#Wilted Garden Au

[thecreatureinyourcloset]

I’m bored, SO IMMA MAKE AN AU!

In it the first years just fucking die, like after all the over blots they start just dying. And the worst part is it is similar to the HW um/overblot like Ace was choked to death and Deuce was pierced (Ace being collared and the part Deuce could’ve been pierced if it weren’t for Cater’s clone) . And they are found by the first year who will die next. Also, none of them are gonna die together. They’re all gonna die separately so it’s not gonna be a nice kind of peaceful ish.

It’s gonna be bloody and traumatic. The first years are gonna slowly be going insane. Also, Yuu was actually not gonna die i’m gonna make them go insane. (They may or may not know why the first shoes are getting killed.) Although I have a few of the deaths figured out, I am having trouble on how Epel and Sebek would be killed. Spoiler! It’s gonna be like a whole thing where there’s like some kind of disease. And each of the freshman have that disease, even yuu. And that disease is the reason why they’re all dying. I’m too lazy to make a concrete explanation right now so that’s all.

[lemonberryshortcake]

Break the Barriers.

Centuries ago a god was sealed in chains for breaking down the boundary between life and death, banished from his family for the rest of eternity for a betrayal never planned.

Who would’ve thought such a feat would cause the barrier to break further?

All it took was a standard harvest ritual and a very experimental lamb.

The large lush farmlands were quite the sight compared to what those in the village had experienced prior, food never a shortage, never withheld even when misbehaviors occurred.

But it could never hold a candle to the gardens, oh for they were the shepherd’s greatest joy.

A weeping Willow stood tall in the center, a beautiful stone statue of a lamb before it, moss and lichen grew up the sides. A testament to how long ago the gift had been given.

Camellias grew around, their height evident of the gentle care the Shepherd had given them, branches bending and twisting with each careful dance. Not tied to one color they grew in shades of reds to whites.

Hooven hands grew green with lichen during the festivals, just as pawed hands became tainted with red. Crowns rest upon their head, one of annoyance, one of joy.

Hands intertwined as music played, the leaders, the gods. A celebration. One of love and joy, of binding and beauty, of life and death no longer being able to separate two lovers.

Town a buzz, garlands hung from the lights, a table of food. Loud cheers, excited laughter, and music played by the wood worker’s makeshift band. The happy couple in a daze, blinded by all the chaos in their midst unable to notice the missing pair.

Their rings were awfully dull compared to the newly weds, not even proper. A black shackle on a horn, a small Camellia on the ear.

Yet when the two found themselves alone, all else seemed forgotten.

Hearts beat in one, the distant chatter becoming white noise, the hurt that blinds them so left behind. For now they were as happy as a bride and groom.

He of death.

They of life.

[callico-awts]

just some random doodle of sunflower(?). This is what wilting tulips au basil would react when he sees sunny (any ver of sunny counts ig) he would stare intensely without realizing he's sorta making snnuy uncomfy but in the inside, emo bagel is breaking down literally when he sees him, he just doesn't want to show it oof.

Okie I'll review for my exams, bye-

[lamentationsofalonelypotato]

Chapter 3: Please Remember to Take Your Happy Pills

Pairing: Soldier Boy x f!reader, Reader POV

Summary:  When you decided to work with Butcher and his merry band of supe hunters to take down Homelander, you never expected to be saddled with a sullen, grumpy, jerk like Soldier Boy when the job was done. The more you're around him the more you hate him, but you can't help but wonder, is he really as big a jerk as you think? Reader is a supe with plant powers. This takes place in an AU about a month after the end of The Boys Season 3, in which Butcher has let Soldier Boy continue to work with him on his team.  (I'm real bad at summaries, please forgive me!)

Tropes: Enemies to Lovers (Not in this chapter), Slow Burn, Age Difference (Reader is in her 20s), Protective Ben/ Soldier Boy.

Word Count: 6.1K

Warnings: I'm going to label this 18+ because Soldier Boy (he's a warning and everyone knows it), swearing, mentions of sex, sexual innuendo, sexual tension. Ben/Soldier Boy might be a little bit OOC.

Note: This is told from Reader's perspective. Any references to the reader is made using you or your. There is minimal use of y/n. I tried my best to proofread, but nobody's perfect. If you don’t like, don’t read, but if you do like, you’re my favorite!

Internal monologue is in italics and is in first person.

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Despite your insistences for Ben to just go away, he walked with you to “Please Don’t Die,” the plant shop that you’d been working at since you moved to New York, all the while complaining about the fact that you didn’t have a car.

You wondered if he'd ever had friends that didn't have as much money as he did or if he just lived in the asshole rich dude bubble.

You never hated walking. Something about walking through Central Park invigorated you, being surrounded by all the plants made you feel grounded  and more in the moment. It made you feel alive. Not to mention you liked walking past all the flower shops and perking up the bouquets of flowers wrapped in plastic and placed in black bins as you walked. And even though you were late, you figured that you always had time to use your powers just to make everything a little bit greener.

Maybe it was cliché, but you hated seeing dead plants and dead flowers. Whenever you went home you always spent time in your grandmother's garden making sure that everything was growing as it should and even the plants in your home never seemed to wilt.

Which probably meant that you were working in the right place.

The shop you work at is the same as it’s always been. Outside the brick was painted a cheerful white, with black trim that frames the large glass windows and a black glass door the proclaims the name of the shop in strong block letters. Each window display was changed every other day and were both currently crowded with multicolored plants that stretched towards the warm sunlight on the street while the glass skull planters your boss, Jake, had placed artfully inside glittered black.

When you open the door, the smell of soil, earth, and water greet you, wafting out to envelop your body in a layer of comfort.

You feel your body physically relax as you step over the threshold. The thrum of your abilities reaching out, flowing through the branches, stems, and leaves of the plants, soaking through your bones to connect you to them. You could feel every twig, every small push of roots in the soil, every unfurling of new leaves from each plant in the shop. It was impossible to see beyond the rows and displays of potted plants that trailed languidly on the clean concrete floors. Wooden shelves were bolted to the walls covered in layers of green foliage so dense you couldn’t see the red brick behind. Displays of bouquets sprouted dark purple, deep red, vivid blue,  and warm orange, sat wrapped in plastic and ready to be purchased on the left wall, next to coolers filled with even larger bouquets in ornate glass vases.

Herbs crowded the front of the register at the back of the room, sending the sharp scent of mint, the spicy scent of chives, and the soothing smell of rosemary into the air. Vines wove above your head hanging from the ceiling to cover the plastic squares that lined the roof making it seem as if you had entered under the dark canopy in the jungle. The rest of the shop was hidden behind rows and rows of potted plants, on long wooden shelves and tall potted plants that reached up to the ceiling, giving the illusion that as soon as you entered the shop, it was like you entered another world, cut off from the rest of New York.

It honestly felt like home, felt just like your apartment as you stood there in the humid air, the sound of the misters turning on and off echoing the deeper you went into the store.

Plants were easier than people. You learned that early on.

It didn’t matter where you were, plants always called out to you, from the smallest seedling to the mightiest oak, you were connected with them. When you were away from them it was almost painful. As a kid whenever your parents took you on a plane, you had to carry seed packets in your pockets, nursing small seedlings as you left the earth behind and took to the sky. When Annie had a weekend off from her patrol back home, she had suggested that the two of you go on a cruise. Neither of you had seen the ocean and it had seemed like a good idea up until you stepped foot on the ship.

At first you thought that you were seasick, the dizziness and the puking that followed seemed to be due to the boat rocking back and forth, but the only way you were able to get out of bed and avoid puking your guts out was when Annie brought you some grapes from the buffet and you covered your entire cabin in grape vines to make you feel better. And the rest of the trip you had woven vines in your hair to stay just a little more grounded to the world you left behind when you stepped foot on the ship.

“Y/n is that you?” You hear your boss, Jake, call from somewhere inside.

“Yeah I’m sorry I’m late!” You shout back. He was still hidden by the dense displays of plants that stood like silent watchmen just at the front of the shop.

“It’s fine.” He replies.

You turn to glare at Ben. “You can go now.”

He’s not paying attention to you, he’s surveying the room, surprised by how green it is.

He��s going to have to get used to that if he’s going to force himself into my life.

Jake pushes through the wall of plants in front of you, holding a giant Monstera in a gallon bucket. The leaves were easily as big as your head and you’re surprised that Jake can move it, given that he wasn't a supe. He stumbles slightly under the weight and you rush forward to take it from him.

But just as you take it from Jake, your own super strength buckling slightly under the weight, Ben pulls it from your arms and holds it in one hand. You were only slightly stronger than the average person, enough to hold your own, but not enough to lift a car over your head.

“Where do you want it?” He says looking from you to Jake.

Jake is… Jake. He’s taller than you, with sandy blonde hair that curls slightly behind his ears and hangs long and shaggy on top of his head. His bright blue eyes are hidden behind tortoiseshell glasses. Today he’s wearing his usual flannel pushed up to his elbows that reveals tanned, freckled, and muscular arms, not as muscular as Ben, but enough to notice, and a pair of blue jeans.

They were his favorite pair, worn in just right at the knees. You gathered that by how often he wore them. Not to mention you appreciated how he filled them out.

In the way that Ben was tall, dark, and handsome, Jake was tall, bright, and beautiful. He always smiled when he saw you, always tried his hardest to make you laugh on a day that never seemed to end, and he always seemed to have the best advice when everything seemed hopeless. He was a good friend. A good friend that you had kept separate from the supe world. He didn’t know what you could do and you wanted to keep it that way at least for now.

Your record with non-supe friends was dismal and you didn't want to ruin your friendship with him.

“Whoa um-" Jake clears his throat. "Just over by the calatheas.” Jake's eyes widen seeing how easily Ben holds the gallon sized barrel in one hand, hefting the monstera easily.

“The what?” Ben frowns rudely.

“The striped plants over there.” You point at the collection of lemon lime prayer plants that sit prettily on a circular wooden table in one of the front displays.

Ben walks away still toting the monstera like it weighs nothing in his right hand.

“Do you know him?” Jake watches Ben curiously.

“Unfortunately.” You frown, but shake it off when you look at Jake. It was easy to smile at him. “How are you?”

“Good. Got here early. The shipment of Christmas cactus came in. Needed to start breaking down one of the displays to find a place to put them.” Jake returns your smile. “You doin' okay? You look a little frazzled.” His southern twang slips into his honeyed voice.

Jake like you, wasn’t from the city, he was from the south and moved to New York to go to get a degree in environmental law, but when he got certified he opened “Please Don’t Die” and the rest was history.

You glance over at Ben who is now walking back towards the two of you, still frowning. “I didn’t have my coffee today.” It was the truth, but you didn't want to say that the reason why you looked so 'frazzled' was that you were spending time with the bane of your existence.

“I figured. Which is why I grabbed you one. It’s on the register.” Jake nods back in the direction of the antique bar top turned desk where a cup of coffee sits slightly steaming in the humid air.

“You’re officially the best part about today.”

“That’s what I say about you every day.” He winks making you flush. “Oh wait you’ve got an eyelash.”

Ben stiffens beside you as Jake steps forward into your space and gently brushes his index finger under your right cheek. Pins and needles trace behind the movement and you can feel your heartbeat stutter. “There you go.” Jake wipes his hand on his flannel.

Ben huffs and mutters something under his breath that you don’t catch.

Jake looks up at him, because Ben was about three inches taller. “Hey I’m Jake.” He extends his hand towards Ben.

Ben eyes it. “Ben.” He grunts not taking Jake's hand and deepening his frown.

Jake's smile falters a little.

“Please ignore Gramps, he forgot to take his happy pills this morning.” You nudge Ben with your elbow. "Be nice." You whisper low enough for only Ben to hear.

“I think he took them for me sweetheart.” Ben mutters back. "It's nice to meet you." Ben says tightly, in a way that doesn't seem like it's nice to meet Jake at all.

“Gramps?” Jake looks confused as he retracts his hand.

“Nickname for sunshine.” You gesture with your thumb to where Ben glowers at the mention of the nickname. “But he was just leaving.”

“Oh. Well if you need me I’m going to be over by the hydrangeas. Do you think you can start working on the plants in the back? They need a little TLC.” Jake rubs the back of his neck. "I know you're better at that kind of thing."

“Of course. It’s what I’m here for.”

“I don’t know what I’d do without you darlin'.” Jake laughs and walks off towards the blue and pink flowering plants in sleek silver pots towards the door.

Ben eyes your boss up and down, watching how he turns away from the two of you but stays within earshot. “He wants to fuck you.” Ben says a little too loudly.

“What?” You whisper yell, dragging Ben away into the dense foliage on the other side of the shop. “Shut up he can hear you! And we’re just friends.”

“You’ve never heard about friends fucking? I mean if you and I started to-"

“Not going to happen. And we’re not friends!” You frown at him.

“I mean, I am living with you.” Ben crosses his hands over his chest and shrugs.

“You’re not living with me. How many times do I have to say that?” 

“As many times as you want. I love the sound of your voice. I bet you could say some pretty kinky-“

Your eyes shift to a dangerous bright green, the entire room vibrating with energy as the plants begin to bend to your will.

“I know you think that using your powers is supposed to scare me, but I think it’s sexy when you do that.” Ben smirks. “Your eyes turn that gorgeous shade of green.”

“Please go away.”

“Fine. But he does want to fuck you.”  Ben smirks. He cocks his head to the side examining you for a moment. "You want him to, don’t you Petals?”

"No I don't!”

I mean I could do a lot worse than Jake.

He was exactly what you were looking for. Someone sweet, who  understood what love was, and actually cared for other people. He was smart and funny, and he loved plants almost as much as you did. He understood how important they were and how to take care of them. Not to mention he actually had feelings and knew how to express them, unlike the toddler standing in front of you.

You grab on to Ben’s arm and drag him further into the shop away from your boss to make sure that you’re no longer within earshot. “Contrary to whatever belief you have, not everyone is focused on sex all the time-“

“They are.”

“No they’re not. There are other things-“

“Like what?” He raises an eyebrow.

“Um.”

You honestly couldn’t think when Ben was standing so close to you, towering over you, staring at you with those bright green eyes that always seemed to consume you. Your eyes slide to a cork board filled with seed packets on the wall above his head.

 “Like watermelon and blueberries and-“ You begin to say, reading the names.

“You’re just listing fruit sweetheart.” Ben chuckles under his breath. “You know what I think?”

“No and I don’t care.”

“I think you think about having sex with me.”

“What?” You shout louder than you should

“Mhmm." Ben traces his hand along your cheek, but you swat it away. "This morning you were awfully red when you bumped into me in the hallway. Not to mention in the kitchen when you were against the counter. Your heart was beating so fast. And I could practically smell how w-“

“Finish that sentence and lose your tongue.” You snarl grabbing the front of his shirt tightly in your hand.

“Doll I don’t think you want to rip my tongue out. Not with what I could do to you with it.”

You groan and withdraw your hand, fighting the urge to punch him. “Can you please leave? Don’t you have anyone else to sexually harass? Like Hughie maybe?”

“Hughie’s a guy?” Ben looks confused at your mention of Annie’s boyfriend.

“So? I kinda think you’re overcompensating for something by sleeping with that many women.”

Ben only laughs. "If you slept with me I'm sure that you'd see what all the fuss is about." He looks over through the walls of green leaves to where Jake is standing, watering a display of hydrangeas. Every few moments Jake would look over in your direction over his shoulder as if to check if you were okay. “How long have you worked here?”

"What does that have to do with anything?" You cross your arms over your chest confused.

Why does he care about that?

"Just answer the question doll-face."

"Two years."

"And you've liked him this whole time?" He cocks his eyebrow.

"No."

"You're worse than Mike doll."

"I am not."

"Mhmm."

"And I don't want him to sleep with me."

"Sure."

"Again, not everyone is focused on sex. And maybe you think that's the most important thing, but I'd rather have a relationship with someone." You turn to busy yourself with straightening the seed packets on the cork board, wishing that you weren't about to have this conversation with Soldier Boy of all people.

"So no sex?" Ben taunts.

You bite the inside of your cheek, transferring a packet of potato seeds back to the correct peg and reach for a packet of watermelon seeds to avoid eye contact.

I can't believe that I'm about to say this.

"I think that sex is better when you have a deep emotional connection with someone.  Someone who cares about you, who sees every part of you, even the bad things and they don't care. I wouldn't expect you to give a fuck about any of that."

"I don't." He breezes and you can imagine just how carefree he looks. You could feel his breath on your neck reminding you of your position earlier today.

