Annie and Marsh don’t care, as long as the careers won’t try and be friends, they’ll figure it out. I don’t think they want an alliance with anyone.”

“Figured that much out already.” You say, “Thank you for doing that for me.”

Finnick doesn’t say anything, his eyes casting downwards. You two eat in silence, and just when it seems like he’s about to leave, Elysia comes back.

“Did you see?” She asks, she’s pulling off some black gloves that she’s wearing. Actually, she seems to be dressed in all black.

“Who died?” You ask in return, earning a snort from Finnick.

Elysia rolls her eyes, “The broadcast—“

“Yeah, we saw it.”

You and Finnick get up from the table, making a triangle with Elysia. You rub your face slightly, “They showed the dam for a reason, we’ve already figured it out. This year is a handful already.”

Elysia stares between you and Finnick for a moment, eyes shifting from side to side like she’s deciding something. Like if you and Finnick are finally back to being a team, or are coincidentally together at the moment. Although, the two of you were sitting at the table together, so you can see why.

You don’t mind teamwork. If Finnick wants to go all in, he can be your guest. You’re not the problem here, maybe pushing him isn’t a perfect idea, but neither is letting him run free. The second that Finnick comes to the conclusion that he’s ready for it again, you’ll be unstoppable. All he needs to do is say yes.

“The tributes might be feeling a little overwhelmed after today,” she says, her eyes darken a bit. Secret meanings, they’re hidden everywhere. “The balcony would be a good place for a pep talk after dinner.”

Elysia’s a rule breaker too, it seems. Suggesting that you take your tributes out there and warn them in some way. This is why you like her, she’s not naive and stupid like the other escorts. You got lucky, placed with a woman who might not be on your side all the time, but there are times she waivers and caves.

“I think they might like the lights of the city.” you agree, nodding your head, “Smart thinking.”

Finnick’s caught on too, he nods, and then stretches his arms, “I’m going to take a quick nap. The two of you will be here to collect the tributes, so I’m off duty.” 

He turns, heading up the steps. Elysia bids him a short goodbye, and then the two of you wait for him to be gone completely before she starts to gossip, “You should’ve seen him this morning. Normally, he’s not so serious but he stepped up when he realized that you weren’t coming out.” she pauses, and then her eyebrows push in, “Was that on purpose?”

“No, it wasn’t.” you shift on your feet, checking the clock on the wall. There’s about half an hour before the tributes come back, “I’m not surprised. Once a victor, always a victor. It’s hard not to mentor when you know that the tributes need your help. It’s hard not to be overbearing and in control, either. Took me a while to figure that out.”

“Well, I wouldn’t do it again.”

“Don’t plan on it.” you tell her, “I only slacked because I drank. I’m just lucky Finnick didn’t stay out too late. How’s the Capitol liking Four?”

“They’re excited about the volunteers, I’ve been talking them up all day. I’m going to go back out for a little while and check up on Laurel and Pleurisy. Have anything you want me to pass along?”

“No, but we should probably have the token talk tonight as dinner, or tomorrow at breakfast.” 

She snaps her fingers, “I knew I forgot something this morning. You threw me off.”

“The last time, I promise.”

“Good.” She says, heading down the steps, “Try not to obsess over the broadcast, (Y/n). Annie and Marsh are fit, it’ll take a miracle to bring them down.”

“Don’t jinx us.” you joke.

She leaves through the elevator, you wander around the apartment for a minute, deciding if it’s worth it to stay out here. But in the end, you sit on the couch and pull out a book to read. Capitol fashion, the past trends and how they affect today. The last time you checked, they’re still drooling over the idea of gems and expensive fabrics.

Anything to make them look expensive and upper class. But you know their secrets, after years of mentoring and talking to sponsors, you’ve begun to notice when they’re faking. People who aren’t rich, invest in the Hunger Games in hopes that they’ll win it all back. The betting room is an intoxicating place if you’re in debt and need a place to be flashy.

The truth is, the Capitol isn’t all silver and gold. They’ve got their own lower class, but the difference between their lower class and the districts is that the districts will help each other. If your neighbors needed a babysitter or dinner for the night, your doors were open. You’re all a tight-knit community normally, but with the Hunger Games, it makes you even closer.

Annie and Marsh come through the elevator, foreheads glistening, sweat stains under their arms and down their backs. Needless to say, you think that they had a good workout. They pause in the doorway, Marsh leans over to catch his breath, Annie seems pretty happy.

“Hey,” you fold the book halfway, “Sorry for not being up this morning. How did your first day go?”

“Good!” Annie beams, “We’re good at a lot of things in there, so there’s not much to learn. I think that we’ll spend the last day going through stations that we don’t know just in case.”

“That’s good. Anyone offer an alliance?”

“Not really looking for one.” Marsh stands, he’s in worse shape than Annie is. His face is redder, like he ran a couple of miles in the heat, “But no offers, we’ll let you know if there are any.”

You nod, “Go shower and get ready for dinner, Elysia will come and get you when it’s time.” you watch as they start to go, “Oh! Also, be quiet in the hall.”

“We will.” Annie says.

You read in the living room for a little while longer, but end up packing it up and heading to your room to relax and make a phone call back home. Reed’s the one that picks up, letting you know that everything is going just fine. He passes the phone around after that, you get an array of greetings and questions about what’s happening and what you think is going on.

Unfortunately, you can’t tell them that you saw the arena, either. It’s a surprise for them too. You know that Reed won’t tell anyone, he’s got the whole Capitol-Hunger Games thing on lock. But sometimes Mox forgets what’s supposed to be secrets, and what isn’t. One slip to Caspian, and the whole secret will be out. And it’ll be traced right back to you, because you’re the one that keeps the Dorazio families company.

You wrap it up with Alyssum, listening to her talk about whatever comes to mind. You only get off the phone when you see that dinner is drawing closer. By the time you’re able to get off the phone, you barely make it to the table before the tributes. You and Finnick ask lots of questions at dinner, curious about how they’re feeling and sizing up the competition.

As always, every single year, the only threat they can come up with is the careers. You constantly remind them that they’re careers too, and today proved that, “If you showed off like Finnick told you to, you just threatened them and everyone else in that gym. And it’s going to be even worse now that you’re not allies with them. The other tributes are going to have two groups to worry about. You two, and the careers.”

“I wouldn’t be surprised if the careers pick you guys out first in the arena.” Finnick says, picking at his food, “You’re going to be the first threat, especially if you score high during training.”

You snap your fingers, catching Annie and Marshs’ attention, since their eyes have drifted, “Don’t get nervous. It just means that your odds are increasing, and more people are going to like you. It’s an opportunity, remember that.”

“What if they offer an alliance?” Annie asks, shaking her head slightly, “They haven’t yet, but what if they ask?”

“You tell them no.” Finnick says, “Saying it straight to their faces is going to get the message across. They’re more likely to back off then, but it’ll be temporary.”

“Yeah, I guess that’s obvious.”

Marsh clears his throat, “I’m worried that they’ll follow us after the bloodbath.”

“Don’t stay in the cornucopia.” you say, “In fact, I wouldn’t go that deep in. You’ll get sponsors, they’ll fill the gaps that you’re missing. You two just have to focus on running. The careers will be caught up in the bloodbath, as they always are. They’ll be too busy to follow you guys.”

“I hope so.” Marsh says.

You sigh, sitting back in the chair, “You guys need to remember that you’re ready for this. Four and five years of fighting and memorizing. You are just as dangerous as they are at this point. You’re scared now, think that you might be inferior, but the truth is that in a fight, you’re going to hold up. You’ll see.”

Think down, you’ll perform down. You want to tell them that the longer they underestimate themselves, the more they won’t realize their true potential. They’ll never measure up the way that they’re supposed to. You open your mouth, to say exactly what you’re thinking, because you’re the mentor and you should know better than them.

Finnick’s eyes shift to you, waiting for what you’re going to say. But you hesitate, because you know that mindset doesn’t work for everyone. You got chosen for the Hunger Games, you didn’t volunteer like they did. Unlike them, you didn’t have a choice but to go. The only thing that kept you going the entire time before and inside of the arena was family, and thinking that you were more than you actually were.

You’re not sure that’s going to work with them. They know who they are, they know the things they’ve learned and the worth they hold. They’re just nervous, you don’t need to tell them that they’ll do fine inside of the arena. Everyone has their moments of doubt, right? But you don’t remember having it this bad, and considering you age, you should’ve been depressed.

Once again, it was family that was keeping you alive. The constant visualization of you being the last one standing while your name was announced over the arena. You also knew that you were going to do well that year. It was a gut feeling. Just like how it’s a gut feeling that Annie or Marsh is gonna live this year.

You close your mouth, smiling slightly at Finnick. His lips part momentarily, and then he mimics your own smile. You think he’s realized this too. The constant reassurance of your tributes is babying them. They’re just nervous, they know that they’re going to do well. You could let up on the pressure, but they need it. They’re going to be under pressure inside of the arena, too. 

“Are you guys done? There’s something I want to talk to you guys about.” you wipe your mouth with the napkin, and then stand up from the table.

“I--yeah.” Annie carefully stacks her plates and bowls into a neat pile for the avox to collect. Marsh is much sloppier, but tries to be as considerate as she is. You think that she has experience in this type of thing.

You raise your eyebrows at Finnick, who’s still seated at the table. He shakes his head, “I’m busy tonight.”

“Stay safe, then.” you tell him, and then start up the steps, “Come on, you two.”

They don’t say a word behind you, not even a question on where you’re taking them. You bring them deeper into the apartment, around to the balcony that’s off to the side. The top floor--District Twelve’s floor--has a better balcony, one that blends in better. But you’ve explored this place plenty of times, you know it’s secrets now.

You hum, unlock the door and then open it. A gust of wind blows through the doors, warm and welcoming. It reminds you of the salty air from District Four, also hot during the summer after baking in the sun all day. Annie goes through the door first, thanking you quietly for holding it open. You press your hand to Marsh’s back, pushing him out a little quicker.

Looking behind you, there’s no one. The hallway is dark because you didn’t turn on the light. And it’s empty, because the floor’s don’t hold peacekeepers. They rarely even have Capitol attendants waiting around every corner. Which means that you guys should be just fine outside. Since it’s windy, it’ll be harder to hear you if there are cameras and microphones.

You shut the door tightly behind you, and join the tributes at the railing. The city below is bright and alive, as it always is at night. The Capitol is full of a bunch of insomniacs. They never are up during the morning, but they’re wide awake at night. Sometimes, you think that you can relate to them in this sense, but for a different reason. For a while, you were afraid of the dark too.

Marsh leans over the railing, like he’s testing its sturdiness. Your eyes scan over the wall, until you find the windchime. Pulling it down from the roof, you toss it right over the edge without a single warning to the tributes. On the way down, it continues to clink and whistle.

“What was that for?” Marsh asks, eyebrows knit together, eyes on you.

“Just in case you get any bright ideas. Watch.” you say, and they do. It takes a couple of seconds, but the windchimes hit the forcefield and come bouncing right back. When you catch them in your hand, they’re as black as charcoal and no longer sounding as delicate as they did before. 

You crush the wood in your fist and watch the wood turn to crumbs. Then, you drop it off to the side. Marsh has now backed off of the railing, crossing his arms. Annie takes one step back, but still looks over the edge curiously.

“We’re close in age.” you start, looking out to the city too, “I’m only two-three years older than you two. Finnick is even less than that, so I can understand why it’s hard to believe us when we tell you that you’ll do just fine inside of the games. We haven’t been inside of the games for a while, and our track record is far from perfect when it comes to mentoring.”

You look at them now, you’ve got their attention, “Believe me when I say that this year is different. You two are special, more capable than the tributes in the past were. Your lives have revolved around this idea since you signed up for the boarding school. You have fought hard to get to this point. Don’t give up on yourselves now. This is the most important part.

“It’s hard to know what to prepare yourselves with when it comes to training.” you pause for a second, trying to figure out how to word this. You know exactly what they should use, even if you never used it personally, “Tomorrow, I want you to focus on agility.”

You look between their faces, trying to read their expressions. Annie is smart, you know that she’ll catch on. Marsh is a different story, he’s always driven by explanations. You can’t give him one this time, which might ruin your subtle plan to push them in the right way. In the gymnasium, they have blocks for agility training. You hop from block to block, that gradually gets higher. It’s timed, but that’s not the important part.

They’ll learn how to assess the ground that they’re going for. Maybe help them when it comes to picking and choosing where to place their feet, strengthening their confidence in non-dominant feet. The better they’re at with going up and down uneven ground, the better.

“Okay.” Annie says, “I was looking at that today already, so I think that it would be a good idea.” Her eyes then land on Marsh, who stares right at her. He trusts her, that’s a good thing when it comes to allies. It might be his downfall if she ever plans on betraying him, though.

“Sure.” Marsh finally agrees, and then looks at you, “You’re the expert.”

“Don’t get me wrong, this is your games. You’re the ones going into the arena, so you should be planning out what you want. But trust me on this one, okay?” the wind has died down, the previous cover is now gone, “Go to bed, I’ll see you in the morning.”

“Thank you, (Y/n).” Annie says, her eyes show that she understands, and you give her a gentle nod.

They go back inside, but you stay outside for a little while longer, leaning against the railing as you stare into the city of the Capitol. A place that’s so pretty on the outside, but absolutely ugly on the inside. The definition of how looks can be deceiving.

Hopefully that idea can apply to your tributes next.

--

“Good morning!” You yell, clapping your hands together as you come out from the hallway.

No one is looking awake this morning, and you can’t really blame them. Annie and Marsh have been working hard at training for the past two days. Lucky for them, today is the last. But it also means the private training scores happen this afternoon. 

Finnick leans his head against his hand, watching as you come to the table. He looks fairly amused by your enthusiasm, and how your tributes are lacking.

“In the Training Center today, you’ll have the first half of the day for training, but after lunch is time for scoring.” You sit at your spot, “Don’t stress out about it too much. If you kept a skill that you’re good at hidden, then you’ll do just fine. After training, you’ll come back here. And then we’ll wait to see what happens.”

The avox delivers a plate of food, you don’t hesitate with starting to eat. Honestly, the more you look at your tributes, the more they start to look green. They’re picking at their food, not really looking at you or Finnick. It’s definitely the nerves kicking up again. Yesterday they did so good with not even feeling it.

You share a brief look with Finnick, he’s playing with the rope bracelet around his wrist. It looks exactly like the one he had when you guys were inside of the arena, but you know that it’s new. If you remember correctly, the last bracelet broke just after the Victory Tour. Guess it fulfilled it’s duty, and Finnick got a new one because of it.

“Tomorrow we’ll have a different sort of day, it’ll be more relaxing,” you continue, picking up the mug of light brown coffee, “And then it’s interviews.”

“Just like that, huh?” Marsh mutters, pushing around the food on his plate.

“You guys should eat, you’ll need the energy.” Finnick says, “Even if it’s not much.”

Annie listens, but Marsh’s heart still isn’t into it. You try to keep conversation light with them, but they’re duds, so you switch to Elysia to talk about how tomorrow will happen. Elysia knows more about proper etiquette when it comes to being on stage, so she’ll be the one taking care of how Annie walks in heels and how they respond to questions.

Which just leaves you and Finnick to decide their personalities on stage.

You wish Annie and Marsh good luck, “The first thing you do in that private room is breathe, got it? Calm yourselves down.” you then give them a smile and let them go. 

Elysia isn’t too far behind, going to do her daily duties of rounding up people that could potentially sponsor your tributes in the arena. It leaves you and Finnick at the table, left to figure things out on your own.

“I think we can put Annie down as kind.” You say, “Or have her try to talk smart to get people to look at her more.” you rub your forehead with an open palm, “But if she scores low, then talking smart won’t do anything.”

“At least one of them have to act dangerous.” Finnick says, you nod slightly, “Or the both of them. Even if they score low, they can still be mean on stage.”

“It’ll just take the effect of it away.” pressing your lips together, you stare off at the wall for a while, “We’re just going to have to wait and see, I guess.” 

When you place your hand down on the table a little too hard, you can hear your ring clink against the table. Standing, you stretch your arms and move some hair out of your face.

“Where are you off to?”

“Tribute tattoos.” you say, and then pause, “Not for actually tributes, for my parents. I should be back before they’re done, but to be fair, when we came back from ours, Anchor and Mags were nowhere to be seen. It’ll be good for them, not knowing what to do next.” you start down the steps, “Teaches them some independence.”

You get all the way to the front door, looking behind you to Finnick. He’s absently staring at you, like he’s waiting for something. A while ago, when you and Finnick were still dating, you used to describe him as a golden retriever, because he’s loyal and would love to go with you, if you asked.

You wonder what happened to the loyal part. You press down on the door handle, “You’re invited if you want to go. I think they take walk-ins.”

“One of us should be here.” He says.

“Didn’t you hear what I just said?” you let out a small laugh, “Or are you just scared of needles, Odair?” You give him a cheeky grin, opening the door and leaving, “I’ll see you later.”