"Exactly." You roll your eyes. But deep down you couldn't help but feel a little disappointed with his confession and you hated that you were disappointed.

What? Did you think that he was going to change? That he was going to suddenly be the kind of guy you wanted after he practically forced his way onto your couch?

“You’re serious about him though? Looks like the kind of guy who would cry when he fucks you. You really want him instead of me?” Ben leans into the space next to you, trying to catch your eye, which you successfully avoid. "I mean, come on Petals, he's not even a supe."

"What?"

"He's-not-a-supe." Ben says it again, slowly like you're an idiot.

"What does that have to do with anything?"

"Oh please, you think that guy is the one? The one you've been waiting for? I've seen you in a fight and there's no way he could handle you. He couldn't even carry that fucking plant! If he tried to fuck you, you'd snap him in half."

Your cheeks flare an angry red that creeps back into your neck, and up your ears. "That is none of your business."

"It would be if you'd just let me fuck you. Show you what you've been missing." He cocks an eyebrow.

You fight the urge to slap the look off his face. “I can’t do this with you right now. I haven’t had my coffee.”

"He brought you some." Ben sing-songs, but you ignore him. "Fine. I’ve got to go anyway. Butcher wants me to meet him at some park in fucking Jersey.”

“You need me to write it down for you? Using your newfangled doohickey probably might be too much huh?” You turn and shake your phone for emphasis at him.

Ben rolls his eyes. “I think I’m capable of finding it.” He turns to go but stops glancing over his shoulder at you. “Are you gonna be at the apartment tonight?”

“What apartment? My apartment? The apartment that you're squatting in like a hobo?"

“No Butcher’s.” Ben glowers.

“I mean maybe?” You shrug. “I’ve still got to make a list of auto shops to visit this week. Butcher wants me to try to go to at least a dozen to see if I can get any leads on this guy.”

Ben nods once.

“Why?”

Why does he care?

“No reason. I’ll see you later Petals.” Ben smirks when he uses the nickname again, before turns once more and vanishes into the foliage that leads to the front of the shop. It was very difficult not to make the closet branch smack him in the back of the head as he did so. You hated that nickname about as much as he hated Gramps, but you knew that asking him not to call you that wouldn't do any good.

You make your way to the register at the back of the shop, feeling like you could finally breathe again. You hated how Ben wound you up so much, how angry and annoyed he made you. You hadn't met anyone else in your life that could do that to you and you liked to think that you were an easy going person, but not around him. He always knew exactly how to push all your buttons.

The memory of him pinning you to the counter earlier surfaces from the events of the morning, how his body seemed so strong above you, how he seemed to curve it protectively around you as he stood there waiting for you to tell him that it was okay for him to take the next step. The kiss from last night follows, how wonderful it was to lose yourself in him, how he tasted just a little bit like whiskey-

The hibiscus plant to the right of the register poofs into bloom, the bright red flowers unfurling and shining like beacons.

Shit. No. Get it together. Ben literally just said that he didn't think that emotions were important.

You glare at the plant until the flowers wilt back into submission, hoping that Jake couldn't see from where he was watering the hydrangeas.

That's the last conversation that you wanted to have today with your boss.

The coffee he got you is just how you like it and you’re reminded again that you deserve a relationship like that. Someone who remembers the little things, someone who cared about you, someone who was willing to hold your hair back when you threw up, not someone who annoyed you without end and the only emotions he ever expressed was anger or arousal.

“Your friend leave?” Jake asks. His clothes were flecked with water, hands just a little dirty, hair tousled just the right way to make him look like he'd just woken up.

It hit you again how different he was than Ben. Where Ben was ruggedly handsome, Jake was boyishly handsome and he had a younger less angry quality that made him seem lighter. You supposed that was because Ben had spent the last forty years in a Russian lab, but sometimes you liked that about him, not that he had been tortured obviously, but that he seemed real. He didn’t sugar coat things, he told it to you straight. Sometimes Jake was too happy.

No no no. I am not going to compare Ben to Jake, that's not going to happen.

“He’s not really my friend. He’s more of an annoyance.” You smile tightly, flicking your thumb against the cardboard coffee collar on the outside of the cup.

“Oh. I kinda thought he was your boyfriend.”

You spit out the coffee in your mouth. “What?”

“Well the way he was looking at you. And the way you guys were talking." Jake clears his throat embarrassed. "Sorry I didn't mean to assume that."

"It's alright. I'm sorry that he was rude to you. He's rude to everyone honestly."

It was the truth, Ben was always rude to everyone, though you didn't understand why he was rude to Jake. All Jake had done was try to shake his hand.

"How did you meet him?"

"Butcher."

Jake didn't know much about what you did for Butcher, only that you had another job on the side and he was your boss. Butcher had picked you up once from work to go on a case and Jake had caught a glimpse of him and had been confused as to why you knew someone like him.

"Ah." David nods in understanding. "He looks like Butcher's kind of guy."

"Yeah." You take another sip of coffee, shifting from foot to foot. "Thanks again for the coffee. I kinda needed it to deal with him."

"He was bothering you?"

"Only a little." You wave your free hand as if brushing away the thought.

"You should have said something, I could have thrown him out of the shop." Jake grins wide, leaning against the register.

The image of Jake trying to drag Ben out of the store was ridiculous. You doubted that Ben would go willingly, he hated backing down and you suspected that he would rather die than let another man throw him around. And the last thing you wanted to do was have to pull Ben off of Jake.

"It wasn't anything I couldn't handle. He's more bark than bite." You walk around the back of the desk to look at a box of lavender plants. They were in relatively good shape, a few brown spots, but nothing you couldn't fix when David wasn't looking.

"Sure." He is still leaning on the counter watching your fingertips stroke along the purple flowers. "Hey y/n?"

"Mhmm?" You sigh, inhaling the soothing smell.

"Um-" He bites the inside of his cheek. "Never mind. I'm gonna go start the Christmas Cactus display."

"Okay. I'll be in the back if you need me." You shrug, picking up the coffee Jake bought you and walking through the dark curtains that covered the doorway that lead into the back of the shop.

Your thoughts shift to how Ben acted around Jake, how he seemed to be an even bigger jerk, how Ben seemed to hate the idea of you and Jake together, and how Ben kept watching Jake like he wasn't sure about him.

Was he… jealous?

You gently touch the browning leaf of an African violet, feeling the fuzzy outer covering beneath your fingertip.

As if.

And as you stood there gazing at the plants that needed a little extra care, something else began to stir, something that you couldn't put your finger on, something that you felt when you were only around Ben, but you shake it off and clear your mind with the earthy smell of soil and the soft green leaves that needed your care.

“I can’t believe you let Soldier Boy sleep on your couch!” Annie exclaims before taking a bite of her sesame seed bagel.

The coffee shop was crowded for a Thursday afternoon, and although most came to Calamity Coffee Co for the Rocky Top frozen choco-molten mocha swirl , Annie had settled for a oat milk latte and watched you eat your Rocky Top with a spoon. It was making you feel better after the night you'd had.

 People sat with their laptops along the long table that lined the front windows writing emails or the next Hunger Games, others lounged on the purple velvet sofa and high backed green armchairs by the decorative fire place chatting about a new movie in theaters that you'd seen a commercial for, and a man and a woman sat at the glass topped wrought iron table looking at their phones and not speaking.

I love what romance has come to these days.

“It was a moment of weakness.” You spoon another bite of the chocolatey frozen treat into your mouth still trying to forget exactly what happened last night when Ben kissed you in the hallway.

As if you were going to tell her that.

The rest of your shift at the shop had been uneventful. You fixed up most of the plants in the back and helped Jake make the new displays of cactus in the front while making small talk. He was going to a plant show this weekend and had invited you along, but you had declined, told him you had to work.

You did. Butcher had this crazy idea about sending you to different auto shops around the area where the supe had been jacking cars, to see if anyone knew anything about him.

It was getting harder to track him down, it would be easier if y'all could put a name to the face, but no one had seen him. Not even when he tried to fry you two days ago. He always wore a hoodie and pulled a dark scarf over the bottom of his face.

“So you did sleep with him!” Annie accuses.

“No I didn’t. He just slept on the couch and I slept with my door locked.” You reply, touching the vase of wildflowers in the center of the table to perk up the colorful blooms.

Annie's smile drops. “You thought he would try something?” It was something that she didn't joke about and she had reason not to.

When you found out what the Deep had done to her, she had to hold you back from marching up to Vought tower and implanting a watermelon in the Deep's stomach until he exploded. Something that you'd thought about trying with Ben when he really annoyed you.

“No not really.” You press your lips together. “Ben doesn’t really seem the type-“

“Oh so it’s Ben now.” She flutters her eyelashes and you kick her shin under the table.

“Shut up. It’s his name-“

“You never called him that before! You always just call him Gramps or the Bane of your existence.”

“He is the bane of my existence." You roll your eyes at her, leaning back in your chair. 

He really is.

“Well the bane of your existence is kind of hot. You know for an older guy.” Annie shrugs.

“I can’t believe you’re saying that. You literally were gung ho for locking him away for all eternity or whatever.”

“I mean yeah he’s done some shitty things.” She takes a sip of her almond milk latte. “But it would have been a waste.”

She’s not lying.

You don't answer her, instead your mind shifts to how good Ben looked in a towel this morning, slightly damp from his shower. And then inevitably begins to dip back into the waterfall fantasy.

When Annie had told you that Soldier Boy was back, you had done the research, watched his movies, commercials, and music videos, read his file, and gazed at older pictures of him. Yes he was handsome, but something about the Ben who existed in the 21st century was better looking than all the rest. You didn't know why, just that you were crazy not to admit how good looking he was.

Maybe I've got issues and I'm attracted to the wrong type of man.

“Come on so you locked your door.” Annie nudges your leg under the table.

“Yep.” You avoid her eyes, because you knew as soon as you did you might let it fly that you wanted to sleep with him or rather that he'd kissed you so hard that you'd seen stars and it had only lasted eleven seconds.

Why do I know how long the kiss lasted?

“Why are you making that face?”

“This is my face Annie.”

“No no no. You’re making your suffer in silence face!”

“That’s not a thing.”

“What? Did you lock your door so you wouldn’t go out there?” She jokes with a snort.

You take another sip of your coffee.

“HOLY SHIT Y/N!” Annie's smile is almost too wide, as if she's discovered a new kind of chocolate that you can eat and never gain any weight.

I'd invest in that.

“What?”

“You wanted to sleep with him!”

She shouts it so loud that the people staring at their phones glance over to the two of you. Even a few of the writers on the long table under the window look back over their shoulders at you.

“Keep your voice down." You shush her. "Just because my body wants to doesn’t mean my mind does!”

It does. Who am I kidding?

“Uh-huh sure.”

You slump further in your chair, avoiding the gaze of the couples at the other tables looking at you. “Annie come on. You’ve known me since we were four.  You almost blinded me when I took away your my little pony doll-“

She purses her lips. “I recall you making a tree rain acorns down on my head.”

“It was my doll.”

“It was mine! And I said that I wanted it back. You didn't have to have a tree do a reenactment of the ten plagues garden edition."

You hold up your hands in surrender not wanting to get into this fight again. “Whatever the case. You know me. You know that I always think stuff like this through-“

“Maybe you’re just thinking too much.” She sing songs.

“I can’t believe you’re for this. I’m not going to sleep with him.”

“Why not? You obviously want to.” Annie shrugs. "I mean I guess I'm not his number one fan, but maybe it will help get you out of a slump."

"What slump?"

"You haven't really been with a guy since Newton-" Annie begins to say, referencing your ex-boyfriend that you locked in a tree in high school. Because he deserved it.

"Because I never meet anyone that I'd want to sleep with. And yeah maybe I want to sleep with Ben, but he really just pushes my buttons and makes me crazy and-" You stop for a second considering your next words. “I don’t want that kind of relationship with someone. I want a relationship that means something. And I don’t think that sleeping with him is going to do that for me. He doesn’t want more than one night and I’m worth more and I want more.”

"You are worth more sweetie." Annie's hand covers yours where it rests on the table. "You just need to find someone who understands that."

"The only other single man in my life is Butcher and trust me I'm not going down that road." You bite the inside of your cheek thoughtfully. "I mean he is pretty hot in a rugged sort of way-"

"No." Annie squeezes your hand. "If God put me in your life to prevent you from dating William Fucking Butcher then so be it."

"Fine." You roll your eyes at her.

"And what are you talking about? What about Jake? He's cute and he likes you."

"He does not. We're just friends. And I don't know if I want to drag him into all this supe shit. It's not exactly easy."

Being with Jake will just complicate everything. He's my boss and he's not a supe. What if I accidentally killed him during sex? I don't think that I'd ever be able to get over that.

"Yeah. But maybe he'd be okay with it-"

"Like Newton was okay with it?" You raise an eyebrow, saying the name of your high school boyfriend for the first time since you'd locked him in a tree.

"He was an asshole. Not all non-supes are assholes."

"Just because you struck gold with Hughie does not mean that all non-supes are like that."

"You just have to broaden your horizons a little bit. Maybe you could try online dating."

"What like Tinder?"

"Fuck no." Annie groans. She raises the sesame seed bagel with a perfectly manicured hand to her mouth, reminding you that you probably should get your nails done. You hadn't done them since high school, because sometimes you thought it was a waste of money given how much time you spent with your hands thrust into potting soil.

"Because Ben seems to really  like it. Has no problems working that app, I'll tell you that." You roll your eyes thinking about him again.

It was one of the first apps that he had downloaded on his phone by himself and one that he did not have any trouble navigating, given the parade of women that came through Butcher's apartment and the amount of nights Ben spent going on "dates." For a guy born so long ago, you noticed that he really didn't have any old fashioned values.

"You sure are focused on him."

"I am not." You glance down at your phone noting the time. "And are you going to spend our date mocking me about Ben the whole time?”

“That depends.”

“On?”

“If you’re going to fuck him or not.”

“I’m not so let’s move on.” You sigh loudly, moving your hand as if ushering in the next topic.

“Well if things don’t work out with Mr. Blast From The Past, then you can always date Mike.” She sniggers.

“Oh I don’t think he’s going to be a problem-“ It slips before you meant it to.

Shit.

“What do you mean?” Annie perks up when you say that.

“Nothing.”

She punches you hard on the shoulder.

“Ow. Annie-“

“Tell me!” She punches you again.

“What are you the mob? You’re gonna keep punching me til I tell you?”

“Exactly.” Her small fist hits your shoulder one more time.

“Fine!” You avoid her next swing. “Mike came out of his apartment last night when Ben and I got in and Ben he-“ You bite the inside of your cheek to try and phrase it in a way that isn’t going to make Annie freak out.

Yeah there’s really no easy way to say this.

“He pretended to be my boyfriend.”

“He what?” Annie squeals.

“And he kissed me.” You mutter into your drink.

“He kissed you!?”

“Say it a little louder, I don’t think they heard you in Canada.”

She punches your shoulder.

“Ow, Annie! I told you what happened!” You rub your hand over your sore shoulder, which given Annie's enhanced strength was sure to have a bruise.

“That was for not mentioning it earlier! Because What the fuck?! You KISSED!?” You could practically see Annie mentally kicking her feet and giggling.

“Yes.”

“Was it good?!”

You pause. Fuck yeah it was.

You were trying to forget that. Forget how he held you, like you weren’t close enough, forget how he deepened the kiss as if he wanted to swallow you whole, forget how everything else in the world seemed to fade into shades of gray and kissing him was the only thing in color.

Damn it. This isn't going to end well.

A/N: Honestly thank you for all the love and support on this series. I know it's kinda slow going at the beginning, but I promise I have a plan for this one! :)

As always thank you so much for reading! If you'd liked to be added to the Taglist please let me know :)

Taglist:

@roseblue373 @mrsjenniferwinchester @corruptedcruiser @winchesterwild78 @the-super-who-locked-wizard

@criminalyetminimal @52ndstreeet @bitchykittenconnoisseur @anna6307 @libby99hb

@faephoria @possiblyafangirl @jqtaro @quietlybitchy @tinydancer40

@roger-that-cap @megara0224 @miskwaadesiwag @rainyeggvoidpurse

@soldiergrimes @tiffsbagels @podiumackles

[evilgwrl]

TF 141 x Reader (Apocalypse!AU)

Immune: Thirteen

WARNING: This is a 18+ Poly!141 series (MDNI)

CW: Allusions to panic attacks, excessive gore, fluff with Simon at the end <3

Taglist: @waves-against-a-cliff @echo9821 @beebeechaos @h3art3at3rr @johannxseb @cndy-l0v3 @nylluns @pomegranategum @tapioca-marzipan @dlishus05

Masterlist

I HATE THIS CHAPTER LIKE USUAL BUT I HOPE U ALL ENJOY IT

All you could feel was burning.

Your lungs were aflame, sucked into your ribs with every gruelling indent. Your thighs were worn down, almost skinned to the bone, oozing wounds of blood and puss pooling at your knees as you heaved, scraping past thorned bushes.

The trees felt alive, clawing at you with pointed wooden talons, the prickle of sharpened sticks tearing at exposed flesh. Swollen feet met tar, the eldritch smell of a metallic tang consumed you, rotting away in every sense as you panted.

Your skin was like leather, worn down and bleak as your body collided against the abandoned roads, the slaughtered sound of the walking dead nearing with every passing frame. The sight of them was familiar, only mangled now.

You weren’t sure what had happened.

All you remember is how it started.

The day was darker than usual, consumed by an epiphany of greying clouds. The rumble of thunder stalked your every move as you committed to your daily rounds, your heart smouldered by the grief that had caught up to you.

They had all smiled at you as they welcomed you with breakfast. Why did Gaz seem different? Was he ill? You shook it off with a smile.

Why did you shake it off with a smile?

Your stomach was hot now, a building sensation of nausea washing over you as you tended to your garden. You locked eyes with Soap, his own staring back with a darkened hue of blue, any surrounding white slowly turning into a bleak red. Was he tired? You would lecture him about sleeping earlier later.

You felt caged in as you entered the house once more, kicking off your over-worked shoes with a grunt as you headed for the sink, desperate to scrub off the caking dirt that stuck to your fingers.

Gaz was sweating now, droplets of milky residue working down his forehead as he coughed, spluttering into the palms of his hands. His skin turned a ghastlier shade by the time you faced him, his hands shaking before the rest of him followed suit, his body convulsing as it clattered onto the floor.

Your voice was mousy as you called out, your limbs plastered together as you overwatched Ghost press two fingers to his neck, chasing a pulse that wouldn’t come.

The timber that held the house felt weaker now, almost rotten, as it clattered under your feet.  It was crumbly, squeaking under you with every step as you heaved in what felt like mould.

Where was your gun?

You could hear Soap calling out to you, his voice nasally, almost inaudible as he choked on his accent before it turned to blood, his uvula dangling at the back of his throat with every metallic form of discharge from his lungs.

You were in your bathroom now, the tap running with what seemed like extra force as the drain clogged, murky water soon flooding the kitchen as you pounded at the door, rattling with the rusted knob. Your feet were drenched as you kicked in the wilted timber, the frame clattering under you as you climbed through the formed hole you had made, a wooden shard catching onto your forearm with a drag, a pained wince leaving your mouth as you clutched onto the wound.

Everything felt blurred, almost like you were stuck in slow-mo. You could feel Price’s shoulder under your fingers, his skin cold. Why was his neck bleeding? Your touch was soggy now, a familiar squelch sounding from under you as greying eyes met yours.

His grip was strong, holding you onto the breaking floorboards with every snarl, your skin tearing as you were pulled along wilted frames, the oak crumbling under your shoes as you cried. Price’s hands were at your stomach, clawing at the breaking skin with rotting claws.

You could hear your blood thumping as you kicked at his drooping frame, the bones in his legs tumbling into his ligaments as he clattered to the floor. You were dragging yourself to the door now, the grumble of corroding mouths swarming you as you trailed a bloodied path to your frame.

How did you make it to the forest?

The grass mocked you as you watched it die, the blades sphacelating with every step you took. Your hands were on your abdomen, clutching onto the open wound as blood spluttered, your grip pushing against the seeping organs that writhed against you.

Your vision had turned orange now, any welcoming colours forgotten as you pushed against a shrub with your shoulder. The sweet berries you used to eat now turned poisonous as you mewled into the air.

Your throat was closing in now, curling against your oesophagus as your hands pushed into your mouth, pressing into the back of it as you gagged, forcing bile across the ground as you heaved.

Why did you stop clutching your stomach?

You were on the road again. Your trail had gotten stronger as you skinned your knee against the blackened pavement. You felt your eyes close, fluttering to an abnormal silence as your lids ceased any light.

Everything was static now. Why couldn’t you open your eyes? Greedy hands pulled at your flesh, a searing pain moulting into your chest as festering digits tore at your insides, digging through your organs with a tug before holding them to degraded teeth.

You could feel them at your neck, tapping against your skin with uncertainty. Your mouth was parted open, the skin from your lips torn as you attempted to scream only to be consumed by one’s hand.

They were pushing down your throat now, scraping along sensitive walls. Your lungs were drowning, your nose heaving as you attempted to breathe before infested fingers held them closed.

Your eyes were open now, looking down in desperation. There was a strange indent against your chest, tugging and pulling at the veins that penetrated beneath the surface. You could see fingers now poking from inside you, rotting talons digging through the flesh before they pierced the exterior.

How were you still alive?

Greedy hands ripped at your ribcage, snapping your bones like measly twigs. It was red-hot pain everywhere. Your brain stopped thinking, overwritten by the intense agony that writhed through you.

You weren’t breathing. Your lungs were empty. They were mouthing something to you now, their lips consumed by gore. Why can’t you speak? Why can’t you hear? Hands were by your head, pressing along your scalp tenderly as bloodied fingers dyed your hair. Your eyes were wide, begging for sanity.

Your body was emptied now, the residue of beating organs trailed along the road. Your heart was spluttering inside someone’s stomach. Fingers toyed at your scalp, dragging along your forehead with a permanent indent.

You mourned the last of you, your brain repeating the words ‘you’re dead’ in a constant stream. Or was that your own voice? The faces around you were a blur now, their bodies melting into the tar as a swarm crowded you. Your eyes blurred as you took in the faces around you.

They were all you.

Your body was writhing against the sheets, a strum of sobs tearing through you as your teeth tucked into your lips, drawing blood. Simon was fast, his hands resting against the side of your head as he guided you back to reality.

Your voice cracked as you screamed out, shoving him away as you sucked in a breath.

“Sweet’art, you were having a nightmare, you’re okay. It’s just me.”

“S-Simon?”

Your voice was hoarse, stripped from all moisture as you pressed against your stomach, looking down at your perfectly fine frame.

“I’m sorry,” you mewled, finding your voice as you swiped the sweat against your forehead. The Lieutenant was harder to see in the dark, but you could make out the softness in his eyes.

“Don’t have to apologise. I get them too.”

Your brows raised momentarily before you smiled at him, holding your hand out as he grasped onto it. He paused for a moment before he held it to his chest. He was warm.

It was subtle but you could feel it. He could feel it too.

“When they used to get bad, I used to search for my heart and feel the beat. Reminded me that I was okay.”

“I can feel it,” you whispered, trailing your hand up his chest before it met with the apple of his cheek.

“I can feel you too.”

[uhohdad]

THE GIRL WHO CONQUERED THE MOUNTAIN

KÖNIG X READER [HUNGER GAMES AU]

You & Konig have been chosen to participate in a twenty-four tribute fight to the death.

18+, NSFW, 183k WORD COUNT, AO3, Virgin!Konig, Outcast!Konig, 18yo!Konig, Protective!Konig, Mentor!JohnPrice, Fem!Reader, Blood & Injury, Graphic Violence, Death, PTSD, Alcohol Abuse, Slow Burn, Konig Pines Hard, Sexual Content, Porn with Too Much Plot, First Time, Dirty Talk, Size Kink, Smut, Fluff, Angst

CHAPTER ONE | PREV | CHAPTER NAVIGATION

➤ THE WARNING I

While you haven’t let go of him, you and Konig still haven’t shared a word since the dressing room. Savoring the short break on the ride to The President’s mansion, letting Ruby do all the talking as she coaches you on party etiquette.

Neither of you are listening.

You’re both worn out, fixated on your shoes, eyes hollow and thoughts a million miles away. Your headache is pounding, every last muscle in your body aches, and with each blink you have to fight to reopen your heavy eyelids.

It’s when you try to take the crown off your head that Ruby cuts through.

“No, no! What are you doing? Leave that on.”

“But-“

“Oh, no, young lady! The victors wear their crowns - You earned it!”

You release a weighty sigh, too tired to argue, and let your crowned head lull back on the luxurious leather seats.

Once you arrive at the mansion gates, Ruby stops you when you move to open the door, insisting you wait for an attendant to do it. You and Konig step from the limo linked at the elbows, and are immediately blinded in all directions by flashing, white lights.

What must be a hundred cameras snapping photos, Capitol elite overlapping in grating shouts.

You and Konig turn in on each other, raising your hands to block out the harsh flashes from all directions. Ruby skips over and gives you both a gentle shove on your backs.

“Well, go on you two!”

She lightly swats your bicep.

“And don’t cover your face! They’re taking pictures. You’re going to look ridiculous!”

You can hardly hear her over the buzz of the crowd, too busy trying to keep your heels planted on the red carpet and not on your tribute pedestal, deafened by the sound of Eleven’s snapping neck at each shutter of a camera lens.

You cling to Konig’s arm with both hands as you wobble on your heels through the golden gates of The President’s mansion, heart pounding in your chest, wide eyes catching a hundred cheering, smiling faces. You both flinch and draw in a sharp breath at the sound of an explosion, only to look up and see candy-colored fireworks sparkling in the shape of your names.

The President’s garden is so off-puttingly perfect, neatly sculpted hedges and bushes of roses, not a single leaf or petal wilted or brown. A large fountain sits in the center of the garden, the flow of water glowing with a rainbow of colors as they cascade to the shimmering pool below. Soft, twinkling lights seemingly float and bob in the air, casting a dim, ever-changing glow onto the guests. Paths designed with patterns of colorful river stones sidewind around the garden, and a stage hosts musicians, playing a triumphant song on your debut.

Konig’s eyes meet yours, both of you exchanging a look of hesitance as you’re led to the stairs up to the mansion, swarms of people lined up on either side of the riverstone path.

Every eye at this party is trained in your direction. You feel like you’re on display, a prey with hundreds of hungry eyes on you just waiting for their opportunity to pounce. As they clap and cheer loud enough to be heard miles away, Ruby guides you to the mansion’s marble stairs where she gives you a gentle shove and struts off.

Maybe you’d know what the hell is going on if you’d bothered to listen to Ruby in the limo, but you’re guessing you’re both to make your way to the balcony and meet The President, standing tall and towering over the party from his perch.

You cling to Konig’s bicep, keeping careful watch of your shaky heels with each step.

You give The President a weak smile with sloped brows as you near the top of the stairs, a shaky peace offering. The eyes that meet yours are unforgiving and entirely cancel out his perfect smile. You’re too weak to hold his gaze for long, watching yourself kick up your sparkly dress hem with every step instead.

You can still feel it, his stare. It’s burning your skin, piercing straight through to your core and melting your insides to a heavy sludge.

By the time you both make it to the top of the stairs, your legs have turned to gelatin and your muscles are trying to vibrate their way out of your skin.

A Capitol attendant extends an intricately-rimmed silver platter to you both, two long stem wine glasses filled with a yellowish, bubbling drink placed neatly in the center.

“Is this alcohol?” You whisper to the attendant, who gives a curt nod in response.

You and Konig gently pluck your glasses off the tray. You go to take a sip, but stop when the attendant widens his eyes and shakes his head at you.

The crowd laughs from down in the garden. Your head snaps to meet them, brows tight in confusion and cheeks flushing with heat.

Your eyes nervously flick to The President. His smile says amusement, but those dangerous eyes are flickering with a flame of pure hatred.

You swallow and look down to the floor as Konig’s arm sneaks around your waist with a tug into his side.

The music ends in a grandiose flourish, and in its absence you can hear a few straggling chatters and hushes from the guests down in the garden.

You flinch as The President’s slow but powerful words broadcast over the speakers.

“A toast. To a truly inspiring year of the Hunger Games.”

The crowd has their glasses raised, and you follow their lead as discreetly as possible, hoping anyone won’t notice you’re late to your cue or the shake in your fingers.

“And to two victors who beat all the odds, and overcame great adversity.”

The President’s stare flits in your direction without warning.

It reminds you of the snake from Price’s games, like you had thrown a fruit square into his neck, those sharp eyes narrowed and slicing straight through you. You’re worried he might just slither over and swallow you whole.

“May your dedication to each other remain unwavering.”

The crowd gives a one-note cheer, playing a symphony with their glasses, exchanging hundreds of clinks and tinks before collectively drinking. You follow their lead, the drink sloshing and bubbling furiously against the glass in your jittering hands.

The President’s eyes are still trained carefully on yours when he tilts his glass and sips his drink with his wrinkled lips.

His stare seems to paralyze you, you’re unable to look away, in shock from the gashes he left behind with his cutting eyes, your guts spilling out and filthying his pristine balcony.

You finally break the stare when the crowd laughs again, taking a strong gulp of air as you pull away your empty glass to wipe your lips with the back of your hand, smearing lipstick on your skin.

“What? What’d I do?” You ask.

Konig leans into you and speaks from the side of his lips, trying to keep his words discreet.

“I think you were just supposed to take a sip.”

You look down to the empty glass in your hands, and then to everyone else’s glasses, still bubbling with the yellowish drink.

You close your eyes and force a deep breath through your nose, fighting the urge to cover your burning face as you wish for this balcony to swallow you whole.

You can’t bring yourself to check in with The President, afraid you’ll once again be frozen under his surely displeased, no - loathsome stare.

The Capitol attendant has sensed you and Konig have absolutely no idea what’s going on, and wordlessly guides you both to make your way down to the garden once again.

So many stairs, such unsuitable shoes and dress hem. The only thing you can focus on is how terrified you are that you might fall face first down these elegant stairs in front of the entire country.

Oh, and of course, the eyes burning holes in the back of your head.

You take it out on Konig’s arm, your grip on him so tight your knuckles are shaking. It takes you both far too long to descend the marble stairs, but the crowd waits patiently with brilliant smiles and clapping hands.

As soon as your second heel makes contact with the garden’s riverstones, you’re surrounded.

Trapped by a blur of chests and pushing arms and touchy hands, the open air robbed from you and replaced with suffocating drunken breath. They’re ruthless, elbowing each other out of the way to get pictures with you both where you will surely look horrified and confused. There must be ten hands on you, hundreds of voices speaking to you at once.

Grabbing around your arms, your free hand, someone puts their hands on your hip and squeezes.

“Hey!”

You whip around, keeping your grip on Konig as you try to wiggle and shove your way from their hands, but as soon as you swat a pair away, another comes to replace it.

You catch sight of Konig, flinching at your side, trying to get away from much too adventurous touches and insistent questions. He’s trying to shake away the women clinging to his bicep and feeling up his chest.

The rage that engulfs you is instantaneous and red hot.

You bare grit teeth, elbowing to put yourself in front of him and shove away the outstretched hands reaching for him.

Konig’s arms close in on you, though, and with a stiff yank he pulls your front into his in an useless effort to hide you. You gasp and flinch into Konig’s chest when someone’s hand melds far too low on your back.

Before you can swivel to find the culprit, Konig’s arm whizzes over your shoulder, and Titan’s pulpy, caved-in face blinds you when he makes impact. You and the flock collectively gasp, followed by the sound of a body lifelessly collapsing onto the river stones.

Your eyes are screwed shut, trembling fingers clawing into Konig’s suit as Sapphire rips her own spear from your hands with her dead weight.

You snap.

Each flash of a camera, each grabbing hand, every grating voice a build-up of pressure in your skull until it explodes. There is no time for thought, your body moves without permission.

You snatch a long-stemmed wine glass from a guest’s hand, and duck to a squat to smash it against the river stones. As soon as the shards burst in all directions, the drink foaming and lapping up your dress, you’re on your feet to bring what remains of the jagged crystal to Titan’s throat - jabbing Sapphire’s bloody spear at him in threat. With heavy breath you hold your ground, swiveling on your feet and thrusting her spear at anyone who dares to near you.

The circle of heels and dress shoes finally begins to make room, gasps and shouts of horror from all directions. You think a few people have actually fainted.

You can make out Ruby’s shrills somewhere in the crowd.

“What on earth?! What happened?!”

You can see her hair bobbing as she excuses her way through the crowd, skidding on her heels to a stop when she breaks the growing clearing.

Her hand shoots up to her mouth as she eyes up the mess - shattered glass and an unconscious body lying in foaming drink.

“What did you do?!”

As soon as you lock on to her face, you suck in a sharp breath, your face transitioning from rage to horror.

You are not in the arena.