You get all the way to the elevator, inside with the button pressed when Finnick rounds the corner, hand covering the doors before they can close. It’s hard not to give him another big smile, especially with the annoyed look on his face. Secretly, you know that he liked the invite, and he’s going to enjoy your company.

“What’s with the tattoo obsession?” he asks.

You scoff, “Obsession? This’ll be my second one, thank you.”

“And the first one being…?” he asks, eyebrows raised.

You roll your eyes. You’re pretty sure he was around for this one, but you lift the hair off of the back of your neck anyway, turning to let him see. It should be a D3, obviously for District Three. You got it for Blaire, you knew him for so little time, but you’re sure he was your best friend inside of the arena. 

“Oh, I remember that.” Finnick says, “Looks like it needs a touch-up.” he mutters, and then you feel cold fingers against the back of your neck. He runs his finger over it, but it’s gone quickly, “Just for Blaire, right?”

“Didn’t really know Verda.” you let your hair down.

“Yeah, that’s true.” He says, the two of you walk side by side out of the elevator and to the front doors, which is currently fairly crowded by a group. 

They’re not dressed in bright colors or solid white, so they can’t be Capitol people or peacekeepers. And if they are stylists, they’re definitely dialed back a lot like Laurel is. Out of all the stylists that you’ve seen come and go, she’s definitely more tame than the rest. Even your prep team is pretty normal-looking.

The closer you get, the more it dawns on you. It’s a pack of mentors, four of them all gathered together in the middle of the lobby. You take the initiative, going in front of Finnick to lead him through. From afar, it was hard to see who exactly, but now you know that it’s District One and Two’s mentors; Cashmere, Gloss, Enobaria and Wade. 

You’ve worked with them in the past, they’re not bad people to be around. But they have the career mindset going on all the time, it’s hard to be around them. They all won their games years ago--with the exception of Wade, who won a year or two ago--and they’re still living life like that doesn’t matter.

You guess the career complex really themselves worked into their brains. Whereas your tributes have moments of anxiety and hesitation, their tributes never do. But a downside of that is the impulsive and brashness when they’re inside of the arena. It never hurts to think things through, but they don’t do that. It’s why you knew that Trink and Lennox would follow your treasure trail, because they wouldn’t think ahead about how they’re wandering right into your trap.

To be fair, though, they did think that you were severely injured. You also were several years younger than them, and had never trained the way they did for their entire lives. Then again, you scored high, you took down Horace. They should never have kept you around for as long as they did. It’s the same reason why you took down Allio; because he was a threat. And you were too.

“Hey, guys.” you call, making them look over.

You’re sure that they’re getting ready for a celebration, considering their tributes never score badly. However, you think this is the last day where all the tributes will get to intermingle the way they have been for the past couple of days. Tomorrow they’re inside, the day after they get brief moments on stage and after interviews to swap compliments. Then they’re straight to the arena.

“(Y/n)!” Cashmere says, she opens her arm, you go ahead and give her a hug, “We haven’t seen you since the Tribute Parade. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say that you’re hiding from us.”

“Oh no, I’m definitely hiding.” you laugh, they do too.

“Our tributes want to have an alliance with yours.” Enobaria says, “They haven’t had the chance to ask, so they wanted us to give it a try.”

You open your mouth to tell them that it’s not going to happen this year, but Finnick’s speaking over you, “Our tributes aren’t really looking for an alliance this year, they want to go it alone.”

Every single one of them share the same confused expression. You almost laugh, but clear your throat instead, “Annie and Marsh are working as a pair this year. We didn’t want to push them on an alliance if they didn’t want one.”

“Oh, that’s fine.” Cashmere says, “I hope they know what they’re doing in the arena.”

“They’re definitely a couple of fighters, that’s for sure.” you shift on your feet, and steal a glance at Finnick to make sure that he’s not uncomfortable. You could talk to these four all day, it’s hard not to make friends with the other mentors when you’re by yourself.

At some point, their sponsors became your sponsors by default. You worked together, all hands in to make sure that one of your tributes would come out. It worked for a while, Cashmere and Gloss got a male victor almost immediately, and so did Enobaria and Kurt. The only reason why the new male victor from One isn’t a mentor is because Cashmere and Gloss are siblings; they like to work together.

“Two volunteers in the same year is new.” Gloss says slowly, you and him stare at each other, “What are you guys up to?”

“Same thing you guys are.” 

Wade sneers, “Clearly it isn’t as good.”

Your eyes find Wade, he hasn’t warmed up to you the same way that Kurt did. He’s still a naive boy, only eighteen. He’s still got a lot to learn when it comes to mentoring. That making enemies shouldn’t be the top priority on the list. When your tributes team up, you’ll want the other mentors to be cooperative.

“I’d be careful if I were you.” Finnick says, you can hear the smile in his words, “You might just end up eating those words.”

One last look over him, and then it’s back to your favorite three, “Anyway, you guys know Finnick, right?”

“Yeah! Honestly I was a little surprised when I saw him at the Tribute Parade.” Cashmere says, “What’s got you back on the move, Peacock?”

You can hardly hide the surprise that washes over you. The use of his Capitol-given nickname has got to sting, especially with everything that the Capitol does to him. You know that every time that it’s brought up with you, your mood dies instantly and you make sure that the person never brings it up again.

You press your lips together, eyes slowly making their way to him. Finnick’s a lot smoother than you are when it comes to holding back his emotions sometimes, “(Y/n)’s pretty convincing when she’s threatening you.”

A smile creeps onto your face, “I only had to do it once, so you know it’s pretty effective.”

“It’s nice to see you two together again.” Enobaria says, “Where are you two off to?”

“I’m getting a tattoo, I invited Finnick along.” the clock on the wall says that you’ve got about a half hour before your appointment, “We should probably get going, don’t want to make my favorite artist unhappy.”

“It was nice to see you.” Gloss says, “We’ll pass on the word to our tributes.”

“Thanks, I’ll see you guys later.” you wave, to your favorite three.

You only get a couple steps away, before you’re grabbing Wade’s collar with both hands, yanking him towards you. He’s quick, pressing both of his hands to your shoulders and leaning away. But his eyes are searching your face, panic expressed through his eyes at the dead serious look you’re giving him.

“Next time, you should watch how you talk to me. Otherwise, you’ll have a pretty problem on your hands.” you shove him back, “And my eyes are up here, fuckhead.”

You hold the door open for Finnick, give Wade a final glare, and then turn your back to them. After you’ve rounded the corner, you roll your eyes and let out a heavy sigh.

“Well, you beat me to it.” Finnick says, “I was going to say something.”

“I’m on top of it. I’ve always been on top of it.” you then give Finnick a smile, “Not my first rodeo, cowboy.”

Finnick’s face twists, “Don’t call me that, ever.”

You laugh at his face, “Bet it’s better than being called Peacock, huh?”

He shrugs, “I don’t mind it all that much. It could be worse.” and then his eyes fall on you, suggesting your title without even saying a word.

Your jaw sets, you grit your teeth and look away. You don’t want to be known as a name so harsh, it’s not who you are. Only in unique moments does the name seem to fit like it does. Leave it to Finnick to get something so delicate and flowery, and for you to be known as the opposite.

The Executioner. And yet, you can’t get any of your tributes to follow in the same bloody footsteps that you’ve walked. 

“I wish they’d picked something else.”

“Like what?” Finnick asks, it’s quiet for a moment, until he breaks it with his own laugh, “The Betrayer.”

“Traitor.” you correct, “And to be fair, I’ve heard that one too. During the Victory Tour, don’t you remember District Two shouting that at me? They weren’t very happy.”

“Who cares what District Two thinks?” Finnick scoffs, “District Eight felt the same way about me. It’s not my fault that their older teenagers don’t know how to take care of themselves.”

That’s fair, actually. One of the tributes was eighteen, the other was seventeen. Both went at Finnick, you think that the girl died first and the boy died second. He came around later when you were half-dead inside of the cave. Finnick never stopped working for the title even while you were gone.

“Either way, I got the short straw.”

Finnick’s voice is quiet, “I think it makes you fierce.”

You look over your shoulder, eyes finding Finnick’s. Soft, green, gentle. Genuine. He’s the first to smile, the light reaching his eyes. Just for a second, you can see the boy he used to be, making your heart twist sadly. You won’t ever get him back, will you?

You smile too.

--

The tattoo’s don’t take long, just like how you expected. Permanently embedded in the skin on your collarbone, are the names of your parents. With Ryatt, your father, on top, and your mother, Aesira, on bottom. You would’ve got them over your heart, but you and Finnick agreed that it was too cheesy.

Finnick decided to go down the same path you did. So, after you got your tattoos done, you sat off to the side and watched as Finnick got his own family on his left shoulder blade. Just like how your parents are gone, his entire family is gone too, including his younger brother.

That summer was by far the hardest for the both of you.

It took months to find out, but eventually Laurel came around with the details. The following year, when you were eighteen and Finnick had turned seventeen, you were told exactly why everything crashed and burned the year before. 

The Capitol is sick, a lot worse than you originally thought. Forget the marketing towards new victors, and the Hunger Games themselves. If a victor is good-looking and sponsors do ‘well’, they’re given the victor as a reward. President Coriolanus Snow himself talks to the victor, tells them that they either go into prostitution, or they get a surprise disaster.

Well, Finnick didn’t decline at first. He came back to the Tribute Center and broke up with you, actually. Finnick tried to back out of the deal a couple of days later, but Snow had already made up his mind. Finnick missed an important arrangement that Snow set up, and in return, Snow killed Finnick’s entire family in one swoop without batting an eye.

You vaguely remember Finnick being upset, but it really came down on him when you got back to District Four. You knew about his family dying when you came back, not all the rest. The only people Finnick invited to the funeral was your family, and that was the last time the two of you have ever been close. After that, the warmth turned to ice, and there was no reviving it.

You can’t imagine coming home to an empty house every year. You don’t know how Finnick does it. Even if he doesn’t want to take part in the mentorship or the boarding school, you’d think that he’d come out and train teenagers, anyway. It’s better than being shut in a place so quiet and cemetery-like. The times you’re alone in your own house gives you chills.

Finnick doesn’t seem so sullen after the tattoo. He looks a little more alive, actually. He doesn’t have to say it, you already know that he’s glad he came along. The two of you end up coming after the tributes, though. It’s well past lunch, almost time for dinner.

As much as you enjoy Finnick’s presence, you end up outside on the balcony again by yourself. You like the fresh air and the serenity of being away from the others. You could always do the same thing in your room, but it doesn’t have the same effect. Out here, you don’t feel like you’re being watched.

Elysia comes and gets you on her way to get your tributes for dinner. You thank her, as always, and then make your way to the dining room. Finnick’s standing next to Pleurisy and Laurel when you get out there. Once they see you, it’s big smiles and bright chatter.

“How was it?” you ask, looking to Annie and Marsh.

Annie’s got a small smile on her face, “I think that I’ve scored high. The gamemakers looked interested in what I had to offer, so that was a pretty good sign.”

“What about you?” Finnick asks.

Marsh shrugs slightly, “I was nervous and fumbled, barely recovered.”

“Fumbling is normal, the gamemakers hardly react to it.” you tell him, “Trust me, you’re not the first, and you won’t be the last. Even I missed when I was with the gamemakers.”

“And you scored a ten.” Marsh says.

“And I scored a ten.” you repeat.

It seems to raise his spirits enough for him to talk more during dinner. Afterwards, you all gather on the couches. Elysia, Laurel and Pleurisy sit together in one bunch. You and Finnick next to each other, and Annie and Marsh take up the middle of the couch to see the screen dead on.

“Just before it starts, you guys should know that it’s normal for the careers to score between eights and tens. Rarely does anyone have the skill to get above a ten.” you say, and then Elysia turns the tv on.

Caesar Flickerman comes onto the screen with a white smile. It’s time to get started, it’ll start with District One, boys first. A picture of their faces will appear on screen, and their numbers will flash below.

You’re fully expecting a hard start with District One, since they always score high, but you’re genuinely surprised when the boy scores an eight and the girl a nine. Your mouth falls open, a laugh passing through you, “Well, there’s a twist.”

“Seriously.” Finnick says, “Looks like you two don’t have anything to worry about, after all.”

District Two isn’t as tough, the boy gets a ten, the girl a nine. Which means that Enobaria and Wade have triumphed over Cashmere and Gloss for the first time in years. Rarely do they score over District One. Yes, this year is surely something else, isn’t it?

Three isn’t as memorable, but when Marsh appears on screen, the room falls into a hush. You lean your elbows on your knees, fingers laced together, “District Four, Marsh Millilio with a score of nine.” Caesar smiles.

“Oh!” you laugh, sitting up.

All of you give Marsh a pretty good congratulations, shaking his shoulder and exchanging grins. The tension seems to dissipate from his body, and he relaxes against the couch, “If I did good, then so did Annie.”

“District Four, Annie Cresta, also with a score of nine.”

There’s loud cheering, Annie’s face turns a burning shade of red, but she’s definitely as excited as the rest of you. You can’t imagine how good the two of them are feeling right now. They’re careers, through and through. 

They’ve got high scores. All that’s left is to sweep the Capitol off their feet during the interviews.

--

REDAMANCY IS PART 2 OF A TRILOGY //MASTERLIST//

add yourself to the TAGLIST

@f1nal-g1rl / @starlight-selene / @neenieweenie / @amixedwitch / @acatalepsyy

[hawkbucks]

LISTEN if you do the language barrier muses from that royal au prompt thingy for buckytony (tony as muse b and bucky as a or whatever you prefer) i will love you FOREVER (i already do but let's pretend that the offer is still somewhat fair)

Thank you for requesting, and I hope this is what you wanted ;; I don’t think I followed the prompt exactly aljadkad ;; 

James hasn’t attended a single of his language lessons ever since they started a couple of weeks ago. Oh, his tutor has chased him plenty, but he’s always found a way to slink around them. It’s petty, the sort of behavior unbecoming of the Crown Prince (and it’s rather embarrassing and childish, so says his dear sister Rebecca), but James can’t find it in himself to care. His parents certainly didn’t seem to care about his feelings before they decided to marry him off to some prince from the South. His parents certainly didn’t seem to care about his opinion on the matter. His parents certainly didn’t seem to care that he’s a person--their son--and not some pawn in their game of political chess. 

They didn’t care about him, so he’s not about to care about this little scheme of theirs. If petty is how he’s feeling, then petty is what everyone is going to get. He’s not above that.

(Pity briefly surges through his chest. Is it fair of him to punish someone who’s barely an accomplice in this crime? It is a betrothal. He’s willing to bet that the other prince had as much say in this as he had--which is, to say, none at all.)

He slouches over in his chair, sighing. 

“James,” his mother, Queen Winnifred, calls out. She grips his wrist as he tries to slip past. “Sir McKenzie has been telling me that you haven’t been attending your lessons. How can you expect to communicate with Prince Anthony? He arrives in a couple of days.” 

“I would prefer to not communicate with him,” James answers coolly. “In fact, I would prefer that we not go through this marriage at all.” 

She squeezes his wrist in warning. “I will not have you bring shame to this family because you want to shirk your duties.”

James opens his mouth to respond, but then closes it at the blaze that starts up in his mother’s eyes, making it more than clear that she’s not in the mood for James’ excuse-making and back-talking. 

“The Starks are sending their only son thousands of miles across the heartland because they need this alliance. They can’t even attend their own son’s wedding because Maria easily takes ill.” James tries to look away. She tugs, forcing him to look back. “This is going to be a trying time for him. The least you could do is provide him some familiarity.” 

Hot shame courses through James’ body, but he made up his mind the second you’re betrothed left his father’s lips. He removes his hand from his mother’s grip and summons every last drop of his courage. “Perhaps you all should have thought about that before arranging this entire affair.” 

An uneasy, thick silence falls between them. His mother looks stunned. He can tell that she’s wondering what happened to the compassionate boy that she helped raise.

His throat clicks as he swallows, Adam’s apple bobbing. Mechanically, he turns on his heel and walks away, his mother’s gaze burning holes into his back. 

His sister says nothing to him as she drags him to every single one of his lessons. Two days is barely enough time for him to learn how to introduce himself, much less become conversational. However, that doesn’t stop his tutor from trying. 

They sit him down in a less than comfortable chair at a years-old desk stained by ink and rings of that coffee drink his mother is so fond of. Scrolls are unraveled in front of him, one half filled with words and phrases that he can read, the other half dominated by characters he finds foreign. 

They say he has to stay. 

They never say he has to pay attention. 

Prince Anthony arrives as the short-lived sun starts to set, staining the gate in front of the castle in pinks and oranges. 

James plasters on a fake smile--he might not be thrilled about this entire arrangement, but he supposes that he could at least let the Prince feel like he’s welcome. Well, he thinks as he presses a quick kiss to the back of Prince Anthony’s hand, at least he’s pretty. He links both of their arms together as he leads the Prince into the courtyard. 