You are at the fanciest party in the country, being broadcasted live to all of Panem, attacking Capitol elite at The President’s mansion.

You choke on a squeak as you meet the silent crowd, staring on with gaped mouths and wide eyes. The wine glass stem is tossed from your hands as if it was burning you, a violent shake in your fingers and tears in your eyes.

You’ve been angry before, but nothing like this. Ever since you left the arena you feel like an rabid animal, teeth bared and relying purely on instinct.

Ruby sees your face, drained of color and mortified, and she forces herself to rid her shocked expression as she smooths two hands over the front of her dress.

Her glossy heels side step the puddle of drink and broken glass before she puts a gentle hand on both your shoulders, guiding you both to turn and walk.

“Excuse us, excuse us for a moment. Yes, yes, you’ll all get your photos, dears!” She says with her charming, bright white grin, ignoring the shocked faces and the humiliation you just know is burning her skin.

Every eye is trained on you, the guest’s murmurs to each other drowned out by the upbeat music.

Your entire body is shaking, face simmering with a nauseating heat as Ruby leads you along the pathways out of the garden, paraded in front of every last guest until you’re out of sight.

She’s trying to stuff it down, but the hysteria in Ruby’s hushed voice is certain.

“What is going on?!”

“They were - they were touching us,” You stammer.

“Of course they were! They want photos with you!”

Konig’s bicep hardens under your clammy palms when he crosses his arms over his chest.

“No touching,” He says, “Or we leave.”

“You can’t leave!” Ruby chirps, “This party is for you! Do you know how rude that would be?”

“As rude as grabbing her ass?” Konig grits.

Ruby’s pacing now, her heels clicking on the ground and her hands rubbing out her temples.

“As rude as downing your glass of champagne during The President’s toast?! As rude as attacking Capitol officials?!”

She shakes her head at you both in disbelief, her eyes wide with bewilderment.

“What has gotten into you two?!”

You sputter, your brows pinching and hands flinging out at your sides.

“We died, Ruby! That’s what happened! We died! And we killed! And you can’t just-”

You cut yourself off with a growl before continuing.

“You can’t just expect us to go back to normal!”

Ruby sticks a ring-adorned finger in the air, and the thick superiority in her voice immediately triggers your eyes to roll.

“May I remind you, the people at this party spent large sums of money to send you gifts, which kept you both alive in that arena.”

“I didn’t get anything from them,” You spit.

“Well, if it weren’t for them, Konig would not be alive - and I seem to recall him saving your life quite a few times.”

“I didn’t realize that meant we were giving them a pass to grope us,” Konig says.

“They’re just being friendly,” Ruby says with a dismissive wave, “You two are victors! The whole country wants a photo with you! And you two are acting like animals!”

Ouch.

“I guess that’s what happens when you’re treated like one,” You mumble, scraping pebbles under your heels.

Ruby sighs.

“Can you play nice for one evening? I told you you’re on strict orders! You’re going to give John a heart attack!”

Your brows immediately pinch, the hostility drained from your voice and replaced with confusion.

“Where is Price?”

You can’t help but feel a little abandoned. You’re certain if he was here this whole mess wouldn’t have happened.

“Oh, who knows,” Ruby dismisses with a roll of her eyes and a smack of her lips, “That brute is probably off drinking.”

Ruby launches into a rant about Price’s lack of respect, and you and Konig both take your opportunity to relish in another breather, prying the feeling of wandering, drunken Capitol hands from your unwilling bodies.

The open air is nice, a moment of respite, even. The air in the theatre was so stuffy, cycled through thousands of lungs and fried by stage lights. The air at the party, while open, is suffocating. Distorted and tight with grating voices and hundreds of prying eyes.

This air, the air outside the gates, - it’s resetting, crisp and begging for your attention. The breeze is soothing on your face and arms, almost painful as it passes through your nostrils with each crisp breath.

“Now can you please show an ounce of decorum?”

“We’ll show them as much decorum as they show us,” Konig says flatly.

You tilt your head up at him, and give his bicep a squeeze. He’s wearing those bored eyes, standing tall with his chest puffed out.

“You’re victors now,” Ruby tutts, “You have a standard to uphold! Please do not embarrass me any further!”

You just sigh.

Tired.

When the three of you return to the party, stiff and so clearly uncomfortable, your crown hangs low. You stare only at your dress hem dragging along the walkways.

The silver lining is everyone keeps their distance, whispering to each other and sneaking glances in your direction instead of crowding you both.

It’s humiliating, and you feel like there’s a spotlight on you, but at least you have free rein of the buffet.

And you are starving.

The food may just be the best thing that’s happened to you all day.

Wait, no - second best thing.

It smells so good.

There are too many dishes, there’s no possible way you’ll be able to taste them all, but it’s not going to stop you from trying. Creamy soups and meats draped in flavored, savory sauces, potatoes cooked in just about any way you can imagine, an entire table lined with only desserts, all of which look more like art to be admired than food to be devoured.

Oh, and the drinks.

You truly thought all booze tasted terrible, so the drinks they serve, fruity and sweet and barely tastes of alcohol, only makes you wonder why Price drinks whiskey.

You and Konig take your assigned seats just in front of The President’s mansion, giving him a perfect view of his aberrant victors.

There’s hundreds of circular tables, each one draped with a pristine, pure-white table cloth. A flame sits in the center of perfect centerpieces, and it must be a fake, because it’s ringed by flowers and a nest of twigs that sit far too close to the realistic flame.

It feels weird to be eating.

Too normal, too routine, so out of place after the nightmare you woke up from. You can’t help but feel like you’re not worthy of it. Like there’s twenty-two tributes sitting with you at this table, watching as you gorge yourself with their lifeless eyes and empty plates.

You push through it.

It helps that the food tastes too tempting for you to convince yourself to put your fork down.

The silence has continued between you and Konig as you eat, too tired, too guilty, too raw to talk. Your chairs could not be closer, though, your thighs flush together and arms bumping as you eat.

You sneak glances at him from your peripheral throughout your meal, and it hurts. Everytime you look at him, it is a new reminder of the horrors - gruesome kills and sacrificial deaths.

It doesn’t hurt to rest your head on his bicep once your stomach is bursting at the seams, though.

Mauve joins you three at some point, and aside from Mauve’s gushing paired with plenty of cheek kisses, and Ruby’s pointers on table etiquette paired with light swats, you couldn’t repeat a single thing either of them said if you tried.

The booze is making you sleepy, drowsy eyelids fluttering shut as you embrace the cozy warmth the alcohol brings to your skin. You give in to its whim, using Konig’s arm as a pillow and forcing yourself to only think of the music and the scents of extravagant dishes.

The atmosphere of the party has lightened by time you’ve both finished eating, the drinks coursing through the guest’s veins and rowdy conversation lending you both a hand.

As the guests get drunker, the more courage they have to near, and one of them finally breaks the barrier and asks for a photo with you both.

When not greeted with punches and shards of glass, the others steadily trickle over with caution, until you’re both swarmed once again.

With every snap of a photo, you have to stifle the image of the boy from eleven. His lifeless eyes stare back at you from the center of each bright white flash, every shutter of the camera lens slurred into the sound of a broken neck.

Your already forced, uncomfortable smile becomes more warped with each photo, and you’re sure you’re yawning in at least ten percent of them.

Konig doesn’t make any effort to keep up appearances. He stares forward, features hardening as the night drags on. He can’t seem to hide his rightful disdain, eyes projecting hatred and superiority. Like everyone at this party is beneath him.

The first person that dared to put their hand on your shoulder made you flinch and instinctively pull away under their hand, launching back into Konig’s instinctive brace as you face the culprit.

And of course, it’s just about the oldest woman you’ve ever seen, hunched at the back and walking on a cane. Capitol elite or no, she immediately evokes pity, and then guilt. It was surely an innocent and functional touch, and the look of embarrassment on the little old lady’s face burns your face with a matching shame.

“No, no,” You assure her, “I’m sorry, just scared me.”

She gives a laugh, showing her perfect, pearly white teeth. Not a single one of her teeth is rotted, missing, or even the slightest bit brown. You can’t help the way your head shakes in confusion, because you’ve never seen an old person with perfect teeth before. Not a whole lot in District Nine can even live long enough to reach the definition of elderly, let alone do so while maintaining perfect teeth.

The old woman puts her fingertips just under her collarbones.

“Oh, my, can you imagine? A little thing like me?”

You can’t find it in you to laugh with her, only able to conjure a weak smile and faint nod.

These people are so out of touch.

After what you just went through, you’d be startled by the blow of the wind. They’re not treating you like someone who lived the past week as prey, entirely glossing over the fact that your two hands have ended lives, that you’ve just woken up from being dead.

And it coming from just the seemingly innocent, tiny, crippled old lady just makes it all the more eerie.

You’re not supposed to be wiser than someone four times your age, but you can’t help but feel as if you are.

Once everyone sees the little old lady get away with touching the victors without getting knocked unconscious or threatened with broken glass, it’s free reign, and the drunker the guests get, the touchier they get.

They don’t seem to notice your discomfort or annoyance, and the only thing keeping you both from wigging out is Ruby, smiling proudly as she sips her drinks and accepts her congratulations a few feet away. And of course, The President, who you can’t see, but know is watching.

You can’t help but feel like you owe it to Ruby, too. Her very first victors. She’s probably been dreaming of this moment her entire career, and year after year of watching her kids die, maybe she should get to enjoy her moment without dealing with insolence and embarrassment. Especially after she gave you her fancy locket.

So you suck it up.

For hours you deal with the hands on your shoulders, on your back, smoothing over your arms and grabbing your hands.

The hardest part is watching Konig get the same treatment.

In most every photo since the little old lady, your stares are focused on each other, faces twisted as you watch each other get felt up.

It’s when someone other than Mauve or Ruby finds it appropriate to kiss you on the cheek that Konig’s fingernails start to dig into your skin hard enough to make you hiss, your interlocked fists trembling with his rage.

He’s about to lose it again.

“Ruby?! Breather!”

Ruby’s brows pinch, a slight confused jerk of her head as she rips her focus from her conversation.

After a moment you add a stiff, “Please.”

It takes her a moment for it to click.

”Oh, oh! Yes!”

She excuses herself from her conversation, sets down her drink, and waves the crowd away in her standard pushy-but-polite fashion, assuring them they will get their photos, just not now, dears!

When it’s just the three of you, Ruby gives you a proud smile and a nod. Maybe for asking instead of exploding, maybe because you actually used the word, ‘please’ for once, or maybe it’s just because you made her the escort of a victor.

“Oh, my victors,” She hums.

You actually smile a little when you notice it.

Ruby’s drunk.

She’s got a slight sway in her upper half, her cheeks are flushed rosen, and her smile is wider than ever.

It’s incredibly endearing, but Konig does not find it so.

His stance is wide, arms crossed over his chest, and the bicep you cling to is entirely tensed. You give him a squeeze, but he can’t seem to meet your gaze, his half-lidded eyes staring off into the distance. His hand does shift on his own arm to graze a finger over your knuckles, but it only soothes the sting a little.

You know your face is a reminder of the horrors he just went through, and the thought makes your throat swell and ache. As you look down and attempt to swallow the thought away, tears prick at the corners of your eyes.

He’s right here, you’re clinging to him, you went through it together, you are together.

But you feel so alone.

Konig’s head tilts towards the ground, and he speaks through grit teeth as he scrapes the sole of his glossy dress shoes on the river rocks.

“Did you see them?”

You perk up, an instantaneous wave of relief washing over you.

Even better that it’s trash talk.

“They’re awful, I wish they’d just stop-“

”No,” He cuts, “On their wrists.”

Your brows furrow as you wait for explanation, but he gives none, continuing to avoid your stare.

You carefully look to the guests, and once you notice one, the others practically scream for your attention. More people are wearing them than not.

Your ribbon.

For a solid five seconds, you stare blankly, bouncing around from wrist to wrist. A momentary calm as you process what the fuck you’re seeing.

That is your ribbon.

You earned that ribbon.

It was your gift.

It was your token to the love of your life.

Turning your gruesome kill, Willow’s suffering, and your parting suicide token into a fashion statement!

You are literally shaking with rage, tears of frustration well in your eyes and threaten to spill over your exaggerated lashes.

When you realize you’ve been holding your breath for far too long, you push a long exhale through parted lips.

You wonder if maybe it’s a good thing. If the ribbons spread far and wide mean that Willow’s pain will not go forgotten. Maybe her suffering is acknowledged through these ribbons.

You know that’s not what it means to them.

But you’re too tired to be angry.

“You have the original anyway,” You croak with a shrug, “That’s all that matters.”

While Konig doesn’t turn his head, he does look at you from the corner of his eye.

After a beat, he lets go of a heavy breath, his arms untensing under your touch.

“You know,” Ruby sings, leaning forward a little too far before she whispers her secret, “If you don’t dance at these things, people will talk.”

Without really meaning to, you adopt a patronizing but soft tone while speaking with her. That of a parent trying to gently let down a child who wants to play outside in the dead of winter.

“We’re not really in the mood for dancing, Ruby.”

“Well, it doesn’t have to be good dancing!”

She smiles mischievously and gives a sloppy wink.

You wear a weary smile, another scoff behind your closed grin.

“I don’t think we’re in the mood for bad dancing, either.”

“No, no! Can’t have that! The victors always dance! I’ll show you!”

”Maybe later,” You say.

”Definitely later!” She beams.

She then raises her brows at you both.

“Don’t tell anyone I told you this-“

She looks over her shoulder to make sure no one’s listening in on her scandalous advice.

“But the drinks help!”

She bursts into laughter, and when you look at Konig, he looks back.

You didn’t realize how cold your chest was until it floods with a sickeningly sweet warmth. He gives a soft roll of those comforting blue eyes, but your favorite is the grin he bites back.

You’re actually eager to follow Ruby’s advice for once.

You hardly have to move, as soon as you lock eyes with a Capitol attendant they step over to you, a tray of drinks in hand. It’s one of the sweet drinks you tried earlier, and as you take a glass you can’t help but ask - hoping you’ll never have to deal with the repulsive taste of whiskey ever again.

“Hey, what is this stuff?”

The attendant's brows raise, and she transfers her tray to one hand to bring a finger to her lips.

“Secret?” You ask.

Konig gently nudges you with his elbow.

“What?”

His lips are twisted when you meet his face, and after studying the woman for a few moments longer, the realization hits with a heatwave of embarrassment.

“Oh. Oh!” You give a nervous laugh at yourself, “I’m so- I’m sorry, I’m a little-”

You cut yourself off, the hand raised to your forehead begging her for grace. The attendant gives a polite curtsy before scurrying off.

You lean into Konig’s, quieting your voice as your eyes pick out the various attendants in their white and black uniforms, doting on guests.

“Are all of them-?”

Your question trails off.

“I think so,” He says.

“This place is fucking insane. It’s insane. I feel like I’m in- I feel like I’m losing my mind.”

“They’re despicable,” he says.

As your eyes dart around, you can’t help but wonder if one of the attendants is the girlfriend of the boy from eight.

You shake away the thought as quickly as you can, but she lingers.

Does she hate you?

She must.

You’re the girl who foiled her boyfriend’s revenge plan, the girl that led a pack of bloodthirsty careers straight to the love of her life.

You try to imagine what it must be like for her - forced to serve the Capitol elite day in and day out, knowing her boyfriend’s back home, but having no way to reach him.

If it had been you - taken away for speaking out about the Capitol, knowing Konig is back in District Nine, but having no way to check on him.

And then to see him for the first time, the boy you broke by leaving, so clearly unwell, lurching forward to volunteer in the games and hellbent on getting gory revenge against the girl that ratted you out.

You have to stop the thought there, it’s making you sick to your stomach, and you find your grip around Konig has turned deathly.

That girl, wherever she is, wins the suffering game.

The drink goes down quickly, and as soon as your glass is empty, an attendant rushes over to take your glass and offer a replacement.

It’s welcomed.

Between sips, you rest your weary head on Konig’s bicep and close your tired eyes.

“I want to go home,” You whine into his arm.

“It’ll be over soon.”

He says this with a reassuring kiss on the forehead, but his hoarse tone betrays him.

“I wish we could be alone,” You whisper.

After a few moments of consideration, his grip tightens on you.

“Want to sneak away?” He asks.

You whip around to face him, looking up to find a goading raised brow and a faint, sly grin.

“Yeah?” You ask.

“Ja,” He says.

Those pretty blue eyes are sparkling with a glint of determined mischief that you couldn’t resist if you tried.

“Okay,” You say.

It’s an incredibly arduous task to sneak away.

Every few feet must be earned by a new wave of introductions, photos, and grabbing hands.

One woman pinches your cheeks, and you’re just thankful it’s the ones on your face.

“Oh, you really are just the cutest thing! I don’t usually, well, you know, but I’d make an exception for you!”

“Hey,” A nervous laugh crosses your lips, “What?”

She just laughs, the pungent smell of alcohol on his breath.

“Such a feisty little thing,” She chimes with a wink, her form swallowed by the crowd before you can get an explanation.

“Did she just make a pass at me?”

You shoot a look at Konig, but he’s too busy trying to placate a gaggle of elite gushing over his size. Hands reaching out to touch his chest, arms, shoulders.

What’d you like to do is start dishing out black eyes, but the booze, and of course, Ruby’s pride, make it easier to be semi-agreeable.

“Alright,” You say with a playful wave, “Step back, he’s already spoken for.”

This is a somewhat effective approach, because the guests seem to adore your ‘joke,’ and plently oblige with their rowdy laughter.

It doesn’t seem to discourage whoever is taking their turn with a picture, though. As if taking a photo gives them a pass to grope you.

When you both finally manage to shuffle your way over to a maid’s closet, you have to wait patiently to cycle through more photos, congratulations, and drunken introductions before there’s a lull.

You’re just about to throw in the towel on the whole thing before the perfect moment arrives for you to both awkwardly slip into the maid’s closet.

When the door shuts behind you, the music and rowdy party chatter muffled the moment it clicks shut, you find you’re nervous to be alone with him. Butterflies in your stomach and a shaky laugh on your lips. Your hands fidget in front of your core, and it’s difficult to make eye contact with him.

He nears with slow, daunting steps, each one making your heart beat a little faster. His hands caress down the sides of your abrasive, sparkly dress to find their home on your waist.

For a moment he studies you with a look in his eyes that you can hardly decipher, an intense stare that pulls a glow to your cheeks and turns your thoughts obsolete. His fingers tighten on your sides as he leans down to press his lips to yours in a long, lingering kiss. Your heart is both pounding furiously in your chest and ablaze with a cozy warmth that blooms throughout your torso and trickles down your limbs.

And suddenly you’re not thinking about the horrors. You’re only thinking about the prick of his stubble on your skin, the strong hands on your waist holding you close, the hint of alcohol on his breath, the vibration of his low hum on your lips.

With little warning, his hands slide down the curve of your hips to the back of your thighs. He scoops you up without so much a grunt of resistance, awkwardly bunching your dress in the front and resting your inner thighs on his waist.

He doesn’t break the kiss even when you gasp into his mouth. He deepens it instead, keeping you firmly on his front with one hand and another pressed to the back of your neck to keep you from losing focus.

He rests your back against the wall, and with a tilt of his head, his eager tongue intertwines with yours. The grip on your thighs is assured, his fingers indenting the soft flesh beneath the scratchy dress.

He pulls away for a moment, his lips inches away and pretty blue eyes staring straight into yours.

“All mine,” He says, low and breathy.

“All yours.”

The front of Konig’s suit pants rock against your front through the layers of your bunched dress, forcing a hitched, breathy sputter from you. You find your nails are digging into the lapel of his suit and tugging him close without thought.

There is little time to react between the jiggle of the doorknob and the door opening, looking over Konig’s shoulder to find Price slinking into the gap just big enough for him to sidestep into the storage closet, wasting no time as steps over to you both.

Konig immediately lets go of the back of your thighs and raises his palms in surrender, backing away from you the moment your heels find the floor with a huff.

You and Konig speak at the same time.

“I didn’t - ”

“Can we have five minutes of privacy?”

“No,” Price says sharply, seemingly not fazed at the display of canoodling he walked in on.

“Where have you been? These people-“

Price ignores you, boring into Konig with stern eyes and pinched brows.

“Did you really knock out a Capitol official?”

Konig shrugs.

“Are you out of your fucking mind? Do you have any idea the amount of work you just gave me?”

Price’s voice is rising, but Konig doesn’t buckle.

“He grabbed her ass,” He says flatly.

Price winces, and for a moment you can see his face go through a range of emotions as he tosses a thought around. He groans, grumbling something at the ceiling before he turns to you, his voice urgent.

“They’re already not happy with you. And you being disrespectful at the interview, at this party - is not helping!”

You go to speak, but Price raises a finger to silence you. His words pour out quickly but as clear as crystal. Intense, careful eyes take turns between holding either of your stares.

“You didn’t play their game, you didn’t follow their rules, and you used their arena like it was a fucking playground.”

“So what?”

Price grumbles again, his shoulders tossing in annoyance.

“You took what was supposed to be a punishment for rebellion - and had fun instead. Get me? Your deaths meant something more than just losing a bet to these people. People aren’t supposed to root for breaking the rules, but they saw you as more than tributes.You were way too human, and Capitol folk are starting to see you for what you are.”

Price shrugs, his voice going soft for just a moment.

“As kids.”

He draws a long sigh and rubs out his beard.

“It probably would have been fine if Romeo took the hit, but you,” Price points his finger at you, “Of course you always have to have the last fucking word. The way they see it, you might as well have spit on the games themselves by opting out of victorhood.”

“You're saying it would have been better if Konig died?”

“No!”

Price grunts in exasperation, his muscles tensing, literally fighting back his annoyance.

“What I’m saying is - the rule is that there is one victor. And two outer district kids finding the loophole, breaking that one rule by rejecting their offer, and getting away with it? Well, how do you think they feel about it?”

“You know what?” You start, “If they didn’t want human, maybe they should have fought roosters instead. And I’m tired of everyone pretending like winning the games is some - “

Price barks your name, and it stuns you in the form of a choke, catching in the back of your throat and fighting you when you try to swallow it.

“This is serious,” He hisses, “Two outer district kids aren’t supposed to be above the rules. You think they wanted to pull you both out of there?”

Price snaps his fingers three times in rapid succession.

“They wanted to let you both die, hear me? You both are a spitting distance away from being rebels as it is - and you telling Caesar to go fuck himself, knocking out officials - “

Price cuts himself off with another frustrated grunt.

“This would have been nice to know sooner,” You mumble, rubbing out your bicep in hopes to relieve the nauseating unease creeping over you.

“This is the first time we’ve been alone and off tape since you both entered that arena. Do you have any idea what this week has been like for me? And you two-”

“For you?!” You snap, “We died!”

“And who do you think brought you back to life?!” Price hisses at you.

“I didn’t ask for that!”

“I remember someone asking me to save Romeo.”

Price jams his thumb in Konig’s direction, and while you blow a huff of air in dismissal, you both know he’s right.

“Isn’t this a good thing?” Konig asks, “If people are seeing the tributes differently?”

“Yes,” Price answers.

Your brows furrow, and Price gives a forced, mocking grin.

“That’s the problem. So do me a favor-“

His tone suggests it’s not a favor, but a demand, and with each sentence his frustration thickens.

“You go out there. You play their game. And you behave!”

You can’t pin why, but the hissed ‘behave’ makes you flinch. Your shoulders tense, your fingers adopt a sudden shake, and blood rushes to your ears in one instantaneous whoosh.

Price sighs, and his eyes find the floor. A hand comes up to his forehead before smoothing over his hair, rubbing out the back of his head.

When he speaks again, his voice is soft.

“One more thing,” He says, “I don’t want to worry you both, but the - ”

Price sucks in a breath, his next word riding a heavy exhale, “Tape.”

“Tape?”

“The tape,” He repeats, “Of you two, uh-“

Price clears his throat and looks away.

“Got it,” You say.

“Well, it-“

He lets out an exasperated grunt.

“It’s popular.”

Both you and Konig share a hesitant glance.

“The, uhm-“

Price can’t make eye contact, can hardly get the words out.

“Look, it’s been passed around.”

“What?” You sputter, “But that- that’s-“

“It’s not like these people have ever been moral.”

Price clears his throat again, and he can’t seem to stand still in his spot, restless in the way you’ve only ever seen him the night before the games.

“So everyone at this party has seen us fuck?!”

“Well, not everyone,” Price mutters.

Your burning face warps under the forceful pinch of your own hand.

“I don’t need this, I really don’t need this right now.”

“There’s a lot that you kids don’t know. And- and I’m hoping they’ll cut you some slack, considering the circumstances.”

Price gestures between you and Konig.

He sees both of your blatant confusion, and another sigh leaves his lips. He looks over his shoulder at the door before finding you both.

“The victors have always been,” He pauses, his eyebrows raising, “Desired.”

“Desired?”

“Desired,” He repeats.

“They want to fuck us?”

Price smacks his lips, his voice lowering.

“They don’t want to fuck us, they do fuck us, you understand?”

You really don’t.

“It’s not like you have much of a choice. The payment is just,” He thinks for a moment, “A bonus, get me?”

It takes you a moment to digest this.

As it dawns on you, you squeeze Konig’s arm a little tighter, and make a baby sidestep to close what little distance there is between you.

“And that tape only got them - More excited.”

The thought of someone forcing prostitution on Konig, the thought of Konig fucking some rich Capitol -

You are at risk of throwing up again.

“So it is crucial that you do - Exactly. What. I. Say. You understand? If we play our cards right, I think I can get you both off the hook.”

His loose wrist swirls in front of you, gesturing between you and Konig.

“The whole - romance thing.”

You nod, and shift on your feet as your eyes find the floor.

Price sighs, a palm covering his forehead.

“I’m sorry, kids, I really am. It’s all bullshit, I know it. But I am trying my best.”

Your brows furrow, and the strain in his voice seems to be contagious.

“I know. Thank you.”

He nods slow, face more than weary, his eyes pinching closed for a moment.

“Now, please - I am begging you both to be good. Don’t make this any harder on me than it already is. Please?”

Price is throwing all sorts of curve balls at you today. Price does not call you by your name. Price does not beg. Price orders.

You give a shaky nod, and find you’re digging into Konig’s arm so tight your knuckles are turning white.

“You’ve got two minutes. Make ‘em count.”

Price turns on his feet, heading for the door. Without looking back, he waves a hand at you both over his shoulder.

“And don’t make me come back in here and drag you both back out. I got enough of a show last time.”

As soon as the door closes behind Price, you and Konig face each other.

His hands find your biceps, sliding down your arms until he tightens his hold around your forearms.

“I won’t let them,” He says, “I won’t let them.”

You nod, quick and assured, your hands gripping his forearms in return.

“I know. I know. I won’t let them either.”

You pull each other into a deathly tight embrace that you’re sure would have lasted the entire two minutes, but it’s interrupted by the door opening again, this time much less gentle. The doorknob crashes into the wall hard enough you both jump, holding each other tight at your sides.

At once you’re both blinded by flashing, white lights, ears assaulted with the sound of camera lenses shuttering and the rowdy chatter of the Capitol folk, squeals and shouts overlapping in a nauseating chorus. You have to pinch your eyes shut, teeth grit, arms raised to shield your eyes.

Blinding sun.

Pure white snow at your feet.

The sound of a broken neck in your ears and Eleven’s lifeless eyes staring at nothing and right at you all at once.

You cling to Konig’s suit, fingers shaking as you bury your face into his chest.

A sharp whistle commands attention, Price’s sturdy arms forcing his way through the crowd, extended at his sides and forcing them away from the door.

“Alright, alright, back it up! Nothing to see.”

He whistles again, and you know that’s your cue to wriggle through the part in the crowd. Both you and Konig hold each other tight as you run, run like you’re ripping through the trees of the fall forest, branches tearing into your skin to escape the gory slaughter, to escape from the boy you love after he killed for you.

Your face is burning, flushed with humiliation and fear, breaths heaving and your pulse pounding against your temples.

“How much longer? How much longer?” You ask Konig, as if he knows the answer.

“I know, I know,” He says, “It’s okay.”

It’s starting to feel like this party will never end.

It’s your hell, your punishment for killing and dying and stealing someone else’s victory. Trapped in this shameless extravagant world with people who don’t get it.

Konig positions himself behind you once you’re steady on your feet, and drapes his arms around your collarbones. He hunches over to rest his chin on your head, and puts a bit of his weight on you.

Just a little.

It’s weirdly soothing. Grounding, something to focus on. After a few minutes you begin to trace little hearts on his suit jacket sleeves as you cling to his forearm.

Throughout the embrace he leaves periodic kisses on the top of your head, and you both ignore the guests not-so-sneaky sneaky photos.

“All mine,” He whispers.

“All yours,” You whisper back.

You stand like this for a while, mostly thinking about how bad your feet hurt, the ache starting to travel up your ankles in an all too familiar fashion.

You’re seriously considering ditching your heels.

Your dress is so long, they surely won’t notice if you walk around barefoot.

“Time to dance!” Ruby chimes from behind you.

You groan as Konig stands straight, his hands finding your shoulders instead.

Ruby gives you both little choice, pushy-but-politely ushering you both to the space in front of the live band, which is unfortunate, because what you crave most right now is some peace and quiet. To her credit, though, she keeps you at the edge of the crowd on the dance floor. The last thing you want right now is to be surrounded.

“It’s easy!”

Ruby is touchy with her demonstration, but you don’t mind it as much as you do the rest of the guests and their touching. You know it’s innocent, and it’s hard to say no to her in this state. Coming from her specifically - her acting like everything is fine is making it a bit easier to pretend like it is, which is weird, because usually her ignorance is nothing but grating.

She takes your hand and practically slaps it on Konig’s shoulder, and guides him by the wrist to put his hand on your waist. She circles you, and on the other side, she prompts you to intertwine your fingers.

“And now you sway.”

“No, no, don't bend, stand straight and use your whole body!”

“I thought it was allowed to be bad dancing,” Konig mumbles.

“Graceful bad dancing,” She corrects.

And so you sway, rolling your eyes and shaking your heads at each other, because this is ridiculous. Dancing after what you just went through just to appease these abhorrent people.

You’re glad he’s connecting with you again, at least. Sharing in the hatred.

And it’s not the worst.

Getting to look at him and not think of what has happened, soaking him in and feeling his touch under your fingers.

At one point you close the distance, resting your head on his chest instead, his silken tie on your cheek. You wrap your arms around him in an embrace, and in return he holds you tight.

You close your eyes and take another break, here in his chest. Breathing him in to ease your nerves, putting a little weight on him to relieve your poor ankles, melting into his strong arms.

“Would you mind if I had the next dance?”

The spine-chilling, unfortunately familiar voice comes from behind you, and immediately twists your intenstines in knots.

You both perk up, and you watch as Konig’s brows raise.

“Ach, of course.”

Konig lets go of you, palms displayed as he takes a few steps back. You beg him with your eyes to come back, but you both know that’s not an option, so he offers a wince of apology.

You don’t have the sense to hide your horror as The President steps in and offers his hands.

A sneaky, stealthy, slithering man he is.

His hand feels dead in yours, cold and sagged, like if you’re not gentle enough the meat might just slip off his bones.

“Congratulations, my dear,” He says.

The President gives a polite nod of his head. Those icy eyes are piercing, staring straight into yours and not so much as blinking. You’re convinced he can see your very soul, every thought and fear and secret binded into a book for him to skim over at his leisure.

“Thank you, sir.”

He gives a hearty laugh that makes your skin crawl, your stomach threatening to send bile to lap at the back of your throat.

“None of that ‘sir’ nonsense.”

His head tilts up, and he looks to the evening sky as he speaks. Slowly. Carefully.

“I can’t help but feel as if I know you personally. As well as I know a friend.”

You have to stifle the sharp inhale you instinctively draw when his eyes meet yours again. The hint of a cruel, cautious smile tugs on the corners of his lips.

“Quite a show you put on for us all.”

Your throat is so tight, if you could find the words, they would surely have come out wavered. You nod instead.

“I have to say I admire that young man’s dedication to you.”

His eyes crinkle.

“Do you think he would still be as infatuated with you if he knew you wouldn’t repay the favor?”

A choke catches in your throat. Your eyes dart to Konig, standing just out of earshot to keep an eye on you. His face is twisted, brows scrunched, asking you with just a look what’s going on.

“I- I’m sorry?”

The President’s smile doesn’t falter. He speaks as if he’s clarifying a step on a recipe, and not drilling you with the most bone-chilling, unhinged questioning you’ve ever had the displeasure of being on the end of.

“If he knew that his dedication was not returned.”

You don’t have the sense to hide your nervous, confused laugh.

The President’s eyes remain locked onto yours. They’re just a little too open, his smile a little too wide.

Inhuman.

“I- I- gave up my life for him. I don’t-”

“Did you?” He cuts with a curious perk of a brow.