Prince Anthony looks at him and says something in his own tongue, delicate and soft, a contrast against the rough and warm tones of James’ own language. 

James’ smile falters, and he shakes his head, making a looping motion with one of his fingers near his ear. I can’t understand you.

Prince Anthony’s brows furrow, a frown forming on his face. He says something over his shoulder to someone, adding something extra in the beginning--presumably a request to translate--before repeating what he said to James. 

That someone that Prince Anthony was talking to hurries over. They’re a portly man, but the broadness of their shoulders betrays any hidden underlaying muscle. “His Highness would like to know if he is to sleep with you in your quarters tonight,” they translate, “or if he is to wait until after the wedding.” 

“Pardon?” James’ mouth goes dry. He isn’t sure if Prince Anthony means sleep or if he means… sleep. 

Prince Anthony says something, cheeks slightly flushed, probably after taking in the half confused, half shocked look on James’ face. 

The man nods. “His Highness meant it to be purely the two of you sharing a bed. He apologizes if any of his wording made him seem crass.”

“Oh.” James blinks. “After the wedding.” 

The man relays that to Prince Anthony, who simply hums thoughtfully. 

James barely gets more than a glimpse of Prince Anthony as he’s caught in the hustle and bustle of everyone in the castle moving around to get ready for the wedding. He’s forced into coat after coat, the seamstresses hemming and hawing and sometimes accidentally pricking him with their needles. He wonders why they couldn’t have just done this before. 

From what he sees, Prince Anthony’s garments have the intricate, looping embroidery on them that’s indicative of the South. The sleeves are long, with two pieces of loose fabric acting as some sort of flaps that connect from his shoulders to his wrists. 

James’ father, King George, stops by to give him the sash that he wore when he married Winnifred. 

James doesn’t think he deserves it. 

They don’t kiss during the ceremony, thankfully. 

James’ simply feeds Prince Anthony the first bite of a freshly baked bread roll, while Prince Anthony spoons beef broth into James’ mouth. The priest--who James recognizes as the man Prince Anthony enlisted the translation services of when they first met--says a few words in both James’ and Prince Anthony’s tongues, and just like that, they’re married. 

Prince Anthony is the man that James is supposed to be spending the rest of his life with, whether either of them likes it or not. 

As his golden circlet is replaced by a silver crown, rubies glittering underneath the sunlight pouring in through the windows, Prince Anthony mutters something underneath his breath, eyes closing.

James doesn’t understand what he’s saying, but he recognizes the cadence of the Common Prayer. 

Prince Anthony tugs on the sleeve of James’ shirt and points at the cake sitting a foot away from them, decorated with apples and pears. Melted chocolate and caramel are drizzled across the top, criss-crossing over the other. “Is swit?” Prince Anthony asks. 

James tilts his head to the side. 

“Swit. Swit,” Prince Anthony repeats. “Sweet?” 

“Oh.” James’ eyebrows quirk up. He lifts himself out of the seat and reaches over, bringing the cake to their side. “Do you…” he points at the cake, then at Prince Anthony, then he mimes eating, a cupped hand underneath his mouth while the other pretends to be forking something in. 

Prince Anthony nods. 

James snaps his fingers, and a servant comes scurrying. 

The both of them are called forward to share a dance in front of the crowd. Queen Winnifred sends James a look that promises repercussions if he tries to weasel his way out of it. 

With a sigh, he gets out of his seat and offers his hand to Prince Anthony, who takes it with nervousness in his eyes. James supposes that Prince Anthony doesn’t need to understand his language to know when he’s to be no more than a performing monkey for a couple of minutes.

“Sorry,” Prince Anthony whispers when he accidentally steps on James’ toes.

At least he knows that.

Back in their quarters, it comes to James’ attention that Prince Anthony’s sleeping wear is rather unsuited for the kind of weather up in the North. Compared to James’ own heavy cotton garments, Prince Anthony’s breezy, light linens are pathetic. He sees the way Prince Anthony shivers and his mind immediately goes to how cold he must have been the past few days. The South is known for its warm climate, and the North… well, there’s a reason why James’ father is regarded as the Winter King. 

It’s going to be impossible for James to continue not learning Prince Anthony’s language if he keeps feeling sorry for him. Lord. 

“Cold?” he questions, mimicking Prince Anthony’s shiver.

Prince Anthony nods, looking remarkably shy about it all. 

James heads to the chest in his room that stores the fur blanket that he usually saves for the especially cold nights in the dead of winter when his breath is visible and the lake in their garden freezes over. He fishes it out and offers it to Prince Anthony, who takes it with a grateful smile. 

Prince Anthony tosses it on the bed and spreads it out. He places a hand on his chest. “Tony,” he says. “Say me ‘Tony’.” 

“Tony,” James repeats. The name rolls off of his tongue easily. 

Tony walks over and puts a hand on James’ chest. “James.” 

James nods weakly as he desperately tries to tamp down the flush rising up his neck. 

“James,” Tony says again, voice ringing like a bell. 

James wakes up to the feeling of someone’s head on his chest. When they fell asleep, he made sure to put as much space in between the two of them as possible (and it really wasn’t hard considering how large his bed is), but they must have gravitated towards each other anyhow. 

At least Tony has an excuse in the fact that he’s unused to Northern weather and unconsciously sought out warmth from any source. What’s James’ excuse? 

He isn’t sure what to do. He could try and move, but… he can’t find it in his heart to possibly wake Tony up.

Tony starts to move, and James lets out a sigh of relief, rubbing his eyes with the heels of his palms. 

“Food?” Tony asks, tilting his head upwards to look at James. “Morning-food? Hungry, I want...” his face screws up in concentration. 

“Breakfast.” James fills in after a moment’s hesitation. 

“Breakfast!” Tony’s accent is off, but James can tell he’s doing his best. 

So, here’s the thing: James feels like an asshole. 

Tony’s trying to connect with him despite the language barrier, and that’s more than what James can say. 

He’s still miffed about the entire betrothal thing, but he doesn’t feel like his little act of rebellion is worth it. Tony’s still struggling with his language, while James hasn’t even made an effort to learn Tony’s. He should be the one fumbling over his words, trying to get Tony to like him. 

Plus, he’ll admit that Tony… has grown on him. It takes real courage to venture all the way across the heartland to get married to someone you don’t know because your kingdom is in desperate need for power. He wonders if Tony had many friends back in the South, if he thinks about them at night, if he had any pets. He uprooted his entire life coming up to the North, and James…

James can’t even fucking say hello to him. 

Tony places a plate in front of James, snapping him out of his thoughts. On the plate lies a single cinnamon roll, looking beautifully fluffy with its dark brown swirl in the middle, creamy frosting on top. “Made for you,” Tony chirps.

Yeah. James feels like a real asshole. 

James walks in on Tony in the library, face buried in a pillow as he sits on a lounge chair. He assumes that it’s just an extreme reaction to a book that Tony’s reading (although he was unaware that they had books in Tony’s language in the first place--perhaps he brought some from home?) before he realizes that Tony’s shoulders are shaking and all of his breaths sound suspiciously like sobs. 

“Oh, oh, hey,” James says as soothingly as possible, bending himself at the knee until he’s at the same height as Tony. What if Tony is feeling ill but he was hiding it? What if Tony got hurt? What if Tony simply isn’t having a good day? James honestly thinks the least he could do is check in on him. “Okay?” 

Tony removes his face from the pillow. His eyes are rimmed with red, tear tracks shining on his cheeks. His nose is flushed a light pink. “Book made me--” he hiccups-- “sad.” 

“The book made you… sad?” Ah. So, it was just a reaction to the book. Still, he can’t leave Tony like this, can he? “Hug?” 

Tony sniffles as a crease appears between his brows. “Hug?” he repeats sluggishly. 

James blinks. He’s not too sure how to explain what hug refers to. He’s confident that there’s a corresponding word in Tony’s language, but he doesn’t really know it now does he? He runs a couple mental calculations, minutely shrugs, then goes in for the hug. 

Tony inhales quickly, unsure of what to do, and James thinks that he must have botched this big time. 

Then, Tony is hugging him back, burying his face in the crook of James’ neck.

Warmth spreads throughout James’ chest. 

“Flowers,” James says as he gives Tony a small bouquet of hellebores. They just reminded him of Tony, and, no, he doesn’t know why. He does know that he’s grateful that they grow some in the royal gardens, though. “For you.” 

Tony perks up as he accepts James’ gift. “Flowers. Pretty,” he coos. He separates one from the rest and tucks it behind James’ right ear. “For you.” 

“You’re prettier,” James breathes out. He’s not sure if Tony’s able to understand that, but Tony’s smile grows wider.

Winnifred pulls James to the side, curtsying to Tony when he looks at her in confusion. “Anthony has been taking lessons with Sir McKenzie almost everyday while you’re out there fencing with Steven,” she quietly chides, eyes flickering over to Tony. “When are you going to do the same? It’s not fair for him to cater to you the entire time you both speak. There should be equal effort on both sides.”

“I know some words,” James replies. 

Winnifred raises an eyebrow.

James deflates. “I’ll think about it.”

“Think quickly.” 

Sir McKenzie gives him a knowing smirk.

James rolls his eyes.

Tony looks all around him, eyes wide in awe. His hands form cups, small mounds of snow forming in each hand over time. “Wow,” he mouths. “This is snow?” he questions aloud. He’s been getting better and better at the Northern tongue as the days pass, although his accent is still rather glaring. “Only read about in books. Never seen.” 

“Do you like it?” 

Tony nods enthusiastically. “Very like it!” then, he smiles sheepishly. “But very cold.” 

“Do you want a hug?” 

Tony bounds over to him and jumps into his arms.

James recites what he’s going to say over and over in the mirror.

He’s there when Tony starts waking up with a bowl full of steaming oatmeal flavored with cinnamon and brown sugar, plus a plate of apple slices and a dish of honey for Tony to dip them in. “Good morning,” he says in Tony’s language. 

Tony catapults up into a sitting position, staring at James. His mouth starts moving at a mile a minute and the only thing James can understand is speaking and nice. Halfway through, Tony stops himself as if suddenly realizing that James… doesn’t really know what he’s saying. “Sorry. Very happy,” he explains, switching back to James’ language. 

Now, James could continue talking in his native tongue, or he could try to flex what he’s learned. The choice is obvious. “Okay. You are cute.” He feels his mouth turn cotton-y at the last word. Tony is indeed very cute, but to say it to him in his language makes it sound different--feel different. “I like you…” Goddamn it, he practiced for this. “...much?”

Tony claps his hands in delight. “I really like you,” he returns in James’ language and leans forward to kiss James on the cheek.

[sparklesparklekoushi]

Choose Your Glucose Guardian! (Sawamura Daichi Ver.)

💕Hello! This is the first part to a fic in my captains series. I hope you like it. I really love this story and treasure it a lot, I hope that you enjoy it as much as I do! 

Minor Spoiler for the episode, The Flight of the Spineless. 

You can find the other parts of this series here: Ushijima Wakatoshi 

Tagginng @ceo-of-daichi because its Daichi 🥺💕

Without further ado, here it is!!

If y/n could turn back time, she would go back to her first year of high school. She would’ve lived  without regrets and did all the things she wanted to do. She would’ve joined the dance team earlier, she would’ve entered more competitions. She would’ve hung out with her friends more, supported them in every game they had. And most of all she would’ve followed her heart. She would’ve said yes to a boy from her high school, the muse of all her dance performances to this day. 

Oh how she wished she had let go of her fears, how she wished that she just said those simple words; “yes, I like you too.” Who knows, maybe she would be happier then than now… But, those days were in the past, but her days were nothing but downhill from high school, sadly. Sure, y/n was a good dancer, but then, the theme of longing in her dances never really made her reach her full potential. She was always stuck with the same feel, the same aura, no change, no variety. This made her somewhat, a boring dancer… something many dancers feared. As a student at a dance academy, she was once the top of her class… and now she isn’t the best. Her dances looked the same, her instructor would even suggest that she would go out and spend more time with the people around her, than to stay cooped up in the studio practicing to get better. 

Sure, she could do that, do better technical moves, have a better flow, be a lot more flexible. But that was never the problem. The problem has always been her lack of adventure and her lack of personal vibrancy. So here she sat, in front of the dance studio, waiting for her friend to walk her home as it was late at night. Sure it would’ve been a short walk or so, but she lived outside of the campus… and her best friend Hinata wouldn’t allow her to go out alone on a night like this. 

You see, y/n didn’t have enough money to get a dorm room on campus. She was raised by a single mother and she was ill. Y/n also worked part time at a local bakeshop on weekends and when she had off days or afternoons without classes to pay for her mother’s hospital bills. Not only did she have this on her plate, she also had an 8 year old sister to take care of… So at the age of 22, y/n is the only source of income for her family. 

At first she did really well, she won competitions and was even the talk of the town, but eventually she really did lose everything. She had to stay positive however, for her mother and her sister. 

“y/n!” A male voice calls out to her, snapping her out of her thoughts, Hinata Shoyo was there, panting heavily as he stood in front of her. 

She smiled “Hinata!”

He smiled widely putting his arm around her while taking her bag, “Now, let’s get you home! Your sister is waiting.”  

It was always like this, they would start on the path to her house, hand in hand as he held her things. They were both scholarship students at this school, but Hinata had so much potential, so he got a dorm room with a friend of theirs from high school, Miya Atsumu, a boy who was a year older than the two. 

Hinata was as bright as the sun, a promising and current volleyball player for a team in Japan. He was reliable, sweet, energetic and an all around sweetheart you would want to be with. He was the highlight of everyone’s days, everyone in their friend group loved him ever since they were in high school. 

First year, Karasuno High School, Class 1-5. This was a big step into the world of high school for you. First year, it left a sense of adventure and curiosity light up within you. This would be the best years of your life, you had hoped. You weren’t one to shy away from the sun, but you weren’t too reckless either. You were smart and kind, but that wasn’t the only thing that was great about you. You were born to dance, a star, a spark of joy on the stage. You couldn’t live without the music. You had always been able to dance to any type of song, any genre and you could do it. But, since it was your first year, you decided to play it safe and focus on your grades for the first semester.

So there you sat, with your headphones on as you listened to another song to choreograph for. Your feet tapping to the rhythm as your hands moved in small motions that symbolized dance moves. It was too early for most students to be there, but you wanted to get out of the house as soon as possible as it was your first day at high school. 

You eventually stood up, immersed in the music dancing to it and closing your eyes as the music flowed throughout your soul. The song was beautiful and light, a bright but sweet song that felt like the taste of first love. You danced and danced feeling the happiness flowing through the song, and eventually, it came to a stop. 

You opened your eyes to see a classmate of yours, so she seems, standing a few meters away from you, clapping. She had a beautiful smile and blonde hair, she smiled at you and clapped once more. 

You turned away to hide your blush and used your headphones as an excuse since you put them on your desk. 

The blonde girl, who is a little bit shorter than you, walked up to you and smiled, “You dance beautifully.” 

You smiled back, still a little bit flustered, “Thank you… I’m l/n y/n by the way.” 

“Yachi Hitoka, I’m from this class too.”

Eventually you learned that you two had a lot of things in common, and that you were seatmates. As the day went by, you and Yachi had become fast friends, despite her being shy when other people started coming in. 

Everyday would consist of you and Yachi hanging out happily together… all until she came rushing back to the classroom with two application forms in her hand. Both of you still didn’t have any clubs or orgs you joined so you were confused and excited that she had forms in her hands. 

“What is it Yacchan?” you asked her as you studied her worried features.

“y/n-chan they want us to be managers for the boys’ volleyball team!!!” She sighs sadly.

“What was I thinking? But then the senpai giving me instructions was so pretty that I got distracted…. If you were awake we could’ve talked to her together and maybe…”

You laughed slightly as Yachi kept going on about how she doesn’t know what to do or what she had gotten both of you into. You thought of it for a while, maybe this was the sign you needed to do things and stop studying 24/7… so it was one of the risks you actually took.

“Let’s do it, Yacchan!” You said, taking a form from her and filling it up. 

She looks at you shocked, “Eh? I thought you were going to apply to the dance team?”

You thought about it once more, “Eh, I’ll do it next year, I have 2 years left after that you know!”

She sighed and filled up her own form, knowing that she will never be able to convince you not to join. 

So on that fateful day, you became friends with the people who stand with you now. 

Hinata noticed that you had stopped replying to him about how your day was only to see you in deep thought.

“y/n? y/n-chan~~” he knew that if he called you that, there was a higher possibility that you would snap out of it and show him that cute flustered face of yours. He lived for that reaction of yours… but he would never tell you that. Or at least, he hoped, not for now. 

True enough what Hinata wished for had happened, "Yeah? Oh sorry…" your face was awfully red and you both knew it. 

He shakes his head, "It's fine, what were you thinking of?"

You sighed as puffs of clouds formed due to the cold, "I was thinking of how I first met all of you…"

He smiled a little, hiding a bit of pain that came with those memories. Because he knew that no matter what memory you had of high school you were thinking of… you would always backtrack to him. 

The person he wished would leave you and your thoughts. But he knew that he would always have a chance, as long as he was there with you and not with that man. 

"I see, were you thinking of how good looking I was then, up until now?" He joked as you made a face. 

"I swear, Atsumu is rubbing off on you." 

"Oh but that makes me funnier!" He held your hand tighter. 

Your face brightened once more in a rosy hue as you both found yourselves at your doorstep.

He smiled again and handed you your gym bag, "I'll see you on Sunday?"

"Yeah, you will. Don't worry Hinata, I'm not going anywhere."

He nodded as you said this and kissed your forehead. "Sleep well, y/n."

He watched you enter your house as you waved bye to him. He eventually walks down the street, back to the school dorms. 

You enter the house to see that your little sister had eaten the food you left for her to reheat. She left a note saying that she did not have hw and that you should rest. Your heart felt happier at the gesture. This made your resolve to do what you were about to do stronger.

But for a split second, you had thought of Hinata. 'What would he say?'

You didn't really understand how you felt about him. Whether you actually loved him or not the latter part being more confusing since you knew you were not over that person.

But either way, none of that would matter anymore. Funds were not getting easier to come by and you didn't want your friends to keep worrying and giving you money they needed as well… so you did what you thought was best. You signed up on a sugar baby app. 

You had been putting off checking the app in order to not sound desperate and to see who would actually wait. You honestly found this somewhat difficult to do at first, but your friend f/n had suggested it as a last resort. You didn’t really want to do this but she reassured you that the men on this specific app were not creeps and that they were pretty young and knew how to respect boundaries.

As you logged onto your phone you noticed one specific message that seemed to be interesting and mysterious. The man had the username onceavolleydad and he had no pictures of his actual face and name, but he had credentials and the app to prove his age and status. He was rich as he owned a chain of gyms around Japan. He also looked pretty attractive, or well, his body did. But that wasn’t what you were there for, it was his message that caught your eye. 

“(l/n) (y/n), what a pretty name for a girl who has the beauty of a lilac. I would love to know more about you and if you would at least, become someone I could talk to? I’d love to meet you on Friday night, 8pm, at a small coffee shop? I will be sending the address in the next message.”

You were interested, one because he seemed nice, and two because he mentioned your favorite flower. It could all be by chance, but you were one of those people who were interested in signs every now and then. You took a deep breath and nodded your head, you were going to do this, he was the one you were going to reply to. 

“ Hello, onceavolleydad. I would be delighted to meet with you then, maybe we could talk a little about the boundaries I have set and see where this goes?”

Within 3 minutes you get a reply; “Sure, I’ll see you later then.”

Wait… later??? You looked at your phone and noticed that it was indeed, Friday7:20 pm. With that you rushed to your room and got ready to go to the said address. You wore your best clothes, the ones that were cute and in season and penned a note to your sister saying that you had gone out with friends for a bit. 

As you walked down the street, you carried your pepper spray in your coat pocket and your phone in your other hand. You walked down street after street until you passed by your university and some other places you would normally go to. Eventually you had found the cafe, and were about to cross when some high school students started hitting on you. 

“Hey, pretty girl, mind giving me your number?” a student in their uniform smirked as they blocked your way. 

“No thanks, I’m not interested.” you said pushing them away as you try to make your way away from them. 

“C’mon beautiful lady,” one of them grabbed onto your arm as you let go of your pepper spray. 

“Let me go!” you struggled as they got closer to you. 

“Didn’t she say to let her go?” A deep voice said, you knew that voice. 

The boys let go of you and there you stood, face to face with him. 

The one and only, Sawamura Daichi.

The boy you loved and said no to in high school. 

“D-daichi-senpai?” You looked like you had seen a ghost. 

“Y/n, can I talk to you for a minute? Preferably in my car…?” he rubbed the back of his neck. 

“Sure, but I’m meeting someone tonight.” You mumbled, slightly ashamed.

“I know.”

You looked up at him, “What do you mean, senpai?”

“Well for one, I’m onceavolleydad…”

You couldn’t believe what you had just heard. Sawamura Daichi, your senior, wanted you as his sugar baby. You were confused, not even mad or anything, but confused. 

“Were you stalking me? Who told you I was on the app? You don’t even know (f/n)...oh god, what if Hinata knows?” 

Your questions made you fall only for Daichi to catch you. As he was always calm, he asked you to follow him to his car. You reluctantly agreed and you both sat there, silent at first. Why, why was he doing this?

You thought he pitied you, but when you looked at his eyes, that wasn’t the emotion they held. His eyes had this unreadable emotion, or at least in that moment, it felt that way. 

He was the first to speak, “Look, (y/n) I know this is weird, but no I wasn’t stalking you. I signed up for the app the same way you did, upon the recommendation of a friend. I happened to see you and thought, I thought I should give it a shot.”

You stared straight into his eyes, something he honestly loved about you. He knew better than to shy away from your stare. He knew that if he wanted you to know he was sincere, he would have to keep eye contact with you. He still loved you, he knew that you were just scared back then, and that you didn’t want to risk anything because of your family. 

And here you were, risking everything for them once again, something he admired you for. He didn’t know how bad your circumstances were, nor was he sure that you would actually tell him. But he truly did want to reconnect with you, even if it were to be just as a friend. He wanted to befriend you once again, step by step, no matter how long it took. 

As you looked into his eyes, you could see that he was telling the truth, there was no pity in his eyes, but his eyes did hold a warmth to them. They felt so calming, they felt sweet and full of love. He’s as genuine as he ever was. And this was one of the things that drew you to him, something that you loved about the once captain of your high school volleyball team. But you didn’t want to be attached once more. After all, wasn’t this a business thing? But if it was, wouldn’t he be looking at you with pity? 

You stopped staring into his eyes and looked down at your lap, as your hands fiddled with your coat ties. Daichi stared, thinking about how you haven’t changed as much as you were in high school. He still saw you as the woman he liked, the beautiful dancer he saw that day…

Daichi was walking down the first years’ hallway in Karasuno, looking for the other second years classrooms on the same floor when he saw you. There you were, in an empty classroom, dancing with grace and poise. He wasn’t going to stare long, he was going to leave. But, he couldn’t stop, he kept staring at you, enthralled by your beauty as you felt the song. Eventually, a girl who was in the same class started watching you dance and he pretended to do something. 

“Thank you...I’m (l/n) (y/n) by the way.”

He hears you say this as he walks away, hmm, (l/n) (y/n). Maybe I'll see her around. 

Your dance shook him and consumed his nights, he wanted to get to know you and how you could have such an effect on him. 

He eventually got the chance when Kiyoko had come in one day with you and your friend, Yachi and introduced you both as the new first year managers. He was over the moon and he almost lost his composure, something the other third years were quick to notice. As you studied what to do with Yachi, he couldn’t help but stare. 

Sugawara nudged him, “Hey, Daichi… do you know the first years? You keep staring at (y/n)-chan~” 

He abruptly stopped staring, as the older setter and ace laughed, “Shut it, both of you.”

“Daichi’s got a crush~” Sugawara teases as Asahi tries to calm down a stressed Daichi.

Eventually, you did become close friends. You were there when he got that injury from crashing into Tanaka. He could remember you crying over it as you were the one sent to watch over him. 

“Don’t cry (y/n)-chan”

You started crying more as he reassured you that he was okay, “B-but you g-got hurt Daichi-senpai. You’re bleeding, it must hurt a lot.”

He tried to laugh but winced as soon as he did, “Don’t worry (y/n)-chan, I’ll be fine. You’re here aren't you? So that means I’ll get better because you care for me!” 

You had finally stopped crying and you gave him a weak smile, “Okay Daichi-senpai, I’ll be here!”

Once you two had returned he felt content that you were feeling better, it even made him forget about the pain in his face and the tooth he lost. 

“You wanted to talk about your boundaries?” He said as his voice snapped you out of your own thoughts. 

You stared at him with wide eyes, “...Well that is, if you would still accept?”

You didn’t know what to say, you didn’t exactly think that you were going to reconnect in such a way. “Daichi-senpai I know you mean well but I-”

“But what? You don’t want to feel like you’re leeching off someone you know? (y/n) I chose you because I wanted to see you again, no matter what the circumstances were. I don’t know if you’re with anyone or anything but I can be a friend. Just a friend, I can be a shoulder to lean on” Daichi put a hand on top of one of yours.

There was a moment of silence, he knew you were conflicted. 

“Okay, I know I must’ve overwhelmed you, but I hope you know I'm alway-”

“I’ll do it. I’ll be your friend.” you held onto his hand for a bit and smiled.

He smiled back, he wanted to kiss you right then and there, but he knew that he would be a friend in your eyes. Hopefully, only for now and not in the future. 

He let go of your hand when your grip loosened, not wanting to make things awkward, “Alright, why don’t we talk about the boundaries we’ll set in the cafe over some tea?” 

Once you woke up the next day, you had a scarf on your bed next to your coat, a scarf that wasn’t yours…

You were on your way to the park as you and Daichi felt that it would be better to get some fresh air as the cafe was teeming with high school students trying to study for their classes. The air was cold, and you shivered a little. Soon enough Daichi had taken off his scarf. 

“No, Daichi-senpai, you don’t have to do this, it's completely fine.” you try giving him back the scarf but he starts wrapping it around you.

Once you had given up he gives you a bright smile, “There we go. That’s better isn’t it?”

He tucked the strands of hair away from your face and you both turned red as he realized what he had done. “Ah (y/n) I’m sorry I didn’t mean to…”

As he heard your dorky laugh he was met with confusion, “It’s okay senpai. You didn’t mean any harm, I know.”

He laughed the awkwardness away as you two sat a little bit apart on a park bench. The air was awkward, but somehow calming at the same time. You didn’t know what to say but eventually you started talking about uni and other things, and you felt at ease… just like the way you felt with Hinata… 

You shook your head, he’s your friend, that's all there is to it. It was a Saturday and you were getting ready to work at the local bakeshop when you got a text from Hinata. 

“Hey (y/n)! Are you free after your shifts at the bakeshop today? Kenma and Akaashi-san are going to be visiting today.” 

You smiled, it had been a while since you’ve seen those two and you were always happy to see them. Akaashi and Kenma have been some of your most supportive friends, sure they were quiet, but they were always there for you. They were there for you when your mom slipped into her coma, they were there when you first failed a dance recital… but of course, someone who has been there since the beginning would be Hinata. To spend a day with your favorite boys would be wonderful.

“Yeah, I’ll be free by around 3:00pm, is that fine?”  you reply to him.

Soon enough the next reply comes in as you wave goodbye to your sister and leave the house. You had already arranged for a cousin to pick up your little sis to watch her for the day and she was on her way to your place. 

“Alright! We’ll come to get you then, wear something nice to work okay ;>” 

As you looked down at your skirt and sweater you chuckled and sent a selfie to him, “Is this good enough? xD”

You got a reply almost immediately, “No fair, why’d you send a picture?”

You put your phone in your bag after replying to him and head on to your workplace ready to start the day.

Work was tiring but fun at the same time. There were times that you would be serving the customers and times that you would be behind the cash register or even times when you would create latte art or frosting art to help the bakers. The cute uniform you wore at work was a plus too. It was one of those fun days when you would be serving customers. Most of the customers at the bakeshop you worked at were nice people. 

There was this nice high school couple who were now your friends, they went to a school nearby and they loved sharing stories with you, their senior. There was also the grandmother who loved stopping by to buy the best meat buns for her grandkids. There are so many nice people who come to your shop on a regular basis that it's like you all have this small community together. 

Today however, wasn’t one of those days. There was one customer that had found you cute and wouldn’t stop asking you for your number. Your manager had even tried to intervene by changing servers from you to a male co-worker but this customer would not budge. He would still try to get you to stop when you would pass by his table. You didn’t think that he would actually do anything, but you were wrong. As you passed by with an empty tray he grabbed your arm and smiled sweetly, something you found sickening.

“C’mon sweet cheeks, a number is all I ask for.” his grip tightened. 

You tried to get away from him as your co-workers were on alert, “I’m sorry would you please let me go? I’m not interested.”

He was about to pull you closer when someone stepped in front of you, “She said she wasn’t interested, so let her go.”

It was Daichi, he had saved you once more. 

Little did you know, someone else had wanted to save you…

Your three friends, Hinata, Kenma and Akaashi were on the way to the bakeshop you worked at. They were walking down the street when Kenma asked HInata about how you were. 

“She’s doing fine, but she still has the same feel, nothing has actually changed…” Hinata sighed  deeply, wishing you would notice his feelings. 

Akaashi looked up from his phone, “You do know, that she’s changed a little, right?”

Kenma nods in agreement as they kept walking, “She wouldn’t send you random pictures before. How could you have not noticed, Shoyo?” 

Hinata stopped in his tracks, and smiled as wide as he could. “She does do that now!” 

He then starts talking about how pretty you are and how much he loves you. You were the brightest light in his life, no matter what they would say. He wanted to be there with you, every step of the way. He was there when you felt like the world was against you. You were his inspiration during volleyball games. Whenever you had time to visit his games he would look at you and play the best he could. 

They walked down to the corner of the street and turned left, only for Kenma and Akaashi to stop walking in front of the bakeshop as Hinata kept going on about you.

“Hey, what-” He freezes when he sees you being held onto by a man who clearly is making you uncomfortable. He was about to step in when Akaashi stops him, he would’ve hit Akaashi if it weren’t for Kenma pointing to the direction of the bakeshop door, the one person Hinata couldn’t help but not want near you, no matter how selfish it sounded, was there, and he saved you instead of him.  

Sawamura Daichi was back into your life somehow, and he knew that it was going to be something that might hurt one of you in the end.

Daichi had stood in front of you and the customer, his other hand holding yours, it gave you a sense of comfort. He smiled at the customer, not a nice one, but a smile that asserted power the customer tried to put on a strong front but eventually muttered an apology. 

“Sorry, did you say anything? I believe this lady deserves a proper apology.” He said as your coworkers blocked off the man from leaving. 

The man looked down, “Okay, I’m sorry! I won’t be bothering her again…”

Daichi nodded and smiled at you before glaring at the man once more, “If you touch or try to harass my girlfriend one more time, I won’t be as nice.”

You blushed a little at his words and looked at him wide eyed, he only winked at you as the customer left the bakeshop. 

Soon enough you two were seated near the cash register, “Are you alright (y/n)? I’m sorry if I went too far I only wanted him to stop bothering you.” 

“It's okay senpai,” you reassured him, “I know you mean to keep me safe.”

“You know you can call me Daichi, we aren’t in high school anymore, and I preferred if you called me that…” his cheeks turned into a reddish hue. 

You hid your somewhat excitement and agreed, “Alright, Daichi.”

You then see Kenma, Akaashi, and Hinata enter the bakeshop and you waved them over with a smile. 

“(y/n)!” Akaashi gives you one of his rare smiles as he hugs you, “it’s been a while.”

Kenma gave you a nod and you did your weird handshake as Akaashi laughed and Hinata gave a weaker one. 

“Oh, I hope you don’t mind that Daichi is here?” you smile at your friends who were also friends with Daichi once. 

“I hope I’m not intruding,” he smiled as he caught up with Akaashi and Kenma, Hinata staying off to the side a little, wanting to talk to you about how this all happened. 

“So... How did you guys reconnect?” Hinata asked you with curious eyes. 

“Oh, we saw each other yesterday when I needed to go out for a bit.” You weren’t lying to him, technically. 

He nodded, “I see, I see. How did he find this place?”

Daichi overheard and smiled at Hinata, “I was recommended this place by some friends, Kuroo and Bokuto to be exact.” 

Hinata smiled weakly, still conflicted by the feeling of hating his former captain, or accepting the fate that has brought them to reconnect and hopefully be friends again. But then, he knew that the latter had more risks than merits. But he knew that Daichi never really meant harm towards anyone. In fact, Hinata has always admired Daichi for this, but he knew that this would mean that he could take you away…

You, Hinata and the rest of the boys spent the whole afternoon together at the park after your shifts were over. You enjoyed doing the simple things like getting ice cream together and going to bookstores and other small shops. When the day was over, Kenma and Akaashi bid the rest of you goodbye as you now walked with Daichi and Hinata on either of your sides. The silence felt slightly awkward but calming to you. But on the inside, you were panicking internally as these were the boys you loved beyond the bounds of friendship. 

“I should probably get home,” you chuckle lightly. 

“I’ll drive you-”

“I’ll walk you-” 

They both say at the same time as you laughed at them both. 

“Hmm, who should I have escort me home~?” you teased. 

The three of you laughed together, your laugh less tension filled than theirs. Once the laughter died down you stared out a bit, thinking of who you would choose. 

“Ah, I know, how about a game of rock paper scissors?” you set them up for a challenge and neither man wanted to fail. 

They both nodded, Daichi extending his arm out to make a fist, Hinata following suit. 