You blink twice, your awkward sways coming to a halt.

“I beg your pardon?” You stutter.

“Did you give your life up for him?”

The President lowers his chin, his brow raising.

“Or did you do it for you?”

He leans in closer, his voice just a frosted whisper. While his words are terrifying, his face upholds appearances. Refined and cheerful, as if he were recounting a lighthearted story around his surely exotic dinner table.

“Death is easy, my dear. There is no pain. There is no consequence. There is no ‘aftermath,’ as you like to put it.”

You try to work up saliva into your dry mouth, but it’s no use.

“I don’t understand.”

The President gives a low, calculated chuckle that tapers into a hum.

“Nothing to understand,” He says through a smile, “It’s notional.”

You have to coax the words out, each one spiked and slicing your throat on its ascent.

“Forgive me, for being blunt - “

Your unsure voice takes on an unnaturally high pitch when you find the courage to make eye contact with him.

“Is- Is this blackmail? I - What do I have to do?”

For the first time, the President’s face falls, and his expression finally matches those loathsome eyes.

“It’s notional,” He repeats, “And if you’d like to keep it that way, then I’d suggest you listen to that mentor of yours.”

You look down to your shoes before giving a shaky nod.

He reinstates that perfect smile, and you can tell, even in his perpetually loathsome eyes, that he takes great pleasure at the way you cower.

He hums and finally looks away, watching the evening sky as he slips back into his act.

“That John-“

He chuckles with a shake of his head.

“He certainly is a sentimental man, isn’t he?”

The air being pulled into your lungs is useless, you can’t breathe, bordering on hyperventilating.

“It’s clear he cares quite a lot about you both.”

The President’s face drops suddenly again, and his annoyance is clear.

“A thorn in my side.”

“He’s a good man,” He continues with a resetting breath, “But that big heart of his is going to get him in trouble one of these days.”

The President might as well have Price under his thumb, and he’s deciding whether or not to smush him like a bug or go get lunch.

When the song ends, his eyes narrow dangerously at you.

“I hope you enjoy your evening,” He says.

The President leaves you frozen in your spot, stepping over to him and reaching up to give him a hearty pat on the shoulder.

“She’s all yours, my boy. Not a scratch on her.”

Yet.

The President gives a hearty laugh as he walks away.

Konig all but runs over to you, wrapping his hands around your biceps.

“What was that all about?”

Konig’s brows furrow when you shrug unconvincingly.

“Just wanted to congratulate me, I guess.”

Konig nods slow, a concerned pinch of his face and lips weighed down, but he doesn’t push.

When you go to dance again, you rest your head on his chest. You close your eyes and let him lead, the hands on your back guiding you into a loose sway. Your entire body has gone limp to his, bones made of jelly and a stomach made of lead as you try and make sense of The President’s ominous words and not-so-subtle- subtle threats.

You can’t, and to be honest, you’re so exhausted you’ve turned numb. Once the shake in your fingers goes away, you’ve decided - in the simplest of terms, you’re not going to give a fuck until morning.

“My feet are killing me,” You mumble into Konig’s tie, “And I just want to go home.”

“Want to sit?”

You nod into his chest, and are subjected to another round of photos and touching hands, which is even more unnerving after learning that these people know what your naked bodies look like, have seen you be intimate, and are eager to force you both into their bedrooms to get a live version of the show.

After you quell this round of eager elite, you take a seat next to Konig on the cluster of patio couches along the mansion gates. His arm slings over the back of the couch to invite you to nuzzle into his side, and you happily take his offer, closing your eyes as you cozy up to him. You hope you can sneak in a break, here in the safety of his chest.

Your attempted break is interrupted, though, when Konig squeezes your shoulder to alert you that someone’s approaching.

A sole woman, mid-thirties, you think. A plump build and wavy brown hair.

“Hi there,” She says.

She’s lacking in the Capitol effectuations, and she leaves moderate distance between you as she extends her hand in your direction.

“I’m sure you’re both, uh,” She gives a weak laugh, “Sick of people by now.”

You give a polite but tired hum as you carefully accept her handshake.

“I’ll make it fast, promise,” She says with a quick wave of two palms.

“My name’s Mabel. Just - wanted to thank you, I suppose.”

You eye her with a crease in your brow, brain already scrambling to figure out her intentions. She sees your confusion, and jumps to explain herself.

“I’m - I’m one of the District Eight mentors.”

Your breath catches in your throat, eyes snapping open.

Mabel gives a solemn nod at your horrified recognition, before she carefully looks over both her shoulders. Her gaze flits to the ground, and her lips barely move when she speaks again.

“I wanted to tell you that it’s never easy to do the dirty work. And we thank you for making that sacrifice.”

You exchange a glance with Konig before giving her a hesitant nod.

“Yeah, uhm-”

You’re really not sure what to say to that one, and your brain is too foggy from the drinks and too scrambled with exhaustion to find an elegant response.

“Yeah.”

Mabel smiles at you, and takes a few steps closer. Her core creases when she leans over and sets a rectangular card on the drink table in front of you, and her voice returns to a normal volume.

“If there’s anything I can do for you, don’t hesitate.”

She gives the card two taps before she turns and leaves you both be.

You and Konig share another look before you carefully pry the card from the table with your nails.

You flip the card over in your hands, expecting to see contact information, but the sloppily printed capital letters makes your blood run cold.

DISTRICT EIGHT UNREST

Your head shoots up to find Mabel, but she’s disappeared among the party goers.

The world has fallen upon deaf ears, unfocused eyes blur the vibrant colors that surround you into a gross, brown swirl, the music and drunken chatter suddenly a million miles away.

Because of you?

Is it because of you?

If it has nothing to do with you, why would she go out of her way to pass on a message of treason?

She could be executed for spreading district intel, and for her to give it to a strange victor so brazenly, when you are surrounded by elite at The President’s mansion and being broadcasted to the entire country -

Because of you?

It can’t be.

Why is she warning you about it?

If what’s on this card is true - then you know why there’s unrest in District Eight, and it’s not because of you.

But you are the only player left standing from a very recent incident heinous enough to potentially make an already discontent district reach its boiling point.

Because of you.

The flinch that tears through you when Konig nudges your shoulder snaps you back to reality, the music and chattering flooding your ears once more.

“What is it?” He asks.

You just shake your head, an unconvincing croak in your voice as you stuff the card into your bust, right next to his token.

“A contact card,” You say.

Konig’s stare lingers for a moment before he nods slow.

You move to a stand, rushing over to the nearest Capitol attendant, and snatch two drinks from the tray with a quick thank you.

When you turn, you bump into Konig’s chest, apparently at your heels. The bubbling drink sloshes up the side of the glass, splattering and foaming onto the hem of your dress and the river rock path below.

He steadies you by your shoulders with a worried look in his eyes.

You just nod at him as you bring the glass to your lips and down the entire thing, stifling a burp when you finish the glass.

“Oh, phew, sorry.”

You bring the other glass to your lips and begin to down it as well, but stop when you catch Konig’s pinched frown.

“Oh, sorry,” You say, gesturing what remains in the second glass in his direction, “Want some?”

He shakes his head.

You finish out the second glass and take a sharp gulp of air when you pull away.

“Ja?” Konig asks.

“Yeah,” You croak.

“Okay,” He says.

And so you get fucked up.

Everytime feel the prick of Mabel’s card on your chest, everytime you think of The President’s threats, everytime Price’s voice echoes through your thoughts, everytime you wonder if one of these attendants is Eight’s girlfriend, everytime you think of a suicide, of a gory kill, of the injustice of it all -

You take a drink.

It’s not long before your unpleasant thoughts are beyond fuzzy and your cheeks are pooled with warmth.

The drinks make the photos and the touching easier to bear, but it doubles the weight of your already heavy eyelids and drapes your body with a cozy blanket that’s hard to resist.

Finally - finally, the party ends. So late into the night the sun must be close to rising. It takes you an unbearable amount of time for you and the rest of your team to make way to the golden mansion gates.

More photos and grabbing hands and drunken breath.

When you finally make it to the limo, you slip your shoes and your crown off almost immediately, and curl up into Konig’s arm on the leather seats. You even doze off on the ride back to the tribute suites.

You don’t bother putting your shoes back on before climbing from the limo, holding them at your sides as you stumble to the elevators.

Ruby’s in a similar state, and she seems to have gotten over the whole kissing situation, or at least is too drunk to care at the moment, because she has no trouble linking her elbows with Price to keep herself steady while she gushes over the party and all the praise she received.

Price is off.

You can feel it, even through your intoxication. He’s radiating a tense, stiff aura, his features tired and expressionless. He doesn’t even tease Ruby about her particularly rowdy behavior. Just guides her along, silently.

You’re more than relieved to see the sickeningly extravagant suite, knowing you’re mere yards from a comfortable bed and having Konig all to yourself.

Price lets out a heavy sigh behind you as you breach the entrance of the hall.

“Kids?”

He clears his throat.

“A word?”

Konig and you slow, already uneased and hesitantly turning to face him.

“You’re not gonna like this, but ah-“

Price sighs again.

“You’re sleeping in your own rooms.”

NEXT CHAPTER | CHAPTER NAVIGATION

[just-my-latest-hyperfixation]

Constellations of crimson

Written for the @steddieholidaydrabbles, day 12

Prompt: Stargazing

Rated: E

Tags: Mafia AU; Mob boss Eddie; Dark Eddie; Blood and violence; Corpses; Nudity; Outdoor sex; Top Eddie; Bottom Steve; Bloodplay; Murder boyfriends

Notes: So I knew I wanted to do starlit outdoor sex for this prompt, but I couldn't decide on a universe to set it in, so I let @steddieas-shegoes pick one. She picked Kiss That Ring, which was a choice for sure. These two truly bring out the worst in each other.

“How many?” 

Eddie nudges the body by the stairway with his boot, frowning when he sees the blood seeping into the floorboards. Great, he just had those redone. 

“Five,” Gareth says. His gun is back in its holster, but his fingers are still hovering over it, just like Eddie’s haven’t left the hilt of his knife. “All dead.” 

Eddie nods. “Any idea who sent them?” 

Gareth's mouth twitches into a smile. “Got one of them to sing before I finished him off. A housewarming surprise from the Carvers.” 

Eddie huffs a laugh. He's surprised they took so long. It's been more than a month since his not-so-friendly takeover of Dick Harrington’s firm. He'd been expecting the other mob families to test the waters sooner.

“Anything damaged? Anyone hurt?” 

“Don’t think so,” Gareth says. “Jeff and Frank are doing a sweep of the property, but-”

“Eddie!” Jeff appears at the top of the staircase. His tone is enough to make Eddie’s hand tighten around the knife. “Steve’s gone.” 

The world turns red. 

“What do you mean?”

Jeff doesn’t reply. 

“What the fuck do you mean, gone?” Eddie’s voice slaps back from the high walls. “He was in the bedroom, where-” 

“The window's busted,” Jeff blurts. “I came here as soon as I saw, I-” 

Eddie has taken off running before he's even finished the sentence. He can hear their shouts behind him as he sprints through the living room and out into the dark garden, but he doesn’t slow down.

Time blurs into a crimson haze. He sees Steve, naked as he was when he left him. Sees the two men hauling him through the wilted hydrangea bushes by the pool, towards the gate in the garden wall. Sees the bruises and the blood on that pretty face. And then he doesn’t see anything. He just moves. 

When he comes back to himself, there's a warm, trembling body in his arms.

“Fuck,” Eddie swears. “Fucking bastards, I'll kill every single one of them. I'll rip out their eyes and cut off their- hold still!” 

Steve, who has been burying his face in his neck like he's trying to crawl inside of him, goes pliant, allowing Eddie to pry him away and hold him at arm's length. Eddie wipes his split lip with the pad of his thumb and he hisses in pain. There's more blood on his face, and some on his chest and arms, but no wounds. 

“Will you quit that?” Steve snaps when Eddie grabs his chin to tilt his head aside. “It's not mine. God, look at this mess, can't you control yourself?” 

Eddie frowns, shaking the crimson fog from his head to take in their surroundings. 

The pool has turned red. One of the men is in the water, sightless eyes looking up at the starry night sky. His companion is on the tiles by the poolside, blood from his slit throat oozing into the water. At the edge of the patio, Gareth discreetly ushers Jeff and Frank back into the house. 

“Shit,” Eddie mutters. They'll need to replace all of the water, and he knows how Steve gets without his daily swim. “C'mon, let's get you insi-” 

“No,” Steve says, hands fisting into the lapels of Eddie’s jacket to pull him close. He's still shaking, eyes still huge and fuzzy with fear. 

He's also fully hard. 

“Let's just …” Steve murmurs, lips finding Eddie’s neck, his jaw, the corner of his mouth. They taste like copper. “Let's stay outside? The stars are beautiful.”

“The stars,” Eddie repeats, mouth tugging into a wolfish grin while Steve pushes him down into one of the deck chairs and climbs into his lap. “Sure, little nymph. And they're calling me a sicko and a freak.” 

Steve doesn’t grace him with a reply. Instead, he opens Eddie’s zipper with quick, impatient hands. The night air is cold against his cock when it slaps free, hard and flushed and leaking already. It only lasts a moment, though. Steve makes a wrecked little sound, straddling Eddie on either side and sinking down on his cock in one fluid movement. He's still slick and loose from earlier, and so beautifully warm. 

“Shit,” Eddie groans, watching through hooded lids how Steve starts to move - lifting himself up on quivering legs, only to slam back down a second later, impaling himself deeper with each thrust. “Shit, look at you. You're perfect, aren't you?” 

It's true. He doesn't think he's ever seem anything as beautiful as Steve fucking himself on his cock, head thrown back in ecstasy, face backlit by the stars in the night sky. They bask him in their light, a halo of silver dots all around his head, but Eddie only has eyes for the constellations on that beautiful body. Dark moles on golden skin, mixed with speckles of crimson slowly darkening to brown. 

He's perfection.

He's divine. 

And he’s his.  

Eddie reaches out to cup that beautiful face in one hand, needing to reassure himself that this is real, that it's not a dream, and Steve turns his head, sucking his bloodstained thumb into his mouth. Eddie plunges over the edge with a startled moan, and tumbles right into the starry sky. 

When he comes back down, Steve has collapsed on top of him, nose tucked into the soft leather of his jacket. 

“I hear we have Jason Carver to thank for this,” Eddie says, combing his fingers through that soft hair. “We’ll need to think of something to repay the favor.” 

“Oh?” Steve chuckles. “Does this mean I'll get a repeat of this little show?” 

Eddie thinks he'll cut Carver's beating heart out and serve it to this boy on a silver plate, if this is what he wants. 

“I'll do anything for you, darling,” is what he says. “I think you know this by now.”

More holiday drabbles

He’s Steves as much as Steve is his, after all. And together, they’ll paint the whole world in constellations of crimson. 

[grimmweepers]

— ☆ 𝐌𝐈𝐃𝐍𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓 𝐃𝐀𝐇𝐋𝐈𝐀

𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬: whenever summer comes around, especially when dahlias bloom, everything begins to remind you of your late lover

𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬: alhaitham x gn!reader. sfw. angst. modern!au (could be read as canon tbh), character death mention (alhaitham), hurt/slight comfort, very bittersweet, previously established relationship, unresolved grief, reminiscing, heavy summer and flower themes 0.8k wc. masterlist | byf/dni

a/n: this is my submission for the @pixelcafe-network's Challenge Friday that we do every few weeks. this time the prompt was "goodbye, my summer love". as I deal with some personal grief rn, writing this was a nice way to cope, and doing a very angsty take was kind of fun. the title of this drabble was named after the perfume 'Midnight Dahlia' by Korres but the plot is my own

reblogs and interactions are always appreciated ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

Summer days were always long and languid.

Once, they felt like a letter from a lover, but now they remain a capsule of something lost. Alhaitham always said that when being bathed by the sun, time truly slowed down; if you listened carefully, you could hear the world hum under its breath. 

Alhaitham said a lot of things, which was ironic because back then, you and everyone who knew him, had always teased him for being the quieter type. 

But the truth was you never fully understood ‘quiet’ until he was gone.

It was during the height of summer when he’d bring you dahlias. With his endless knowledge of everything that lived and breathed, you quickly learned the meanings — purple for dignity, yellow for joy, white for purity. His mixed bundles were his way of telling you that, to him, you were all of the above.

Dignified. Joyful. Filled with the purest form of love. 

They weren’t always your favourite but over time, you had grown to love them because they reminded you of him. Since the day he left you, it took you longer than you wanted to admit to stop weeping every time you saw one.