“Rock” 

“Paper” you put your hands on theirs, 

“Scissors…” both of them are now even more determined to hear your laugh and the words good night said to one of them and only one of them. 

You let go and they choose their stances once you say “Shoot!”

Daichi wins with rock, over Hinata’s scissors. 

Hinata pouts as Daichi laughs a little, and for a moment, it felt as if you were back in high school… Hinata felt like it was just yesterday when he had figured things out. 

“Oi, Hinata! Quit slacking off watching y/n & Yachi. We need to get this right!” a frustrated first year Kageyama Tobio yells to the orange-haired boy a few spots away from him on the court.

Hinata gets hit by a flying volleyball to his head, “Kageyama, you’re just like Iwaizumi san!”

The three girls on the side of the court laugh as they take notes and help the others. y/n looks up from her notes and smiles at him, giving him a thumbs up. 

Hinata turned red a little, he never understood why he felt this way, or why he would turn red whenever y/n smiled at him. Turning away to focus, he seemed more fired up than ever to those on and off the court. 

Daichi had gone up to you after the game and was joking around with you and Ennoshita. Hinata felt a weird growing feeling of annoyance in him every time you would laugh at Daichi’s jokes. He hated it the most when he would ruffle your hair and you would become flustered. 

“Oi, stop staring daggers into our Captain idiot!” Kageyama said as Yachi handed him his water bottle. 

Yachi looked into the direction the two boys were staring at and she chuckled. Hinata looked at the blonde and tilted his head in confusion. The girl just kept laughing as his growing annoyance still stayed, as if it was going to eat him up. 

She looked at Hinata and stopped laughing. Yachi took a deep breath and stared Hinata in the eye, “You need to listen to what I say, okay Hinata-kun?”

He looked even more puzzled but looked to y/n and Daichi once more…”Alright Yacchan what is it?”

“...Have you ever considered that you may be crushing on y/n-chan?” 

Hinata felt like he was hit with a volleyball of realization...and ever since then, his feelings have not changed. 

“Hinata, is it alright for me to take y/n home? Would you want a ride too?” Daichi asked as you and him stared at the tangerine haired boy. 

He smiled and shook his head, “No it’s okay senpai, I’m meeting Kageyama today.”

Technically not a lie, since he would call his close friend out tonight after all this. 

You pout and Hinata swore that he would’ve melted, “You didn’t tell me you were meeting Kageyama-kun.”

He laughed it off, “It was sort of last minute…” 

“It's okay!” you assure him “But you have to tell kageyama that we should all meet soon okay?”

He nods and you leave with Daichi after the older male waves and smiles to Hinata. 

He could already feel some of high school’s pain come creeping up at him. 

“Hey Kageyama, can we go drinking tonight?” He asks on the phone and Kageyama already knows what's up. 

[unholyhelbig]

ISS Immortal | #HW203

Summary:  Beca is sent on the mission of a lifetime when an odd signal is received from a ship that was meant to come home but never did.

Read on Ao3 

The air was cold in the cabin of the ship. Beca Mitchell had always expected space to be cold. There was an undeniable lack of oxygen and an even more undeniable lack of human life. She would place her nose as close to the glass as it could go and watch it fog up before using her finger to trace little designs onto the darkness.

She had read through every single book in her stash during these stretching three months. Each moment of her day was spent crossing tasks off of a checklist; make sure the windows are sealed. Refill the fuel used the night before, eat breakfast (She found that one odd until she nearly missed it a few nights in).

Beca started to reread the first novel that she picked up, her eyes wandering from the words to the vast emptiness outside. It wouldn’t be long before the shuttle made initial contact with the station on Jupiter.

It was a large and beautiful planet. Unpopulated for the most part. Her company had sent another ship before hers before they lost contact entirely. Beca’s main task, not the little ones that she put check-marks by each day, was to make contact, to swallow back her fear, and forget the static-filled final communication they had all heard.

The conference room was cold too; its walls were gray and the table that rested in the center was a dark mahogany. There was a tape recorder, its last button being pushed down as if to hold the black film in place. Aubrey Posen had her fingers pressed against one another. Her cuticles leaked crimson, which they had never done before.

Beca hated the way the chair squeaked when she sat down next to the woman. She hated the Chanel perfume that she wore and the way a charm bracelet with a little star jingled each time Aubrey shifted. Even more, she hated the way the woman stared at her, almost through her. She didn’t’ say anything, she hit the button.

1200 [10-31] Rodger. Clock.

1221 [10-31] Rodger. roll.

1222 [10-31] Rolls complete. Pitch is programed.

1223 [10-31] One bravo.

Beca clenched her jaw hard enough for it to ache. She imagined her teeth shattering. Aubrey had a stony look on her face and part of her wanted to mouth the words. She hadn’t slept. This was all standard protocol. What was Beca missing? She could run these codes in her sleep.

It burned her to hear Chloe’s voice on the tape. She sounded elated, her whole crew had been. Beca remembers the way, just five months ago, she melted into the woman’s touch. She had breathed in the licorice scent and pressed her nose into a fiery mane of hair. It was hard to let go then and hard to listen now.

Aubrey leaned forward and pushed another button on the recorder. Despite herself, Beca strained to listen to the words. They were too fast. When it finally stopped, her head pounded and her mouth was dry. Still- she sat quietly.

0900 [11-04] Houston to ISS Immortal.

0901 [11-04] Copy.

0901[11-04] Was wondering if you had AUTO optics selected. Over.

0902 [11-04] That’s Affirmative.

0903 [11-04] Roger. Looks like to us we need a PROCEED, Jessica, to get the sextant pointed at the star. Over.

They were taking pictures, marking every single star that the team before them hadn’t gotten to. Chloe had an eye for the probes and the lenses while Emily kept an amazing aim. Anyone would be proud of the team. Anyone would be proud to be there. Aubrey fast-forwarded the tape again.

0600 [11-22] ISS Immortal to Houston.

0600 [11-22] Copy.

0601 [11-22] Breach in line, hull point of ship took some damage. Over.

0602 [11-22] Stand by one.

0607 [11-22] intrusion breached. All good on our end. Over.

0608 [11-23] Nice work, Beale. Debris?

0612 [11-23] Bet you a cup of coffee on it.

0613 [11-23] Copy.

Aubrey drew in a shuddered breath. It made Beca’s lungs ache. She had forgotten about the cold of the room. The little strip of skin by her thumb had been effectively peeled away and the frigid atmosphere made it sting something fierce. Her superior reached to fast-forward the tape once more, but Beca found herself stopping her.

“wait,” she rasped. Her fingers were wrapped around Aubrey’s and they squeezed tight. “It wasn’t debris, was it?”

“No, it was. That’s what our team believes anyway.”

“Then what? They all… They all perished because of a natural thing. Something that we were all warned about when we signed up for this program. I don’t understand.”

“Something got in,” Aubrey whispered.

She hit the little button and Beca found herself withdrawing her touch. She placed her hands in her lap like she was sitting in the last pew in a church instead of in a stuffy board room with a woman who could barely keep her sweet emotions in check.

0614 [11-24] Houston to ISS Immortal

0614 [11-24] ISS Immortal, do you copy?

0614 [11-24] Copy. We copy. Medic standby.

0614 [11-24] Stacie? Over.

0614 [11-24] Negative, she’s indisposed. Over.

0615 [11-24] ISS Immortal, what is the issue?

0616 [11-24] Emily is sick. Stacie soon after.

“It started with a fever. That soon progressed to chills and vomiting. It was bile at first, whatever they could keep down. And then it was blood. Chloe said it was more than she had ever seen.” Aubrey leaned back in her chair. That stoic, medical side of her started to shine through again. But it was quickly outweighed by sadness. “They were the two who repaired the damage the day before.”

“It could have been anything,” Beca cupped the back of her neck and dug her nails into the soft skin until it burned.

“But it wasn’t, Beca. It was something none of us could explain. We heard it all.”

“I don’t know if I can.”

“You have to.”

“No.” She slammed the edge of her fist into the table. It shook that retched tape recorder and the chairs that remained unoccupied around them. Aubrey didn’t flinch, though her vacant stare made her regret the action. The side of her hand was numb and then it tingled with feeling. “You want me to listen to all of them die? My team? You think that’s easy for me?”

“It’s not supposed to be easy Beca. It’s going to prepare you.” She didn’t’ wait for another objection before starting the tape again. Beca wanted to plug her ears and scream until everything was drowned out. But instead, she rubbed the side of her hand and cursed herself for injuring it in the first place.

1245 [11-24] ISS Immortal to Houston

1245 [11-24] Copy

1246 [11-24] Emily is dead. Do you copy?

1249 [11-24] We copy.

1250 [11-24] What do we do now?

1253 [11-24] Standby. Over.

Beca felt as if she wanted to get sick herself. She regretted the big lunch. Chloe’s sullen words sunk to the bottom of her stomach like a ton of bricks. They had prepared them for everything, it seemed; the hull busting, running out of oxygen, every single machine aboard the ship failing them in a single moment. But not this; not some unknown illness.

“They put her,” Aubrey swallowed roughly “They put the body in the storage compartment and kept an eye on Stacie. That’s what Chloe said. It was the last thing… it was the last thing she said before what I’m about to play you next, and Beca?”

“Bree,”

“What you are about to hear does not leave this room. It doesn’t. And if it does I will not hesitate to put you in the ground myself. Are we clear?”

“Crystal.”

It seemed like an eternity before Aubrey finally hit the button. Once she did, there was nothing but static and distress. The formalities were gone and the screaming had stared. Beca wanted to move her fingers up to her throat because she knew theirs would be raw and torn and filling slowly with the taste of blood.

0467 [11-26] Houston… Fuck. Houston respond.

0469 [11-26] ISS Immortal, we’re here. You’ve been dark for two days. Over.

0470 [11-26] Bree? Bree is that you. God damn it, I’m so happy to hear your voice.

0471 [11-26] What’s happening up there, Chloe? Signal not clear.

0471 [11-26] She wasn’t dead, or maybe she was, and then whatever made her sick brought her back.

0471 [11-26] Emily?

0473 [11-27] Shit… yeah, yes. Emily. She was fine and then she wasn’t. And then there was blood. So much fucking blood.

0473 [11-27] Copy. Where are you now?

0476 [11-27] Houston to ISS Immortal, do you copy?

0478 [11-27] Chloe, do you copy?

0479 [11-27] I copy. I’m in the bottom brig. I can hear her walking above me. She can hear me too, I’m betting. I’m sorry, Aubrey. I knew you were counting on this to go well.

0479 [11-27] No, Chloe. It’s alright. Stay quiet.

0480 [11-27] You still owe me that cup of coffee.

0480 [11-27] Sure. We’ll go to that little shop on 9th. Stay quiet now, okay?

0497 [11-27] Houston to ISS Immortal.

0520 [11-27] ISS Immortal, do you copy?

Beca had been going through the motions, keeping her mind focused on those little tasks that she was given. She didn’t’ know the difference between day and night, fine and far from it. When her eyelids did grow heavy enough to close, she would hear Chloe’s voice. The screaming and the static, and she would jolt awake.

Aubrey had called this a rescue mission, but it felt more like suicide to the young pilot. They held onto false hope that Chloe had somehow made it, that the thing… whatever it was, that took all of them, moved on and left them to their own devices.

Chloe was strong, she was determined, and she scared the hell out of Beca on a good day. But it wasn’t a good day, it was a bad one. It was the worst one that Beca could remember. The rest had blurred into games of chess with herself, that horrible crackling static of the radio, and her own foolish hope.

She was awoken one night, or maybe it was day, to the sound of an easy alarm and the flashing red light of the controls on the right panel. A foreign object had struck the side of the craft and the radio was crackling with noise. She was sweating despite the cold.

“Houston to ISS Condemnation, do you copy? Beca do you copy?”

Aubrey’s voice was frantic. She groaned as she pulled herself out of the uncomfortable position that she had landed in. Her neck was aching, a pinch moving down her arm and to the base of her skull each time she quirked it a certain way.

“Yes, I copy.”

“Our sensors are going haywire, is everything okay up there?”

Beca looked around at the packaged meals that were strewn about and the black and white chess pieces that threatened to float through the air had they not been secured. She traced her fingers over the patch on her breast and the other on her wrist.

She pressed the small button on the side of the radio “I bet you a cup of coffee it was debris.”

[saeysooo]

♚ yandere arcana ; main 6 headcanons {crybaby} ||

♡ tw: psychological terror, possession, manipulation, murder ♡ gender-neutral / female apprentice

♜ asra alnazar ; tag, you’re it ♜

They were your master, you their apprentice; But that relationship wasn’t enough to suffice Asra. NOT EVEN CLOSE! They wanted to be yours... Or more so they wanted you to be theirs!

They would watch you through your windows... In fact, they would follow you everywhere! You were so perfect to them, especially whenever you would get undressed after a long day of training. Your soft skin, the adoring stare in your innocent gaze... And yet you had no idea who was watching you behind open curtains.

“You’re so cute! I can just cut you up!”

“Let’s go on an adventure together... What do you say, darling? No..? It’s funny how you think you have a choice!!”

“Then how about we play tag~? If I win, you’re mine. If you win... Well, you’re still mine! You’re mine, ALL MINE!! Run darling!! RUN!”

Maniacal laughter invaded your thoughts, crawling across your skin as you ran for you fragile little life.

They pushed you to the ground, holding you in their dominating grip. At a loss for words, it was too late to scream for help, cry. And even if you did, they wouldn’t let you go!! YOU LOST THE GAME!!

They had no idea before... That YOU were their poison; the bittersweet wonder that they were always searching for on all their adventures into the unknown. There was no way they can give up such a rare flower!

Fluffy, white hair tickled your cheek, their lips dragging across your skin, leaving the mark of their adoration upon you.

“My mother used to tell me that I should pick the best lover... Oh, I love it when I hear your breathing... I know that you won’t ever leave me!”

Where were you...? CAN ANYONE HEAR?! HELP, PLEASE!! ...Ha, you’re talking to yourself!! Silly apprentice, they trapped you in their oasis~!!

♜ julian devorak ; mad hatter ♜

He’s absolutely. Fucking. INSANE.

Julian Devorak was CRAZY for you! Perhaps it was the drugs he experimented with that drove him to his insanity... Or not!

“WHERE IS MY PRESCRIPTION?!”

Maybe it was just the sole factor that you were the only person that showed so much attention to him!! He drowned himself in your touch, the mere sight of you. There wasn’t anything he wouldn’t do just to hear you call him such endearing things; things only reserved for HIM!

“Wonderland is wherever you are, pumpkin!!”

There wasn’t one dream where you weren’t in it; driving him absolutely nuts. There were so many wondrous things the two of you would do: Skinny dipping in a rabbit hole, painting roses red with his blood, getting high together off helium. Or perhaps the two of you can get drunk off a blue caterpillar and fool around?

The feeling of you being in his mere presence made him want to tear the skin off of him, he wanted so badly just to hold you!!

“IT’S ALWAYS JULIAN NO, JULIAN PLEASE JUST LISTEN! Pumpkin, you DON’T UNDERSTAND! My brain is absolutely SCATTERED whenever you are around, can’t you see!?!”

And by lord how much he loved roleplaying in the bedroom with you. He would go as far as to make costumes and everything to get the scene he wanted to play out absolutely perfect!

“How about this~ Oh I know let’s do some improv acting!! It can be a drama! You can be Alice, and I’ll be the Mad Hatter!”

No matter who you told, nobody would accept or believe that Julian was absolutely insane. He was beyond a histrionic, and it was all because of you. You did this to him. You made him fall in love so fucking hard it drove him mad. WHAT HAVE YOU DONE?! 

♜ nadia satrinava ; cake ♜

Everything about you was absolutely divine to the Countess. They would bend over backwards to make you happy, to have you stay in their loving gaze. Even if you wanted to leave... She wouldn’t allow it! Can’t you see?! YOU’RE ALL HERS!

Every night you would return home, Nadia felt as if a huge part of herself was missing. You were perfect to her, don’t get her wrong... But there was one ingredient to you missing that was stopping you from being absolutely divine: Her love.

You were warm to her like an oven, your kisses upon her cheek always so sweet like sugar. Your fingers were silk-like, every single time you touched her. Your skin tasted like buttercream and you smelled like vanilla! Every sense she felt around you was filled with empty calories... Calories that would never satisfy her until you were all hers.

You saw her as nothing but a friend... And oh how much she hated that. The thought of you not being more than such a berating title made her skin crawl, her jaw tightening with anger. 

It was when you started dating someone else that she felt more than betrayal... Oh no she went ABSOLUTELY. FUCKING. MAD. 

“I am NOT a piece of cake, flower!! How can you just discard me like I didn’t love you more than them?! HOW CAN YOU LEAVE ME WITH NOTHING BUT A FROSTED HEART THAT WAS SUPPOSE TO BE YOURS?!”

“I planned everything out perfectly when I was with you!! The dates, the outfits, the sex! ALL OF IT!!”

Nonetheless... she found a way to forgive you. That’s what a Countess does, forgive those who have made mistakes!! Oh how much you will miss your lover... But it will be okay! Soon you will have another!!

“I’m taking back what’s mine... And showing you a slice of heaven that you can have when you are mine. Not that you weren’t already mine~!”

♜ muriel of the kokhuri ; teddy bear ♜

What was once his cold, exposed heart? He couldn’t even remember anymore. Despite all his attempts to push you away, isolate himself once more... You showed him love, gave him a space in your heart that was unmeasurable. And he didn’t want to admit how much he loved it.

You could never be scared of Muriel, knowing he was just a big teddy bear! You found it absolutely endearing whenever he talked in his sleep, saying all the things he would do to you, nervous beyond belief!!

It was when you started finding knives under his pillow in the morning, crumpled photos that he had drawn of you, destroyed pieces of wood that he whittled of you... That doubt began to sprout in the midst of your naive heart. Should you be scared?

What was once a comforting and quiet energy... Became malicious and violent. His love for you seemed to only extend farther than what you could perceive “healthy.” How can love become so violent?! What happened to the sweet, gentle giant that sparked a newfound feeling in his mind?!

There was only one thing you wish you did... RUN.

It was when you disposed of the myrrh he had given you to forget him... That he went absolutely mad. How can you just try to dispose of him?! ACT LIKE YOU DIDN’T KNOW HIM? HOW COULD YOU??!

What was a normal, rainy day was filled with nothing but sheer terror. He was inside your home!! WHO WAS HE?! ... YOU’RE SCARED! But oh how you had brought this upon yourself!! SO WHAT IF YOU’RE FUCKING SCARED?!

You were unprepared when his heavy breaths radiated off of the walls, bouncing around inside your mind... He was absolutely silent... When he tried to bring a knife down upon you.

♜ portia devorak ; dollhouse ♜

There was nothing Portia wanted more than for you and her to be a perfect couple, someday a perfect family even. Pepi, you, and her... Alone in her cottage, living a domestic life. How wonderful does that sound? Absolutely HEAVENLY to her, that’s for sure!!

To the public, you and Portia were, in fact, the perfect couple! She was absolutely angelic to anyone who met her eye, and you were her darling lover, an endearing doll of hers that she kept close to her. She opened the walls of her home to you, to her heart!

But soon people started to see something... different between you two. Were you really as perfect as you looked?

She’s coming... SHE’S COMING!! Swinging the attic door open, her wide smile offered an array of madness that couldn’t begin to be assessed. Her giggles filled your ears, what was once something you loved became something you came to fear. 

When was the last time you truly thought for yourself? Portia did everything for you. She coddled you, fed you, dressed you, did your makeup, told you when you can speak, when you were to sleep. There wasn’t a moment where you were anything else but her rag doll, controlled and motivated under her loving hand.

“You were absolutely wonderful today, doll!! The way people looked at us. We’re perfect together!! EVERYONE THINKS IT, DON’T YOU?”

No matter how perfect everyone thought the two of you to be, you saw what everyone else didn’t see of Portia... How terrifyingly. Fucking. Insane she was.

But this is all your fault. You tried to run, tried to ruin the perfect facade Portia built up in her head. She just had to take things into her own hands to make sure you stayed! AND NOW LOOK WHAT HAPPENED!!

♜ lucio morgasson ; milk and cookies ♜

What else is there to say?! He LOVES YOU!! 

He locked the doors of the palace at night. He needed to know you were there with him, in his arms, sound asleep... But when you tried to run, Lucio lost his trust in you; Trust that you can be alone.

“YOU SHOULD THINK TWICE BEFORE YOU TRY TO FUCKING CALL FOR HELP AGAIN, LITTLE BIRD!!”

Every night became the same; Lucio spiking the milk that put you to sleep; enough poison in it where he would be able to bend you to his will. Day by day, you grew weaker, unable to think for yourself. He took his chance to hold you then, singing a lullaby to you until you were... absolutely... knocked out...

“Do you want me, little bird? Of course, I’ll hold you!! I’m here!”

When the plague hit, did Lucio care? Absolutely not!! All that mattered was that you were with him, until death did you part! But when Lucio got sick, ill-ridden with the plague... He needed a final resort... Something that would assure you both would be TOGETHER FOREVER

“I baked you cookies, darling bird. Do you like them? ...Do you want to know the secret ingredients? Well, it’s a little bit of sugar... And a LOT of poison! ...Oh look how tired you’re getting. Perhaps I should put you to bed? The plague can’t kill you if I do first~! But don’t worry!! I’ll be join you VERY soon, my beautiful bird!”

He held you close to him, the sickening look in his reddened eyes absolutely deadly, filled with lust. There was nothing more soothing than seeing the pure innocence on your face when you were asleep. He sang you a final lullaby, before he set the room aflame... Ashes, ashes... If he was going to die, you were going to go down with him!! Amongst the fire surrounding him, he found solstice in knowing you were waiting for him, beckoning him to join you in the supple whisper of death. Because even in death... You couldn’t escape him; Death couldn’t do you part!

═════☩══♛══☩═════

*Author’s Note: I re-listened to the crybaby album and heard certain lines in different songs that set off my yandere writing radar. I stayed in my seat for 4 hours writing this as well... So I really hope you enjoyed!

═════☩══♛══☩═════

[buckthegrump]

Enchanted

Summary: Balls bore you half to death. And the suitors that come from across the lands seeking your hand in marriage all seem to have forgotten about human decency. Until one day it doesn’t seem so bleak. Bucky Barnes x F!Reader

Warnings: legit pure fluff, swearing but what else is new

Word Count: 2029

A/n: I wrote this au a million years ago and now @sunmoonandbucky​ demanded that i post it rude so here it is.

The only thing you hated about being royalty were balls. Well, not the only thing, but they were at the top of the shortlist. They were always the same old thing. You were forced to dance with diplomats and princes from all different lands, some of them cute, but all of them had the same stick up their ass. Assuming that you would fall head over heels for them because they seemed to forget that you were in line for your own thrown and didn’t need theirs.

So you expected tonight to be the same; only today, your father was insisting that you find someone with whom you could at the very least tolerate. It was your mother’s birthday ball, and the two of them were getting worried because they didn’t think that any one person should rule on their own. They seemed to forget that they had gotten lucky when they found each other and almost instantly fell in love.

A ruler should have someone who knew them better than anyone else, someone who could help them see every aspect of their decision, someone who understood what they were going through. That and it was customary for a kingdom to have two rulers in fear that if only one person ruled, they would become a tyrant.

They had a point, but damn, every one of the “suitable” suitors made you want to volunteer to go dragon hunting. 

“But mama,” you protested as you walked behind her. She was telling you that your father was right and that if you didn’t find someone tonight that you could at least live with, they would choose for you.

“No, Y/n, I have heard the last of your protests.” She stopped walking abruptly and turned towards you. “Now I have invited new kingdoms from even further away. None of the boys coming tonight are in line for their own throne, so you can literally pick any of them.”

“The fact that you called them boys just now makes me apprehensive about this whole thing,” you said, and your mother sighed heavily.

“Fine, none of the MEN coming tonight are in line for their own throne. Now please put your father's mind at ease and just pick one.” She turned and began walking again.

“What if they are all the worst people in the world, and not even papa likes them?” You challenged, and she stopped and turned again this time with slightly more rage.

“Fine, if by some act of the universe every single one of the men,” she stressed that last word for you. “Is no better than that Duke of-”

“Troutdale?” You finished, and your mother audibly gags, a very unqueenly gesture, but no one but yourself was paying attention to her.

“Oh, don’t even say it.” She rolled her eyes. “Then yes, you can put off finding someone until the next ball, but you are running out of time, child.” 

You smiled as she stormed out of the grand hall. The servants were hard at work, rushing around getting everything done in time for the ball. You turned knowing that you can easily convince your father that every suitor that comes tonight was no good. It was your mother that you had to be more mindful of.

/

The ball was in full swing, and your mother looked less than pleased with you. You had turned away every single suitor that had come forward so far, which was somewhere around 10. Your father was still hopeful. He looked like he had a secret that he was hiding from you.

“Y/n, there’s someone I want you to meet,” He said, and you quickly found an excuse to get out of it.

“In a minute papa, I am famished.” You turned and rushed towards the food. You made it to the table and grabbed a goblet of wine and quickly down it. You turned, and from across the room, you see a man with bright blue eyes and even brighter smile who was laughing at something someone was saying.

The two of you locked eyes for a moment, and he gave you a nod to acknowledge he saw you and turned back to the conversation he was having.

“Did someone catch your eye?” You turned to see Taylor, your best friend, smirking at you.

“Oh hush now,” you glared. “He was just laughing, I’ve never seen anyone laugh at a ball before.”

“Well, that’s because you are never looking.” She laughed. “You’re always trying to run off every suitor that comes knocking at your door.”

She paused, and you grabbed another goblet of wine. “Go talk to him.”

You choked, and wine almost came out your nose. “Excuse me?”

“Go speak to him.” She took the goblet and whispered into your ear. “You might miss your chance.”

“Chance at what?”

“Just go,” She ordered as she walked away with your wine.

“Taylor,” you halfheartedly called after her. “That’s my wine.”

When you looked back to where he was standing, he was gone. You sighed, grab some food, and head back to your father to meet the next boy. Your mother had been wrong so far, all of the ‘men’ she promised had turned out to be spoiled boys.

“You are a very hard woman to track down,” Someone said behind you, and you turned to see the blue-eyed man.

“Am I an elk?” Your question seemed to shock him.

“Pardon?”

“Well, you said I was difficult to track down. Are you comparing me to the game that you hunt wherever you’re from?”

“Forgive me, allow me to introduce myself,” He bowed slightly. “Bucky.”

“Y/n.” You curtsied. “So, what brings you here?”

“My father is on business here, trying to get me to take up his trade.” He smiled and cocked an eyebrow. “And you?”

“My mother is trying to marry me off.”

“You don’t seem like the kind of lady who will be married off.”

“Not easily, no, much to her disappointment.” A prideful smile came across your face.

“Would you like to get out of here?” He stepped closer. “Just for a moment?”

You think for a second and glanced over to your parents who are queueing up the next suitors. “Yes.” You breathed.

Bucky offered you his arm, and you took it. He led you through the crowd and out of the hall.

“Where are you going?” Taylor asked you just as you were about to walk out the door. “Should I be concerned?”

“Just cover for me, ok? I’ll be back soon.” You pleaded.

“Fine, but don’t do anything stupid.” She said, letting you go.

/

“So, this is the first time out of your home country?” You asked him as the two of you walked down the moonlit path in the garden.

“Yes, until recently, my family was concerned,” he chose his words carefully. “They thought that if we left, then we would fall ill and never recover. How about you, is this your first time to Rosedale?”

“No, I live here.”

“Would you ever move away?” He looked at you.

“That’s not really an option for me. Would you leave your home?” You took a turn that led you to a swing where you take a seat, and Bucky remained standing.

“Well, I might, but that’s not really up to me either.” He smiled sadly.

“If you could stay, would you?”

“No, I would just like a say in the matter is all.”

“Ok, let’s talk about something else. What is the royal family like where you’re from?”

“Oh well,” he blew out air. “They are very kind for the most part. They have odd quirks about them that not everyone understands. And the King and Queen are rather paranoid, although there’s no real good reason as to why. What about here? What are they like?”

“Oh well, the King and Queen are fair enough. They try their best to make sure that everything is fair and equal, but that’s not always what people think it is.” You looked at him from the side of your eye. “But the princess is something else. She is very stubborn and rather impossible if you ask me or anyone for that matter.”

“That’s not what I heard.” 

You looked at him. Trying to keep your demeanor neutral. “What did you hear?”

“Well, I heard that she is very kind to those whom she trusts and likes. And that she isn’t impossible, she’s just protective of the ones she loves and herself.”

“You’ve been here a very short time to know so much.” You stood. “Shows you’re resourceful.”

“Well, I find that if you ask servants about the people they work for, they are quite honest. If you give them the right amount of money.” In the distance, the bells could be heard ringing marking the start of a new hour. 

“We should be getting back,” You said, he offered you his arm again, and you took it. 

The two of you walked back to the ball, occasionally talking about something or another. When you got back, Bucky dropped your arm and faced you.

“I have thoroughly enjoyed myself tonight. It was enchanting to meet you.” He lightly kissed your hand and disappeared into the crowd.

Taylor rushed up beside you and grabbed your arm. She started ushering you back towards your parents. “They kept asking me where you were, so I told them that you went to tend to a matter in the kitchen. I didn’t come up with the actual situation, so if they ask, that’s up to you. But they have a whole line of men for you to meet. None of them are as nearly as cute or charming as the one you were just with, so put on a brave face and shoot them all down.” She patted your hand. “You’re good at that.”

“Thanks, Taylor,” you deadpanned and walked back to your parents. 

“Ah, there you are Y/n,” your father held out an arm to you, and you walked towards him. “I trust that the situation in the kitchen has been dealt with?”

“Of course, father.” You plastered the fakest smile you can manage. 

“Great, because I have more people I want you to meet.” He gestured over to the line, and you at that moment, wanted to die just a little bit.

/

Your already dwindling patient was vanishing very quickly due to the amount of bullshit that was being said by the suitors your father was introducing, and much to your surprise, your mother, was agreeing with you.

“Truly Travis, the men you have chosen are abominable,” your mother said, not so quietly in between men.

“Well, Gladis, I doubt you could’ve done any better with the selection that we have tonight.” Your father tried to defend himself.

“You invited all of these families. I, however, only invited one, and I’ve known the mother since childhood.” Your mother smiled.

“Oh yes, well, not all of us had outgoing and charming parents,” your father said bitterly.

“Don’t I know it.” You blurt, earning a glare from your parents. “So mother, when is your ‘perfect fit’ going to introduce himself.”

“Soon,” she said with the look of glee still present on her face. “Very soon.”

You went through way too many suitors in the next half hour. Some of them weren’t even eligible, you were pretty sure your father was just grasping at a dream he wasn’t sure he could have any more. 

“Ahh, yes, here they come,” your mother said.

“Your grace, King, and Queen Barnes from Artendale.” 

“Gladis,” Mrs. Barnes said. “It’s been a long time.”

“Hopefully, next time will be in the near future,” You caught your mother winking at her.

“Shall we introduce our son?” The King asked. “James Barnes, Prince of Artendale.”

To your surprise, Bucky came into view, and you were at a loss for words. He smiled at you, and you return it.

“Princess,” Bucky said, and it almost sounded like a question.

“Prince James.” You could feel the pride radiating off of your mother. You hated to admit it, but she might have been right.

[ajokeformur-ray]

Introducing - Dr. Hannibal and Mrs. Erika Lecter.

Self - shipping game (started by @jokersspookyhyena​; thank you for the tag, darling!💗)

I’m really nervous about posting this because Hannibal is...  very special to me. The bond we share is on a similar level to the one I have with Joker. The only real difference is the length of time; Hannibal has been with me for far longer. I love him so much that it hurts and I wouldn’t be who I am or where I am without him.

PLEASE NOTE - 

Mentions of abuse, dissociation and passive suicidal tendencies - unspecified, just named as listed. It’s relevant and almost central to our relationship. If you want to skip this bit, it’s the question asking his favourite things about me, specifically. Every other question is safe, loves! My connection to him is raw, and so are my answers.

Word count: 2, 450 (uhhh... woops??)

When did you get together/how long have you known them?

Hannibal and I go way back. I have known Hannibal Lecter, as a character across all forms of media, since I was thirteen, but NBC’s Hannibal I met when I was shy of eighteen. I adore all portrayals of Hannibal Lecter, but this Hannibal is my most favourite one. Not because Mads Mikkelsen is outrageously attractive, although that’s also true, but because in him I found solace, peace, acceptance, understanding... and safety, in more ways than one. Over the course of the time we’ve known each other, our dynamic has always changed and it’s grown with me. As I’ve gotten older, the dynamic has become increasingly romantic. When I look back on my life, Hannibal’s always been with me, and thank goodness because I wouldn’t be who I am today without him. I am so grateful to and for him for so many reasons it’d be impossible to list them all.

Nicknames, both yours for them and theirs for you!

Sksksksksk I annoy Hannibal with all my nicknames for him: Hanni is the one I use for everything, more than his own name, pretty Hanni when I want cuddles but I’m too shy to actually say, my love when I’m feeling tender for him (all the time) sometimes I’ll combine nicknames and say; Hanni, my love. Sometimes I call him my precious cannibal... that’s for our most romantic moments, though. When I’m talking to others about him, I usually attach “my” to the front of his name. He’s not mine, of course, and I don’t own him and he doesn’t belong to me, but the bond which we have is mine, and this is an important distinction.