Still, you made the effort to bring some home whenever they were in season. It was akin to pretending that he was not truly gone but just somewhere else for a while.

As the last day of summer transitioned, you sat on the porch, watching the sky deepen into the hours before dawn. The dahlias in the vase beside you were wilting, petals curling as if bracing for the inevitable chill of autumn. Your chest tightened, knowing what that meant.

People used hourglasses to measure time. You had flowers.

You brushed the fragile petals with your fingertips, and for a fleeting moment, you were taken to a time when your world was whole.

It was a late evening when you and Alhaitham sat in silence, surrounded by the last blooms of the season. He had been reading, and you simply watched him, content with the quietness. Amused, he rose from his spot to pluck a single dahlia from the garden and tucked it behind your ear. You were baffled, he noticed in your face, but you relaxed when you were met with his eyes. They were honest and made your skin grow hot. They were worth a room full of gold.

It had been years since Alhaitham passed. The grief dulled but it never left, lingering like a curse that could not be broken. You tried to move forward but summer always brought him back.

Something as simple as a stroll on the beach was enough to tug at your heart because the sand bore one less set of footprints, the warmth of the sun graced one less body, and sometimes when the sea breeze came, you felt the echo of his presence behind you as if you were still walking, hand in hand. 

But it was the dahlias that hurt the most. They mostly bloomed in the heat and every summer, they seemed to grow just for you, as if Alhaitham was sending them as a reminder. 

Closing your eyes, memories came flooding in like waves, threatening to pull you under into the past. You remembered how his hand brushed against you the day he made you his and your fingers involuntarily twitched at the thought. In his bedroom, the air was thick with the scent of earth and flowers, and sunlight spilled lazy shadows onto the wooden floors through his sheer curtains. Your lips quivered because you never forgot how it made you feel when he leaned in and kissed you. You could still taste the sea salt on your lips.

Time stretched endlessly that day but time caught up with everyone, eventually.

You exhaled a shaky breath, your jaw was trembling.

Summer always ruined you.

Grief, no matter how much time passed, always weaved its way back in. Saying goodbye to him never felt final. He lingered in the corners of your heart, in warm afternoons, in the bloom of the dahlias.

When a cool breeze brought you back to the present, you felt the world shake. You opened your eyes just in time to see one of the petals lift from its stem and float away. It danced through the air, weightless and alone, waiting to disappear into the night. You watched it until it was out of sight, lost to the starless sky.

“Goodbye, Alhaitham,” you whispered. You even thought you smiled a little, too. 

For the first week of autumn, you returned to the porch, waiting for a hint of rain and watching for any sign of encroaching storm clouds. You breathed in and out. It was time for the axe to fall.

Goodbye, Alhaitham.

The dahlias will come again next summer, and with them, so would your memories of him. 

© 2024 grimmweepers — do not repost, copy, translate, modify my work on any platform.

networks: @houseofsolisoccasum @nereidsrealm

dividers by @/adornedwithlight

[starseungs]

a dream and a dance. hjs.

han jisung x gn!reader — dreaming was a lot harder as an adult than it was back when you were but a small kid. but maybe—just maybe, you could indulge in this dream come true for once.

genre/s — fluff, pinch of angst, post-grad au(?) • 2.0k words

warning/s — alcohol, setting is in a nightclub, life is hard (idk how to explain this)

note — inspired by han's new skz-record: 1,2,3,4,5 ! also i know nothing about nightclubs but this was the theme that came to mind so im just basing off vibes 😭

2024 ⓒ starseungs on tumblr. do not steal, repost, or edit.

Dream while you’re still young—while you still can.

Growing up, that line had always been an integral part of your life. You still remember the first time you heard it; the soft hushes of your beloved grandmother as she handed you a bowl of freshly cut fruit on a particularly hot day. The six-year-old you once were was staring at the person behind the television, starry-eyed, as you studied the figure’s actions with intent. You could faintly recall a question being asked in that hushed living room, something along the lines of whether or not you found what they were doing interesting. It was a hazy memory for detailed descriptions, but you could imagine your younger self positively replying with an excited squeal, one fit for a child of that age, which would’ve been followed by the line that you’d have kept in your heart for the rest of your life.

As one would, you’ve cycled through your fair share of these so-called dreams in the duration of your early lifetime. There was a time in third grade where you made up your mind to become a science teacher—the thought quickly being replaced just a mere two years later when you found a sudden interest in becoming a chef. Sixth grade you talked big for their age, claiming that they would open their own restaurant after graduating culinary school, despite not knowing a single thing about cooking other than all the hours spent bingeing MasterChef. You would always get a laugh out of the memory, knowing that it, too, was but a short-lived dream of a young mind still easily impressed by the world around them.

The pattern of switching life aspirations continued past elementary, and throughout your hectic high school years. With the constant new experiences you faced day to day, it was inevitable that eventually you would start seeing everything in a different light. It was part of the maturing process, you’d come to realize a few years later—getting hit by the epiphany that you no longer went through your 24-hour cycle the same way you did back when you were ten. It was a bittersweet revelation, one that ended with you looking up old shows you used to watch and playing episodes until the sunrise before forcing yourself out of bed to get ready for class. 

That wasn’t the first time you pulled an all-nighter, but it was the first one that made you feel calm throughout the day despite severely lacking sleep. 

College came around, and now you had to face yet another hurdle in your journey: admitting that you had absolutely no idea what you were doing anymore. You were attending university—check. You were in a program you personally chose—check. You had a decent social life—check; or maybe half a point, since you didn’t exactly have much time to hang out with any of them, instead opting for promises of catching up that were slowly building in number but barely decreasing. Before you knew it, the degree life was slowly eating all of the dreams that were left inside of you, leaving you with a semi-paved path completely devoid of color. What was once a garden littered with numerous flowers of the rainbow now had wilted into dehydrated brownish hues, layed lifelessly beside the narrow road.

Perhaps your grandmother was right. Dreaming was a lot harder as an adult than it was back when you were but a small kid.

Still, you pushed through, just to see the end. There was no use turning back when you had already crawled your way up this high. All that was left for you if you did was a fall so hard that you doubt you’d even be able to recover. The image alone made you shiver, prompting you to lift the glass of liquor towards your mouth, letting the sip travel down your throat and feeling the faux warmth it provided. Your eyes shifted to the clock propped up against the bar counter’s wall, watching the hands tick at a uniform pace. It was weird knowing that time always stayed steady. These days, it seemed all over the place—sometimes slowing, sometimes speeding. At this particular moment, it was like a flowing stream. 

What kind of pace it was, you weren’t too sure. 

What you did know, though, was that the numbers on the clock were barely visible; bright neon LED lights being the only thing illuminating the dark room they called a nightclub. The speakers were blasting some upbeat pop song, entertaining the crowd trying to lose themselves on the dance floor. You could only watch from your bar stool as a girl trips over thin air, obviously a little too inebriated, before getting caught by her friend, who was now fussing over her drunken state. 

Burning liquid passed your tongue as you took another sip of your drink. Unlike that girl, you went to this place alone and on your own accord. In your mind, you contemplated why you chose to be here instead of a peaceful bar that didn’t involve a DJ and a dancefloor—but this works too. Maybe a part of you wanted to experience the thrill one last time before adult life completely takes a toll on you, so who were you to deprive yourself of the wish? Your university days had already ended just a few hours ago, with you stepping on stage to get your diploma. It wasn’t a crime to let yourself have fun after all the sacrifices you made for the sake of your damned future. 

And so you continued to watch—getting lost in the sea of bright lights and the crashing waves of your thoughts, before a familiar voice snapped you out of the trance you put yourself in.

“What are you doing here, looking all miserable like that?”

You blinked owlishly at the face that entered your line of sight. A face that was very recognizable to you, despite the undoubtedly long time you’ve gone without seeing it.

“Han Jisung?”

“The one and only,” Jisung grins. 

“Wow,” you breathed out, completely taken aback at the situation. “I haven’t seen you since our first year of uni! How have you been?”

You and Jisung used to be in the same major before he dropped out right before the start of your second year to pursue music. It would be an absolute lie if you said you didn’t miss him, especially since he was the first friend you ever made in university. You could still recall the moment he approached you in a class like it was yesterday—the Jisung of four years ago scrambling to take a seat after barely just beating the professor entering through the front door. The image of the freshly turned nineteen-year-old panting desperately evoked your concern, causing you to stare at him a little longer than necessary. But it wouldn’t be Jisung if he wasn’t observant, so he returned the stare without an ounce of shame and followed with a question if you had any spare water he could drink.

Luckily, your water bottle had just been filled a few minutes before class started, and thus a beautiful friendship was born.

Jisung took his hands out of his pockets before taking a seat at the empty bar stool to your right. “Life’s been great! Two semesters were enough for me to realize that the academic life just wasn’t for me,” he chuckles. “Oh, and congrats on graduating, by the way!”

You couldn’t help the small smile that found its way to your face at his greeting. “You knew?”

“Ah,” Jisung exclaims, leaning forward to rest his arms on the long table in front while still making eye contact to cement his presence in the conversation. “I attended the ceremony earlier, actually. You know—for Hyunjin and Seungmin. I also watched you stand on stage. That’s why I’m genuinely surprised to see you here like this.”

He looks around for a bit before returning to face you. “Where are your friends?”

You shrugged carelessly, not too bothered with the implication. “Not a clue,” you say with a light chuckle. “Probably out celebrating with their families—or maybe even with each other. Either way, I didn’t get an invite, but I already expected that.”

Jisung simply nods at your reply, and his lack of a reaction amused you more than it should. “And you? Out with Thing 1 and Thing 2?”

“Damn, they still call Seungmin and Hyunjin that? My legacy stood strong, huh?” Jisung barked out a hearty laugh before gesturing somewhere to the side of the club. “But yeah, our group’s over there in one of the sofa cubicles. You can join us if you want; it’s your day too, after all. We should be celebrating!”

You waved his offer away politely. “It’s fine, Jisung. I’m sure they wouldn’t want me crashing in. We’re not even close enough to do that.”

Jisung paused to think for a moment, his hand rising up to support his chin. Your eyes guiltily wander a bit higher, stopping at his rosy lips for a brief second before quickly going back to glare at your glass of liquor. 

Admittedly, you once had a crush on the man beside you. Han Jisung was one of the more attractive individuals on campus back then, along with the rest of his friend group. The lingering gazes of people weren’t foreign to you, as you had your fair share of experiences with them when you used to hang out with him. Jisung was simply someone who caught others’ attention, whether it was intentional or not. Of course, you weren’t exempt from that notion. The only difference was that he was a good friend you didn't want to risk losing and that you weren’t interested in dating at that moment. Romance was another dream of yours you couldn’t reach, no matter how much you yearned for it. And so you buried your feelings in a grave, eventually getting forgotten once he left your life.

You could only hope that a zombie apocalypse doesn’t start soon.

“Hm, alright,” he eventually chimes. “I’ll leave you be, soon. But, on one condition.” It was your turn to ponder over his words. 

“And what’s your condition, Han?”

Jisung attempts to hide the way he fidgets with his fingers, which you painfully caught on to too fast for your liking. He took a few more seconds to collect himself before sitting up straight and turning towards you to shyly say, “Dance with me?”

Your eyes widened into saucers, not believing what you had just heard. It was in an attempt to calm your racing heart that you accidentally froze into silence, your brain already deciding to keep 911 on standby in case you stopped breathing altogether. You internally cursed yourself for feeling a faint hope spark back in your heart, wishing for the romance you never let yourself indulge in. This wasn’t the time, nor was it the place, that you thought was appropriate to rekindle your teenage wishes. 

Unfortunately, your lack of a response made Jisung inhale audibly, seemingly preparing himself to bolt away in embarrassment—if only you hadn’t noticed his actions too, the year of friendship coming back to you to recognize his habit. You quickly willed yourself to spit out any words you could.

"Well, that’s sudden,” you shakily voiced out, but decided to lighten the awkward situation with a cough. “What, think I’m hot now after gaining a few more years?”

Jisung exhaled in relief. “Not exactly,” he rubs the back of his neck, “you were already hot from the beginning.” You roll your eyes at his answer.

“Haha. You think you’re so hilarious, Jisung.”

“That, I do,” he smirks, regaining his confidence. Jisung lifts a hand towards you, opening his palm in an offering gesture. “So, what about that dance?”

You scoffed good-naturedly before taking his hand, pulling him up his seat to drag the two of you towards the center of the establishment that was still as chaotic as you left it earlier.

“Make sure you show me a good time, Jisung.”

“Oh, you won’t be disappointed, Y/N.”

Maybe—just maybe, you could indulge in this dream come true for once.

mastertag 🔖— send in an ask if you want to be added ! 🫶

@fairyki @hysgf @euncsace @comet-falls @starlostseungmin @ameliesaysshoo @hyunverse @djeniryuu @lixxpix

[ronearoundblindly]

Okay, so, hear me out.

I know I've got a Beauty and the Beast AU coming for skinny!Steve, but @darsynia gave me/let me have this idea of a Cinderella AU with him, too, except he is the Cinderella character who gets transformed to live his dream for a day.

I present to you the setup of:

*All photos from Pinterest

Steven is the only child of an exiled prince, and due to happenstance of the aged Warrior King Phillips having no male heir of his own, Steve becomes true royalty overnight.

His cousins, Princesses Margaret and Sharon, angry at the circumstance of their demotions at court, offer no help to the young, small, and often sickly new king.

No one is allowed to see him until his coronation. The few knights and advisors who have laid eyes on Steve are sworn to secrecy, and though he has a mind for strategy, Steve is burdened by his appearance.

Given the coronation crown the night before the big ceremony, Steve stares deep into the massive yellow gem at its front and wishes to look like the "ruler they all want to see."

And he does.

He wears the heavy crown easily, he stands tall over most of the court, and he carries a heavy, steel sword at his hip for the first time ever without the blade dragging across the stone floor.

The court is elated. No one looks twice, not even the handful of men who knew, but that's the magic of the stone...

Steve meets a seemingly endless stream of people, but the most curious is the apprentice of King Phillips' military advisor, a young man he saw befriending a stray cat in the courtyard while everyone else ogled and angled for him. The apprentice's eyes...there's just something about them...

After a long celebration feast where he charmed the nobility with humility, practicality, and honor, Steve falls asleep small again, but certain he can win over the whole realm if he can simply be known for his actions, not his physique.

That becomes the plan; Steve will work behind the scenes, make the kingdom better for people high and low, and then he'll be loved and accepted for who he is. In the meantime, he, in his natural form, can act as a sort of messenger or page boy 'for King Steven' and move around freely. Why not? They all are on the lookout for a man standing two hands higher and broader than him.

One of his first visits is to his inherited military advisor. Of course, Steve doesn't expect the apprentice to live inside the family home, possibly somewhere on the estate maybe, but after a long ride to get there and a long discussion while sitting in the man's study, Steve asks if he might walk the garden before leaving.

He asks about the woman by the roses, and his advisor simply replies "that's my daughter."

Of course, he won't bother to introduce him. Steve's an untitled nobody like he's been his entire life thus far.

Steve might not have seen the resemblance, truly, if not for the exact movement of your finger to gently lift a wilting petal back into place.

It's the move the apprentice made when scratching beneath the cat's chin, and he'll never forget that smile.

"You," he blurts, startled at the otherwise drastic change in your appearance.

You jump back before composing yourself, shielding your eyes from the bright sun above as you look him over.

He's more alarmed by your curtsy than you are by him, watching you bow deeply where moments ago your father dismissed him offhand.

"Your Majesty," you say to the ground.

You...

You recognize him like this? How? How is that possible?

His wish was granted. They all saw a perfect soldier, but that's just the thing: you didn't want to be ruled by a perfect soldier.

You wanted a good man.

You, who secretly longs to offer more to your father and family than a bartering chip for marriage, same as his cousins, need the king to be a good man because then he'll understand this...

A/N: Ok, full disclosure, I might already be very protective of this one, so we'll see if I can bring myself to put it all out there. Anyway! Thank you for the gif, Brandy! It was a great opportunity to get this down.

Also, if it's just an idea/intro, do I include the taglist? Idk. I hate pinging y'all if it's not like a lot of content.

[Main Masterlist; Light Masterlist; Ko-Fi]

[thecreatureinyourcloset]

I need help clarifying out somethings for my au, which I am gonna call first year dead au as a placeholder. If you have any other ideas, please tell me!!