Hannibal doesn’t have many nicknames for me. He most often calls me by my name, little fawn/doe when I’m especially skittish or he makes me accidentally jump (it’s not hard to do, though it’s not fun for him because it takes ages for me to calm down), dearest, my love, and the most recent addition is, phoenix or my phoenix... I wrote about that here if you want to read about why he calls me that!

Who’s on top?

Hannibal, most often. He likes to push, destroy and reset boundaries in his own image, though, so sometimes he’ll make me go on top just to see what I do. Spoilers: I always nuzzle my face into the warm crook of his neck, lock my arms and legs around him, and close my eyes. If Hannibal desires for anything sexual, then he has to roll me to be underneath him because once I’m on him, all I want is the safe cage of his embrace (though, on the rare occasions I get... amorous, I just aim my hips downwards every time I shift to get comfortable. It’s subtle enough to be missed, but Hannibal knows me and his chuckle rumbles through his chest and it always makes me smile).

Who is more protective?

Mmm... Hannibal, I would say. I don’t take the best care of myself and Hannibal often has to help me. Erika, don’t you think you should eat something? It has been several hours and you don’t want to get a stomach ache from not eating for so long, do you? and other such less than subtle reminders. 

However, I’m not totally helpless and if anyone hurts my Hanni, then oooooooh, this fawn bares her teeth. You do not touch my Hanni. I may be afraid of confrontation and of raised voices, but if I catch wind of anyone targeting Hannibal, then none of that matters. Good luck taking Hannibal to prison, Jack, I’mma square up and you better be ready to catch these hands. 

Who said ‘I love you’ first?

Meeeee ~ , I did!!!!! Because I knew him so young, for about six years of our friendship, I used to just say “I love you” and Hannibal would smile patiently but otherwise not encourage anything, for obvious reasons. But one day, I said I loved him and Hannibal gave me the time old reaction. “No, Hanni, listen. I love you.” He blinked once, twice, smiled... and still didn’t say it back. But that’s okay - I like to think that he loves me too. Maybe he does, maybe he doesn’t. He’s Hannibal Lecter, who knows? If it’s a moment which needs for him to say it back, he’ll most often say, “and I, you.” It’s close enough.

Who does the household chores? Including cleaning, cooking, anything around the house.

Hanni and I split everything. I live with him and he refuses to let me pay rent or for food and the like (I have something of a guilt complex so I always feel bad for 'taking’ anything without giving something back, which is usually more than what I was initially given), so instead if something needs doing, I’ll do it without saying anything. Hannibal is incredibly self-sufficient and I stay out of his kitchen (I can cook well enough but Hannibal’s Japanese knives scare me so I stay out of the way and he’s very particular about the order of things in his kitchen), and I don’t go in his office either, but the rest of our home is mine to do whatever I want with. Sometimes I’ll deliberately stay out of his way and when he comes a-running (but not to help), he finds I’ve done odd jobs here and there around the home. He doesn’t thank me for it, he knows I don’t want that, so he dips his chin and eyes me with those gorgeous chocolate eyes, and I know I’ve earned myself a cuddle session later. Both of us know that that’s what I was after the entire time, though neither of us addresses it. He’s taught me well. A bit too well, he sometimes thinks.

Who gets hurt more often?

Me 😂 I have been known to trip over my own foot standing still and it’s not unusual for me to stand up and to sway as I try to find my balance and for Hanni to reach up to grasp my wrist until I’ve settled. It’s embarrassing and my cheeks always go bright red from blushing, but the heat of his hand seeps into my skin and I can’t tell which of the two body parts burns more. Sometimes his touch lingers on my skin and I end up sitting back down, not wanting to leave my precious cannibal. This was what Hannibal wanted the entire time and we both know it but we don’t address it, and I realise that either I’m becoming more like him, or he’s starting to adopt some of my own mannerisms. You and I have begun to blur is something Will once said to Hannibal, but it’s not a wholly exclusive sentiment. There are aspects of me which are because of Hannibal and we both know it.

How do you sleep?

I don’t, not without my Hanni. He most often lays on his back and lets me settle myself half on his body and half off. One of my legs stretches across his body so that my inner knee is pressed to his outer hip and I wrap my arms around his shoulders. My face finds its way either into his chest so I can hear his heartbeat and feel the rumble of his voice in my ear, or pressed into the warm crook of his neck so I can feel his pulse against my skin and know that he is alive and safe. When at last do I fall asleep, for it takes me a long time to settle and to get comfortable (seven hundred position changes and a sacrifice to Satan), Hannibal turns off the light he allows me while I fall asleep (if I wake up in the dark, I’ll be scared to the point of a panic attack and then he will wake and comfort me. This increases my trust in him and further ensures that I won’t leave him. We both know he does this but again, it’s not addressed. I trust him implicitly, which again... is all a part of his plan.) and then he turns onto his side with me pressed tightly to his chest.

Sometimes, on very rare occasions, when Hannibal has been hurt or if he’s sick, he likes to lay atop me and our positions are the same as above, but reversed. So he’s the one clinging onto me and I am the one on my back, protecting my pretty Hanni from all who seek to do him harm or to take his freedom away from him... that’s something I’d never condemn him to. I love him far too much to ever put him through that. Beasts belong out in the wild, do they not?

Fears?

Hannibal fears having his freedom taken away from him, he fears being completely vulnerable, he fears never being understood... his fears are bigger than me, so I can only love him as hard as I can every single day, without hesitation, thought or fault.

And, well... I have lots of fears. My biggest fears are the dark and... certain physical illnesses and Hannibal has offered multiple times to get me a suitable therapist, but I refuse every time. I have my Hanni, so I have everything.💖 He knows me and he knows that if he just stays, I’ll even lay in the pitch darkness for him... if he just stays. So he stays and, oh, my fear smells delicious and he craves more... so I crave his closeness and on it goes. We kind of... led each other into this relationship but looking back, I definitely don’t want it any other way. I’m not sure about Hannibal. 

Favorite physical and personal feature about them?

I love all of Hannibal, but his eyes are the warmest pools of chocolate I’ve  ever seen. I like to cup his face in my hands, especially when we’re sat in his study by the fire, and I like to get very close to him so that my nose is touching his and I just look into his eyes, the soft orange glow of the fire giving his dark irises a red tint... he has the eyes of a shark. 

And that voice... asdfghjk 🥵🥵🥵 many a panic attack has been stopped before it’s started, many a nightmare soothed, by even one word. Hanni has to be careful what he asks of me because he knows that I won’t ever say no to him, but that was all a part of his plan... so long as I love him, I am useful to him. I lost all of myself once and Hanni helped me to find her. His voice led the way, it called out to the darkness in me, and I could only answer his call. He saved me.

And I love his hair... especially in the mornings when it brushes against his eye lashes, I... I just love him.🥺🥺🥺

My favourite personal feature of Hannibal’s is his mind. His psyche is an ocean with murky, never before charted depths, and I long to dive in at the deepest part and to never resurface. I long for his tongue to cut into me, for his words to slice me apart, and then for him to submerge me in the depths of his mind, in the depths of the love he may have for me, and to soothe away the metaphorical wounds I inflict upon myself daily (my inner voice most often sounds like my abusers, try as I might). I long to become one with my cannibal so that never are we torn asunder.

Their favorite physical and personal feature about you?

Mmm... this one is really hard to answer because I am not, ah... favourable of myself in any way. My dress just rode up to my thigh, though, and I can literally see the answer: my tattoo. A few years ago, something terrible happened and as a result, I dissociated to the point of barely functioning and I experienced passive suicidal ideation for a long time even after I escaped that situation (Hanni is the reason I left that, too). Instead of giving into that, though, I designed and then got a tattoo and though I wanted to die, Hannibal made me feel alive that day. Though I know that Hannibal doesn’t like his meat branded (😂), I also know that he loves my tattoo. It’s a physical mark of my love and my devotion to him, and of course it strokes his ego. He quite literally saved my life and I wanted to immortalise that instead of destroying myself further.

Even if I do say so myself, she’s gorgeous:

His favourite personal feature about me is the fact that I see him. I know exactly who Hanni is. I know what he’s done. I know what he’s capable of. I know his past, his present, and I see who he is. I can look at him and guess within an accurate measure as to his thoughts and feelings. I see him and I know him and I love him genuinely, with everything that I am. There have been multiple points in my life where I’ve lived for him in a very raw and real way, and he knows that. Hanni is a rare gift and by some stroke of luck, I was given him. I’ll never be able to repay him for his kindness.

Something intimate you do together?

We lay together. Not just cuddling like I answered in a different question, but we talk. About anything and everything. Hannibal listens more than he speaks up until he notices I’m getting tired, and then he speaks and I listen. He’ll cite Dante in Italian or quote Shakespeare, he’ll talk about Schrodinger's theory or answer my question do killed spiders become ghosts? And we spend that time together. There’s an intimacy not just in naked bodies but in bared souls too, and when both forms happen at the same time? It’s the purest, rawest intimacy he and I are capable of. And it happens nightly - no exceptions.

Who needs more TLC when sick?

Hanni rarely gets sick or injured, so this is me again. I usually work as best as I can through my sickness and I’ll tell him that I’m fine, I don’t need anything... but he takes care of me because he knows I want him to, even if I won’t say it. I’m the kind of person who longs to be wholly self-sufficient and independent, and I can do it, too, but I soften considerably when someone treats me the way I treat them and it almost always makes me cry, no matter who they are. I’ve learned to be strong so when I’m taken care of, I don’t know how to handle it... but Hanni does. Hanni has seen me at my best, at my worst, at my worst and everything in between, and he can handle all of me. If that’s not love, then I don’t know what is.

[syms-things-5]

Clear The Area: Chapter Three

Previous chapter HERE

Warning: Not explicit (yet); some mild language.

Summary: 29-year-old nurse Sarah Bernette has worked hard to get where she is. Moving to Boston from a nowhere dump of a town, she’s studied hard and is grateful her stress is finally paying off. Despite being fostered repeatedly throughout her childhood, she’s since found some comfort in the form of her adopted parents, Jocelyn and Noah, and a pseudo-adoptive family of sorts in form of the Evans clan who have treated her as one of her own ever since she moved in with best friend, Shanna. Valuing them above all else, she appreciates their support even more when her long lost birth mother decides to reappear in her life after so many years, and is surprised to find out just how supportive Chris is in particular. As she struggles to maintain a firm grip on both her professional and private lives, she finds an ill-advised solace in her growing mutual attraction with him but how long before everything unravels and threatens to pull the rug out from underneath her?

Note: I apologise for my spelling/grammar errors.

CHAPTER THREE

“So, completely, out of the blue, just like that, she’s asked the courts to intervene to ask you to meet her?”

Sarah was sat with Audrey on their break at Joe’s across the street from the ER. It was a favourite haunt of theirs; it was cheap but the coffee was always strong, always hot, and the waffles were to die for. Plus, the chef was so supportive of staff, he would insist on giving them double the amount of toppings. Sarah contemplated using them as wedding caterers should it ever some to that. The location also gave them the added bonus of being far enough away from their work that they felt like it gave them a decent break when they could eventually find a spare 5 minutes, and clandestine enough that they could freely complain about the latest regulations imposed upon them by O’ Brien, the Ward Co-ordinator, and his questionable personal hygiene.

“Fuck me, the nerve.” Audrey shook her head in bewilderment. “You’d think she’d have taken the hint the first time around.”

“Well, there’s always the possibility she thought her letters might not have reached me and now she’s just trying to cover her bases.” Sarah suggested, taking another drink of her piping hot coffee and feeling course through her body, a comforting warmth for the first time that day. She was struck in that moment by her own empathy for this woman. She wasn’t sure what it meant.

“Don’t go making excuses for her. It’s arrogant is what it is, paying for some fancy lawyer to do her bidding. If she wanted to do right by you, she would have responded all those years ago when it was you reaching out to her. Don’t you take pity on her now. You have to make it clear to them, the lawyers or whoever the fuck this is, that you’re happy, you’re in a good place, and you have all the fucking family you need,” Audrey emphasised each point by stabbing her finger on the table. “You need whatever bullshit she is selling.”

Rarely did Audrey mince her words. She could be relied on to tell you straight exactly what she thought and at several times during their friendship, Sarah counted her blessings that she was on the right side of her. 

“Yes, yeh, of course.” she lied. Perhaps lied. She wasn’t sure what she was thinking in that moment. At various times during the days since she had received the notice, she’s swung back and forth between rejecting their request outright or taking the opportunity to see what she was like in the flesh, to see whether she was anything like she had pictured in her mind. Just to satisfy her curiosity at least. Shan suggested they should arrange to meet her and perform some sort of “drive by” and run away at the last minute. As more and more time went by, Sarah found herself warming to that suggestion.

“What do your folks think about it?” Audrey asked.

“I don’t know. I haven’t told them about it yet. They’re in town next weekend so I’ll wait and tell them in person I think.”

Audrey nodded in understanding, pouring them what was left of their coffee pot. “I take it you’ve told Shan about this?”

“Yeh but we don’t get a lot of time to discuss things at the moment. More like passing ships in the night.”

“Oh right, I forgot. Cap’s back. How is it going? Is he still hanging out at yours?”

Sarah nodded and watching Audrey’s eyes light up, looking giddier than she’d ever seen before.

“How is he looking? Like, abs wise? I bet there isn’t an inch of fat on him. I bet he walks around in his towel, all wet after a shower. Still buff as hell, right?” She flashed Sarah the naughtiest smile she could muster. She swore Audrey was imagining him right at this very minute.

“Can I remind you that you have a very real and very lovely husband at home?” Sarah playfully jabbed her friend with her fork.

“Don’t tell mer you haven’t noticed.”

“How do you expect me to answer that?” Sarah protested, her voice reaching a little too high for her liking and she could sense Audrey’s doubt in her declaration. “For your information, I haven’t really spoken to him much since he got back.”

“Y’know, I like my husband a normal amount but if I was single and living in close proximity to that, I’d be all over that shit.”

Funnily enough, Sarah didn’t doubt that for a second. She’d seen up close and personal her flirtatious remarks to him after she’d been forced into introductin them some years earlier. She marvelled at how shy she’d become when she was typically so verbose and confident. Things progressed quite quickly that evening thanks to the shots he kept pouring for them and the arm she kept draped across his wide shoulders, practically sat in his lap. He wasn’t complaining one bit. She recalled fond memories of a random video recorded on Audrey’s phone that was meant to be a ‘Happy Birthday’ message to Michael but instead became an example of what not to show your husband when hanging out with an A-List Movie Star. Aside from the occasional political rant and last night’s episode of Jimmy Fallon, Chris was often Audrey’s favourite topic of conversation when he was in town.

“You know why he does that.” Audrey hinted before taking the last few bites of her waffles, feigning innocence.

Sarah knew where this train was going and was keen to stop it before it derailed and killed innocent passengers. “We need to get back. I have an x-ray to collect and you have a bladder irrigation in cubicle two.” Audrey’s shoulders dropped and she grimaced at the thought.

As they were heading back, they narrowly avoided colliding with Greg seemingly leaving for the day. Sarah would soon regret her jibes as Audrey made an unmistakably loud call-out in his direction. He may have just about escaped her clutches but turned to swagger his way back towards them, grinning widely.

“Hey guys, how’s it going?” He asked coolly, and to his credit he seemed genuinely interested. Sarah had thought he only reserved that kind of over-interest for consultants who might be able to further his career but perhaps she’d been too quick to judge him after all.

“Yeh, it’s going really well, thanks. How are you? You finished for the day?”

Sarah inwardly groaned. Audrey was going somewhere with this.

“Just heading home to get changed and then probably just head for the gym, I think. Might try and get a game of tennis in if I can.” He held up his bag to indicate his racket was inside. Sarah saw the label for YSL.

“Oh, you play tennis? How funny! So does Sarah!” Sarah figured she might have played twice in her entire life and one of those occasions ended in her swearing never again to pick up a racket. “Oh my god, Sarah, can you believe this? Such a small world. Sarah was the team at her college in fact.”

How could Greg not notice the insincerity?

“Really? Hey, y’know, if you’re free sometime, I’d love to have a match or two,” he smiled widely at Sarah as she died a little inside. “I haven’t managed to find anyone here who plays yet so it would be good to make a friend at least.”

Sarah spotted the earnestness in his eyes and almost felt a little sorry for him. Nevertheless, she nodded along in the hopes of ending the conversation as quickly as possible so she could get inside and stab Audrey with a scalpel. It wasn’t that she didn’t like Greg. He was perfectly nice, very ambitious with the intelligence to match, and even under the harsh lights of the Ambulance Bay, he was clearly a very attractive man; all height, with not a hair out of place. It was more her issue than his. According to Audrey, she was unsure of herself around overly good-looking men. Audrey first pointed this out to her when they were on a night out. She said a lack of self-esteem somewhere inside her meant that she automatically wrote herself off whenever it came to guys she deemed herself to be unworthy of. Then Audrey - and she may have been drunk at this point, Sarah couldn’t quite remember herself - insisted on writing out a list of pros that started with green eyes and ended with her “impressive butt”. She laughed when Audrey told her that she somehow made scrubs look fashionable and not dowdy, and that she should treat herself once in a while to an item of clothing that wasn’t a hoodie or a pair of jeggings.