Anyways if you need a recap all the first years are going to die in this au (ortho is not included as he’s technically a second year, but yuu and grim are included)

So Ace’s death is caused by strangulation, but how is where I am stumped on. There are two options. He is either Sayori styled or rose plants go into his dorm and strangle him is his sleep.

[izvmimi]

cw: gods au. fem!reader and izuku are both gods, although izuku is now a human. pining. part 2 of this.

“You should stop watching.”

The sudden voice behind you shocks you out of your reverie, and the gash that you’ve formed in the veil between your world and the human realm shrinks to almost imperceptible, yet your best friend can tell you’ve been peering behind the proverbial curtain again. You haven’t spent a millenia together for nothing.

You frown. 

“How did you know?” 

She scoffs, gliding over to you along marbled paths to where you sit, legs folded to the side and tucked beneath your robes, in your garden of never-wilting flowers. 

“How don’t I know? You have that look in your eye.” Her voice lowers and softens as she circles around your chair, placing a gentle hand on your shoulder as she stands behind you to see from your vantage point. “There’s no use watching,” she continues, “I understand that you want to keep him safe, but all humans will deteriorate and die eventually. You cannot stop the natural flow of time and circumstance.”

As expected from one who hails from the clan that stitches the thread of mortal life into the tapestry of Fate.

You shrug her off; it’s not meant to be an act of aggression but she frowns even deeper before raising her hands in feigned surrender and letting out a sigh. 

“He’s not a mere human and you know it,” you reply as you turn to glare at her. 

“Yes… right.” 

It’s a statement that she offers you that also is not meant to be condescending, yet somehow is. It’s been like this, for the two of you, any time he is brought into conversation. Although it’s been nearly a century since the transmutation of your lover’s soul, you have failed to come to terms with the fact that your partner is truly not ever coming back. 

He’d disappeared out of the fabric of time and space after the event, and you’d been so numb from tears that you were not sure you’d make it through the next millennium without letting your soul rot from bitterness, but just a couple decades ago, you had felt him reborn, his light, although significantly dimmed reappearing again in the womb of a young woman. And although his signature was nothing like you’d known of him your entire existence, it still burned brighter than the typical human, likely owing to the fact that he was once a god. You’d wondered if there was a loophole to the punishment - this was not something that was supposed to happen - but things were different for those immortals who descended directly from the Sun, more powerful than the rest.

“Is he still feeding the cat?” your companion asks. Raye comes to sit besides you, shifting your legs so that they lay on her lap. She wants to understand. She has tried to understand for so very long now, but she fails to understand why you haven’t given up the part of your heart that longs for him. There are rituals to harden your heart that she knows very well and have often been prescribed to people with your plight, and yet you prefer to suffer this way. 

So instead she indulges you with questions like this. Her gray eyes shift and watch your profile as you widen the gash between realms and watch the mortal once more. Raye peers into the hole to see from your vantage point.

Izuku Midoriya, the man, is not doing anything very interesting at this moment. You watch him on his couch, opening up a plastic bag containing a prepared dinner he must have picked up from a convenience store a few blocks away. Earlier today, he had a fanmeeting where he’d smiled and signed hundreds of autographs, and only now was getting the opportunity to eat. Sleep would probably occur to him soon and you would have to find something else to do aside from watching him tirelessly. 

“I didn’t descend today,” you reply. 

She lays her head on your shoulder and the two of you lay in silence. There’s a gentle warm breeze that runs in your garden and in the snap of your fingers, you could request some music to fill the pregnant pause between you too but you refrain. Your heart doesn’t hurt right now so you don’t need it. But it will soon.

“What would you do if he stopped?” she asks.

It’s a question that makes your heart pound ever so slightly in your chest. The idea of your Izuku walking by you, without even noticing, without any offer of attention to you, seems far too much to reconcile in your conscience.

But you lie.

“I’d have to accept it.”

“You wouldn’t turn into anything else?” she asks.

You pause, and lie again. “I wouldn’t.”

She blows out air from her nostrils in a slow, deliberate sigh.

“Liar,” she hisses before straightening up to a sitting position. She pauses, and then instead decides to stand before marching off to your front gate. 

“I’m not-” you call after her.

“You are such a bad liar! You would never let him go, face it.”

Her lips are pressed into a tight smile, and she’s somewhere between amused and annoyed as she runs a hand through her orchid-pink hair.

And you have started to get angry too, but you bite your lip so as to not let the honeysuckles that sprout around you wilt in your rage. 

“Why should I?” you demand.

“Because he’s a HUMAN.”

You grit your teeth but let your rage simmer. You can see that there’s an edge to her voice, a small plea to come back to your senses. 

It’s your turn to sigh.

“He isn’t meant to be…” you try to ignore the tears that well up in your eyes, aware that by now you’ve cried a flowing river over the years. 

She scoffs - not because she no longer cares but because the outcome of your moroseness is no longer beneficial to any of you. She misses him too, believe it or not, but she cannot watch you deteriorate forever. 

There’s an eternity that remains, and she wants you to be happy.

—

Izuku Midoriya, aged 27, dreams of fire and felines.

He wakes up in a cold, uncomfortable sweat, panting heavily in a too-sticky mess of matted bedsheets. It’s not the first time and it likely won’t be the last time he wakes up in a shock like this.

Izuku steadies his breath and grabs his phone from the end table, rubbing his eyes as he brings himself to a sitting position before checking the time and any pending notifications from overnight. There’s a text from his mother, reminding him to eat breakfast every morning. He smiles, then immediately frowns as he remembers that he actually has nothing left in his fridge aside from ketchup and katsudon leftovers from the night before. 

It’s Saturday morning, and he’s not sure what to do first, but there’s a long list of tasks and upkeep that he has to perform before the week starts. Laundry piles up in the corner of his room, overflowing from his laundry basket and he’s pretty sure the dishes in the sink have been there since last weekend. These are the moments he’s reminded that, despite being admittedly lonely in this apartment, he’s not equipped to take care of much else aside from himself, especially not a pet.

However…

There is a jet black cat that he’s been seeing constantly since he moved to this neighborhood several months ago that seems to haunt him, although it should be a sign of good luck. Golden eyes watch him, glowing and far too intense, enough so that the first time he met it, he wondered if it would speak to him in formal Japanese.

It seemed to be waiting for him, the way it sat perfectly still on his route home from work. He had been mostly lost in thought when he suddenly encountered the animal, trying to decide if it were a good idea moving so far away from his mother when he had no other compelling reason besides asserting his independence. He saw the cat from a distance - rather felt compelled to look - and stood just as still. The two beings faced each other, and the cat seemed to size him up, as though hesitating, with far more interest in him than strays usually do. Perhaps it was hungry, he figured, and that made it friendly enough to beg for scraps, but its movements towards him - when it eventually decided he was worthy - were too graceful for a being humbled by starvation.

It passed between his legs once, then twice, then stood before him with far too much familiarity in its eyes. Squatting to his knees to look at it more closely, he decided eventually to pet it, gingerly placing his hand on its fur to test the waters. It purred to his touch, its coat again far too soft for an animal that wasn’t being taken care of somehow, by someone. He looked around for a collar and saw nothing on first pass, but as the animal continued to mew, he noticed an inscription behind its ear. 

It was a symbol he couldn’t recognize but felt intrinsically like he should be able to read. It bothered him for a split second, that feeling of uneasiness, but he soon forgot it, eventually realizing he had to get home. He took his time however to say goodbye to the small creature before he continued on his way, leaving the animal to watch him with newly shiny feline irises.

It almost seemed like it was sad to see him go.

As he stirs his protein shake, Izuku ponders on that symbol again, recreating it in his mind’s eye on his counter with the pad of his finger. It seemed not to be shaved in, but rather etched into its very flesh. Did it hurt? Who would brand their cat like this? Is that why it’s so oddly trusting?

He takes a sip of his drink and lets out a sigh. This is a lot of energy to be wasting on a stray and he has things to get to. 

But first, he needs to make a phone call to a friend.

—

Ochaco is far better at grocery shopping than Izuku is. 

“Buy the organic eggs, they’re better for you~”

“These snack bars are on sale if you buy two packs, and you can always save some for later!”

“The produce at this store isn’t high quality enough to be this expensive! Let’s go to the farmer’s market three blocks down!”

Ochaco reminds him a lot of his mother, Izuku thinks, and all he can do is nod and smile as she drags him from place to place that morning.

“I have an incredible recipe for an apple pie, “ she chirps, holding two apples to her face with a grin. The light red tones of the fruit compliment the pinks of her cheeks well, he notices, and his own face reddens ever so slightly as he realizes he’s staring.

He should tell her how he feels, he thinks. One day, when the dust settles, and his dreams are no longer dreams, he should tell her what she means to him. She’s always been there for him after all. The one constant in his hectic life, the only person he has never had to prove anything to.

Someone who knows all of him.

Izuku digs through the first heavenly bite of his longtime crush’s apple pie and excitedly exclaims that it’s the most delicious thing he’s had in a while. Ochaco beams, and she cuts herself a piece before slipping into the chair next to him and taking a bite. 

“It’s best with vanilla ice cream too!” she adds. “We should get some next time,” she hums, kicking her feet as she enjoys her pie. 

Izuku nods emphatically and Ochaco grins widely, brushing a few crumbs off his mouth. Her eyes linger just too long on his lips, but then she looks away and smiles. The air in the room gets quiet and he wonders if now is the time to kiss her. She tenses and right before he considers holding her hand, she jumps off the barstool and circles back around to the freezer.

His heart slows and then he chuckles gently to himself before occupying himself with finishing his desert.

In the skies, millions of miles above, pink hydrangeas wilt to nothing.

[virgothozul]

au where caesar entrusts a sunflower garden onto joseph and joseph takes it very seriously and is distraught when even one of them wilts and dies

He takes care of them !! That’s very cute.

[jaijeijayjei]

Flower Herald Sky Art! Inspired these AU headcanons:

What if the Hexcore allowed Sky to ascend as a spirit protecting Zaun's flora? Similar to Janna, the wind spirit who looks after Zaun

Instead of Sky appearing in Viktor's consciousness on the astral plane, he stumbles across her when building the commune because he's also able to see spirits that roam the physical world.

She can also enter and exit his astral plane at will

Sky uses her energy to stimulate growth in the precious few plants that can still grow in Zaun, restoring any bit of nature she can.

While she still retains her memories and personality, she's ascended to a higher form of existence. She's interconnected with nature now, able to sense when even the smallest blade of grass pushes through the ground, when seeds first take root, when a tree is chopped down, and is one with it.

Her influence is strongest in the commune and surrounding areas, where much spiritual energy is focused. She works in tandem with Viktor.

Sky and Viktor are like Persephone and Hades. Sky is a goddess of agriculture and the spring, while Viktor is the "god of the dead" in the sense that members of his commune were once good as dead, but find a resting place in his domain. And, the commune is in the depths of Zaun, which is thematically similar to the underworld.

Some members report glimpses of the herald sitting in the fields with an ethereal flower woman.

Children especially are able to catch glimpses of Sky's presence. A brush of a flowing robe when they move a plant to sunlight. A gentle hand tucking their hair back while they tend to the garden. The tendrils of a vine curing about their finger like a small embrace.

When Viktor chooses sacrifice his humanity, Sky's spirit leaves the commune. Suddenly the peaceful haven they crafted wilts away into barren land, creating a shadow of doubt in his mind about the Glorious Evolution.

Thanks to LBBCtimeout on twitter, the original artist, for allowing me to repost their art!

[lepiota-cybe-yippee]

So, my au.

I'm gonna go ahead and info dump about this au I've been holding in my head for a while now.

This AU is called 'Ichor Madness' au. it an au that my bestie @scenepunkkand I have been kinda just fuckin' around with for aa host minute. I wanted to share it with you guys so that I don't fade out of dw before sharing this- so here we go!

Dandy

use to be the star of the old kids show dandy's world. 

After the show was taken off air he became a washed up start will pretty much no play to stay or call home

decides to trim wilting early (goes a little insane because of it)

discovers ichor, and starts experimenting with it.

discovers ichor properties and believes this will be able to help everyone with whatever they need.

Takes it to the handlers but unfortunately they approved it and never listened to his warnings. 

He thinks they understand him and are listening to him.

Him and astro celebrate and finally have some peace and quiet together w/ pebbles.

The anniversary comes and the first twisted is discovered. 

Twisted break out, full lock down. And how people have to reside in the garden view center.

• Everyone, including dandy, believes its all his fault.

Astro

Was dandy’s co-star

After the show, made his own show call “Starry Story Time.”

Would let Dandy stay at his place when he wanted to and had dandy help with pebble.

Main encourager and cheerleader for Dandy. They are too close for astro to just let him go.

Helped dandy sometimes with his experiments.

After the ichor success he and dandy lived nicely together for a year.

The first twisted incident happens and he will NOT leave dandy’s side

Boxten

Simple toymaker who would craft and make toys of all kinds.

would somehow end up meeting Glisten and having a very friendly relationship with him

some point would be approached by handlers from the garden view center to make a toy from ichor. it payed handsomely, so he obliged (with a little coaxing from glisten.)

He Creates Scraps, and then a while later, Goob. having no clue what the handlers were going to do to them.

after a while, he and Glisten become partners.

at the anniversary celebration a few months after he and glisten got together, he stood with dandy as he gave the speech.

the first twisted attack happens

after that he, along side the entire garden view town go into lock down.

He has become a crafter of some trinkets and a scout for a few floors.

These are just some notes I made for the Ichor Madness au- I'll give more details later when I draw more stuff for the au! anyways bye byee

[percyweasleyapologist]

ʚ ︵‿︵‿︵꒰ welcome ꒱︵‿︵‿︵ ɞ

Hiiii! I'm Zoe and my pronouns are she/her (pronouns page). I am a MINOR so please don't be creepy or ask for donations.

5w4 ⟡ INTP-T ⟡ True Neutral pisces moon☾ | cancer sun𖤓 | capricorn rising↑

I sometimes post my art on here and I love drawing! I'm pansexual, half-greek, and I have ADHD (plus likely something else that is undiagnosed lol). Also I have a wonderful super pretty boyfriend whom I love very much.

Feel free to come to me if you need someone to vent to or just want a talk, this is a safe space and I support all sexualities and genders <3

I take pinterest/mood board requests, ask and you shall receive!

╰─ ☆ Fandoms:

marauders, hp, pjo, merlin bbc

— — — — — — — — — — — — — — — —

╰─ ☆ Ships:

jily, jegulily, regulily, marylily, pandalily, quillkiller, dorlene, wolfstar, rosekiller, prongsfoot, dragonrose, doefae (my otp), royalstar, perciver, percelope, percivelope, & woodwater

╰─ ☆ Role-play accounts (+other socials):

@marauders-rp-account: The marauders rp that I run!

@luv-lily-fl0w3r @garden-of-lily @wilted-lily-flower @lily-0f-the-v4lley @evans-the-flower @flower-of-athens: Lily Evans

@barty-with-a-bat: Barty Crouch Jr Band AU

@mary-macdonald-official: Mary Macdonald Band AU

@vivienne-beaumont: Band AU fan account

@narc1ssa-bl4ck: Narcissa Black very sad AU???

@penelope-clearwater: Penelope Clearwater

@penelope-clearwater-official: Penelope Clearwater Celeb AU

Pinterest: deadgaywitches and percyweasleyapologist

TikTok: percy.weasley.apologist

— — — — — — — — — — — — — — — —

╰─ ☆ Tags!

#my art: for my art!! mostly fanart lol

#zoe's pet rat <3: my rat Pete (not actually my rat but he lives in my school water fountain and I've seen him like 3 times. we're cool)

#incorrect quotes: I do five incorrect quotes per day- usually two for hp and then three for marauders

#zoe's mood boards: I make mood boards sometimes hehe. I will make one for anyone who asks!! It can be your blog, a character, a ship, a topic, etc.

#aj fae: FOR MY VERY PRETTY AND FUNKY SILLY BOYFRIENDDDDDDDD <333

╰─ ☆ People!

My boyfriendddddd <333333 (irl): ⸜(｡˃ ᵕ ˂ )⸝♡ @birdiebirdjay

bestieee: @blueberry0409ㅤ🧸ྀི

the sirius (bitch), to my reggie😒: @garden-of-runar

teen mom: @winn-wynn 𓇢𓆸

chronically-in-pain spouse: @bibeantransbean

another spouse!: @lirenthenonlyrist

my child that I adopted: @aceofspades42🦕

cool daughter-in-law: @yesiamprocrastinating

second child i adopted: @guess1mjustheren0w

pretty princess granddaughter <3: @rainystarssx

(link to full familr tree)

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