“Well, I’m sure that could be arranged,” Audrey winked at him, and Greg seemed agreeable to that idea. “You’re not doing anything tomorrow night, are you Sarah?”

“Um,” she really tried hard to wrack her brains but came up short. “No, not that I can think of right at this moment.”

“Well, great, maybe meet you at Roxbury Gym tomorrow night? I have a membership that lets me bring friends and family so there’d be no problem.”

Of course he did.

“Er, yes, OK. Sounds good. Just don’t go hoping for Open standard or anything. It’s been some time since I played.” She directed that last comment squarely at Audrey who had never looked prouder of her work. Greg smiled at them again and wished them both a good afternoon before backing away and heading to his car, his bag swung confidently over his shoulder.

“Wow, thank you.” Sarah said sarcastically.

“Hey, you can thank me later, sugar.”

*

It was just after eight when she got home. Shan was working late so Chris had texted her to ask if she wanted to share a pizza that evening and she’d agreed like it was the greatest idea in the world. It was actually paying off now that Chris was there most of the time; if he wasn’t keeping the fridge stocked with beer and various groceries, she’d found him hoovering the hallway the day before, apropos of nothing.

He wasn’t immediately present when she entered the apartment. She dumped her bag by the door and collected some post from the side table Shan had left for her.  The TV was on low on C-Span and she spied two scripts on the coffee table, one looking vaguely Marvel-ish. She dare not look at it in case there was a microdot inbred into every page that would alert them to intruders touching the paper. Or it was fingerprint-sensitive. Also, she genuinely wanted to be surprised when she would inevitably see it at the cinema. She’d been invited to a premiere on one occasion and Chris found it both hilarious and endearing that she turned him down, preferring to see it in a packed screening with honest movie fans instead of critics with annoying lights at the end of their pens. She also didn’t want to embarrass herself in front of Mark Ruffalo but she kept that nugget to herself.

Just as she was heading towards the bathroom to wash up before dinner, Chris emerged from Shan’s bedroom, a towel slung low on his waist, a slight steam rising off his skin. Sarah couldn’t stop the knowing laugh from escaping her.

“Ouch. Thanks.” Chris retorted.

“Oh no,” She realised how that sounded. “It wasn’t anything, y’know. Um, it wasn’t, um...” Sarah’s brain had stopped working and she became increasingly aware of time passing very slowly with Chris just staring at her. “I was talking to Audrey about something earlier and you just reminded me is all.”

“Oh, Audrey, nice. How is she?” That seemed to change his attention for the better, thankfully.

“Married.”

Chris snickered to himself. “Man, she loves you, y’know. You’re lucky. She seems like a good friend.”

“Yeh, I know. She’s great. Not many friends would work so hard on setting me up on a date.” Sarah had only intended to say that last part under her breath as she turned to head into the bathroom.

“A date?! You?”

It was evidently now Sarah’s turn to feel affronted. “Yes, me. Why so surprised?”

“Not surprised at all. Just. OK, yeh, surprised, but only a little bit. You always seem so quiet on that front. I actually can’t remember the last time you went on a date.”

“That’s not a helpful comment, Chris.”

“Daniel!” Chris clicked his fingers. “It was Daniel and he rode to work on a skateboard!” He was momentarily proud of his powers of recall until he noticed the look on Sarah’s face. “He was nice. He liked....stuff.”

Sarah couldn’t keep up the pretence any longer. “I remember he had an unnatural obsession with onion rings,” She laughed. ‘It took me forever to disinfect the place of the smell!”

Chris laughed heartily at the memory. “Well, I hope whoever this new guy is, he’s worthy of you.”

She was grateful for the nudge and he smiled back at her. “Pizza will be another 10 minutes I reckon, so be quick.”

Sarah shot him the finger guns in acknowledgement, regretted the finger guns, then closed the bathroom door behind her. She toyed with the idea of getting a shower but really, really wanted pizza before Chris had the opportunity to devour it. His appetite was truly off the charts when he wasn’t in training mode. She couldn’t quite believe what he could put away or where it ended up because it certainly made no difference to his physique.

As she re-emerged fresh and in a change of clothes, Chris was laying out the pizza and beers on the coffee table. She rarely ate anywhere other than at the kitchen table but Chris told her to live a little and relax. She followed the delicious smell of pepperoni and garlic bread and quickly gave in.

“So who’s the new guy?” Chris asked when they were both a couple of bites in.

“Just this guy from work. He’s new to Newton’s but only there for a few more weeks I think. Audrey is obsessed with setting me up with him. What?” She spotted Chris’ growing smirk stretch across his face. “Seriously, what is it?”

“So he’s not gonna be there for long? Never had you down as a hit-it-and-quit-it kind of girl before.” She could tell he was trying hard not to burst out laughing. 

“Great, so first I’m not dating at all and now I’m only interested in serious relationships?”

Chris held his hands up in protest. “There’s nothing wrong with that by the way! It works for me. If the girl is into it, even better.”

“It’s different for guys, though. You can get away with it because it’s assumed you’re naturally immature. For women, it’s like... we’re immoral or something.” She picked a large red pepper from her slice, placing it on her plate only for Chris to pick it back up again and add it to his. “The bar is held a lot higher for us, you have to admit.”

“Yes, perhaps. But there’s nothing wrong with enjoying sex without the pressure of asking yourself so many questions afterwards. You don’t have to see them again if you don’t want to. You don’t even have to learn their names. So long as it’s safe, just enjoy it for what it is. I don’t think there is anything immoral about that.” He shrugged.

Sarah smiled at him. “Is this what got you here?” She had only meant that as a passing joke but recent events had completely slipped her mind. Chris paused mid-bite unsure of how to respond. Sarah turned towards him fully prepared to apologise. “Mate, I’m-”

“Don’t worry about it. God knows, I deserve it.” He wiped his fingers with a napkin. “It was what it was.”

Sarah wasn’t sure if that was an admission of sorts and was unsure of how to respond. He could see the thoughts crossing through her mind and nodded slowly, wordlessly answering the question he wanted to ask but was too wary to do so. He hadn’t felt much like talking of late preferring the relative comfort found at the bottom of a beer bottle or glass of whisky. Scott, his friends, his sisters, everybody had worked out quickly enough that it was a topic he did not want to discuss. Everybody except his mom, that is. He readily acknowledged that he had been avoiding the conversation but also a growing awareness that his relationship with Jenny had been possibly symptomatic of something else he’d been trying to avoid of late: that he was getting older and had little understanding of what he wanted to do or where exactly he wanted to be. Sarah also didn’t want to put herself in a position his mother might be better suited towards. 

“It’s so stupid.” He shook his head, resigned. He took another deep breath before picking up his beer bottle contemplating taking a mouthful. “Things just got out of hand. It’s my own fault. I should have thought more first instead of running into things. You think I’m stupid, don’t you?”

“No, not at all.” She tried to sound as genuine as possible and he was grateful. She never thought he was an idiot. Naive maybe, but not an idiot. “I’ve know you long enough to know that you’re not a bad person. Plus, y’know, it takes two as they say. Look, I’m probably not the best person to advise on this kind of thing anyway.”

He seemed grateful for the brief assurance. “I think you’re better than you think you are.”

She attempted to change the subject. “So, you’re back filming next month?”

“Yeh, just for a few days hopefully.” He decided to follow her lead. “Then I’m free for a while. Should be easy enough.” He seemed to relax a little more physically at the thought of his impending freedom. The immense financial security meant he tended to take longer breaks between projects now, and he was a little fussier about the project when he did eventually choose to work again. “Shan said you folks were coming this weekend?”

“Next weekend now, but yeh. Looking forward to it. I haven’t really spoken to them much recently and Dad’s been so busy lately and Mom’s worrying about his blood pressure again so it’ll be good for him to switch off for a while. I was thinking of taking them to a photography exhibition in town.”

“Steve McCurry?” His eyes lit up exponentially at the name. “I’m dying to see that one. It’s a shame they don’t keep the studio open past nine now. That would’ve been ideal.” He scoffed and Sarah felt a sadness for him. Not so long ago, he’d had to leave his nephew’s school play halfway through and via a fire door when one of the parents insisted on joking with him loudly throughout the first fifteen minutes about whether he saw any acting talent on stage and then subsequently bugged him to play golf during an interval. It was hard for him to just go out and enjoy normal things such as exhibitions or theatre or, hell, even a casual walk through a park. They were beautiful at this time of year now that Summer was just around the corner and the weather was getting much warmer and brighter. For Chris, any simple trip now relied upon precision timing and stealth-like skills to avoid being seen and quite frankly, that must have sucked.

“Well, you’re welcome to come with. I’m sure we could sneak you in with a disguise somehow.” she winked and nudged him with her shoulder to break the silence, and there was a smile forming in the corner of his mouth. 

“Fuck it. You’re on!”

*

Next Chapter HERE

[bluepenguinstories]

Happiness Overload Epilogue IV

Yet the next day still came.

My blankets all tangled, along with my bed sheets. My alarm was set for 10:00 AM but the time on my phone said 1:00 PM. I just let my alarm continue to go off. Some days were just like that. Where no matter what was going on around the world, the will to go on just felt like an elusive feeling, known only by the most ardent of explorers. Sheesh, where did I come up with those things? ‘Ardent explorers’? Really?

Some days however, I would panic at the thought of being late to my class, or work, or just being late to hang out with a friend. There was a handful of times when I would cancel or call in to say I couldn’t make it, and I didn’t really have an excuse other than I didn’t want to go outside. Was it that I didn’t want to or couldn’t? I thought of it as the former. Some days I just really didn’t want to face the world.

The truth of it all was that no matter which day it was, whether I was in the highest or the lowest of spirits, I always got the feeling like the end would come soon. But it didn’t. Each time. There were times when I even thought to end it, myself, tired of the waiting. But that didn’t come, either.

It really was funny when people talk about “living each day like it’s your last” like it was some motivational thing, when that very mindset was what plagued me. Sure, sometimes I could spin it into a positive, but most of the time I was just like “if today’s the last day, then why should I spend it any different? It’s going to end regardless.”

But even then, it didn’t end.

I knew I wasn’t immortal, that much was for certain. I could still bleed, bruise, and get sick, just like the rest of ‘em. What then? When days would continue, but I continued living like the next day, I might not?

Sorry. If anyone was to read my thoughts, they’d probably be devastated. No, they wouldn’t. I’d probably come off as over-dramatic. Well, that was fair. Maybe that’s what I was going for. After all, maybe all I wanted was just a little bit of excitement. But not external, and on my own terms.

That didn’t quite make sense, either. I was such a low energy person and the closest I came to a thrill was when I faced off against a final boss in one of my games. Though six out of seven days a week, that machine probably just sat there.

There were also days when I wished I could only experience things that made me happy. But misfortune would still arrive, regardless. That was life, yeah, but how many lives have I lived? Sleep and wake came for me like: live, die, live, die, repeat. Something else that didn’t help was that I was confused on whether I lived when I was asleep or awake.

Sometimes the things that I think would make me happy don’t soothe whatever hurt I have, or perceive to have. Well, that was grand, too. I did my best to hope for another time, before the end, when I would feel that warmth again. There are moments when I think I would like to stop my thoughts or take a break, just for a little bit. Give someone else the reins. Let someone else tell their story. Because mine was kind of a plain one. But then, my thoughts always turned back to me and only me.

On one afternoon, on the front steps to my apartment complex, I sat with my friend, Conrad. He was the only friend I had, and he was a bit of a conspiracy nut, if you caught my drift. He didn’t have any ill intentions, and I was a fan of all those outlandish things as well, more so for the novelty of it, but he was like the real deal.

“I’m telling you, there’s these aliens that have landed on Earth. People in NASA have met them, and so has every figure in government. They’re called the Beige and I suspect that they want to take over the world in order to get everyone high! They must be stopped, but they could be any one of us!”

“Bro, that sounds awesome!” I joked, then sipped some grape soda. Really, my favorite soda. Sometimes I would mix grape soda and root beer. Conrad would tell me that such a concoction was how people get mind controlled. I could never tell if he was joking or not. Maybe that was part of the fun.

“No, it’s very much NOT awesome! The devil’s lettuce, or weed, or Mary Jane, or Spider-Man, Laffy Taffy, whatever you wanna call it, is how they get you!”

“Who is ‘they’, dude? I mean, aren’t I a they?” Hey, I said what I said, but I think I earned the right to joke about my own pronouns by now. As long as I was the one doing it, it was cool.

“You know what I mean! This isn’t time for jokes, Blanc! This is serious!”

“I mean, yeah, I know, but some of these theories can end up being code words for harmful stereotypes and I mean, that’s not good for anyone. I’m not saying that those in power are good, hell, the things I have to deal with is no way to live, but blaming it on one specific group can end up really bad. I don’t just wanna go shouting at my neighbor that they’re Beige, because, I don’t know, some feature of theirs. Though, if there’s a Beige out there, let it be known that I’d be down to get smoked out with some chill aliens.”

There were many different ways he could have responded to that. Ranging from a change of perspective to horrible. I was grateful he went with a more comfortable route.

“You’re probably right. If I were just your run of the mill angry conspiracy guy, I wouldn’t have liked a single word you said, but you’re my friend, and while I get really scared sometimes, I don’t want to turn that fear into a hateful direction. I think it’s not really a person or group of people I’m scared of, but just the kind of world we live in. How it seems we get played, but whatever it is that plays us, and how powerless I end up feeling.”

“Dude, I feel that way, too,” I told him. “It’s hard this feeling of powerlessness. This whole...will I ever be happy with who I am? It really feels like the systems we have in place were designed just to fuel unhappiness, and sometimes I don’t even know why I’m going on.”

He knew I didn’t like to get into these more serious thoughts. I mean, sometimes I did. That was the key word that kept popping up: sometimes.

“Those theories can be fun, too, like ‘what’s the deal with The Velvet Underground?’ But I just worry, because I know it’s not guaranteed that’s how things will go, but it’s very easy for one thing to lead to another. It’s like with my negative thoughts, and depression. How it seems to escalate and escalate, even as I get lower and lower. I can get overloaded with these negative emotions, and I worry that I’ll explode. I know I’m not talking literal, but yeah.”

Conrad chose to change the subject, good on him.

“How’s your grape soda?” He asked.

“Grapetastic!” I replied, and we clanged our cans together. He preferred orange soda, and he only chose to do his own version of orange soda, which meant pouring orange juice and carbonated water into a can and letting it settle. He never did tell me how he sealed the cap back on.

Then, he pointed at the tattoo I got. It showed a little angel, halo, wings, and all, with the words ‘be happy’ underneath. It was a recent tattoo, and I never thought I would get a tattoo, but sometimes I just did little things that made me happy on a whim.

“What’s the deal with that?” He asked.

I shrugged. “Really, it’s more of a reminder than anything.”

There were things that I said out loud prior, and even though I wanted to steer closer to the positive, my thoughts drifted back to some of those words:

The way the world around me seemed unfit for me, or me unfit for it. When I would think to myself how everyone else had their shit together, but all of those things weighing me down, like trying to hold down a job, or get good grades for subjects I wasn’t interested in. Things costing money. Housing, food, my own health. I was lucky enough to have a friend like Conrad who could provide a few goods through less than legal means, but even with him, it was hard to feel happiness most days. Like I said, it felt like I lived in a world which was intended for me not to feel like I belong in it. In that sense, I belonged very well, as I was acting in just the way the system intended. Gee, could you tell why Conrad and I were friends?

That world, I knew it wasn’t like that everywhere in the world, but I felt stuck to the part of the world I was in. Where happiness was sparse and fed in such small doses. Where my depression could very well have been seen as a sign of success so that I didn’t try to speak up when I wasn’t satisfied with something. It seemed I was getting into conspiracy territory as well, but jeez. How did most people function? If they did at all. I was just struggling to understand who I was on my best days, and some just went about their routine.

Just like I did. But my routine could easily get broken. Just like I could.

I wanted to be that happy go lucky person, I wanted to think of everything in terms of positives, but that wasn’t doable for me. If I was lucky, I could see a therapist, but that wasn’t a guaranteed help, either.

Was there a takeaway from that life of mine? Maybe it was that I was glad to be in the company of a friend, or that one day I might live a peaceful life and not have my mind feel like a planet splitting in every direction. Yes, that was melodramatic.

So, whether or not it would work, time would tell, but I kind of just wanted that tattoo to remind myself. Not to be happy all the time, but…

Well, I didn’t know. Maybe that was my intention. Screw you. It could mean whatever I wanted it to.

I didn’t really subscribe to any sort of religious belief. The angel thing was more of a fairy tale sort of deal. Because as I took a sip of that grape soda and thought of cotton candy, I wanted to believe that there was a guardian angel out there, showing up on those days when I could smile and say that I was happy.