#although sometimes he can get lost under the chairs

[sadlazzle]

remembering i cant actually do much in the day with the house to myself cause i need to spend my time supervising the cat

[thepossummoldypasta]

Okay okay, the people have been heard, part 2 of the accidental baby acquisition thing (part 1)

Sometimes Steve wonders how his life turned out this way. Most of the time the omega jokingly says it’s all Dustin’s fault. This time it’s definitely Dustin’s fault.

Steve kicked the kid out after he cracked wise about Eddie being in a coma for 9 months—He did it nicely under the pretense of the pup being sent to find a nurse, but he’s forced out of the room all the same—now he’s desperately attempting to get Eddie calm.

The heart monitor is complaining loudly at Steve and the alphas breathing isn’t giving him any comfort, and it’s all around not an ideal situation. Steve shifts the baby (still asleep thank god) so he has an arm free to offer Eddie to scent. The movement catches the other man’s eye, and when the alpha he turns his head Steve can see Eddie’s crying.

“Oh Eddie.” Steve croaked “No, don’t cry. Dustin was just being a dick—you’ve only been under for six days—everything’s alright.” Eddie finally accepts Steve’s arm but instead of scenting he cradles it with shaking hands and doubles over awkwardly against Steve’s shoulder.

“Stevie,” the alpha sobs “Stevie.” He lets Eddie cry it out for a minute or so.

“Do you want me to walk you through what happened?” Steve offers.

Eddie nods against his neck; yes.

“How much?”

Eddie leans in even further, lungs drawing as much air as they can hold; everything.

“Nancy blew Vecna’s head off, but uh, we could tell something was up.” Steve grimaces “so, so I got worried and went to grab you and Dustin.”

Eddie stiffens as Steve talks, but doesn’t give any other indication that he’s heard enough, so Steve keeps going.

“ I found you just outside the trailer park—I don’t know if you remember it but the bats kinda beat your ass—I got to you before Dustin did thank god ‘cus it was gnarly. They, the bats, they nicked an artery so there was a lot of blood. We managed to drag all of us out through this new gate that spat us out at the Creel house on the right side, I don't know how that happened by the way…uh what else…there was an ambulance there because Carver’s gang broke Erica’s arm. The EMT guys were so freaked out when they saw us they shoved all of us in the back of the ambulance and hauled ass here—“

“Wait,” Eddie buts into Steve’s rambling explanation, “Erica got hurt? Who else got hurt? Is—“ now it’s Steve’s turn to interrupt.

“Everyone’s gonna be okay Eddie” Steve promises “The pups have a few minor breaks between all of ‘em but nothing serious. You and me got the worst of it.” Apparently not the best thing to say because Eddie jerks back with a whine, frantically checking over Steve’s injuries.

“You, I, WHAT?” Eddie, well, he screeches, unfortunately waking up the baby with his noise (the omega can’t stop himself from shooting him a dirty look for it).

“We’re both out of the woods now that you’re awake.” The omega reassures while soothing the tiny puppy’s cries. “There’s the bites, obviously, but none of them on you or me were particularly life threatening apparently. Although you lost enough blood to go into cardiac arrest—” Steve thinks he could put it nicer but there’s no point sugar coating it “the doctors did put you in a coma so you could recover but you were out less than a week, nowhere near nine months” Steve rolled his eyes at Dustin’s shithead antics.

“As for me, apparently the bats had some kind of venom that was rattling around long enough to cause some nerve damage and speed up this weird genetic thing I apparently have that messes with connective tissue. Now I’ve got this sweet new ride to help on the bad days but that’s about the worst of the damage ” Steve pats the armrests of his new chair, the one Jack helped him adjust to be his and not the one on loan from the hospital, and smiles in a way he hopes makes Eddie believe “bad days” will only happen some days instead of most days.

He expects Eddie to laugh at the attempted joke, or maybe crack a watery smile, But the alpha starts crying with renewed vigor.

“Is that why? Stevie is the puppy okay? How could Nancy let this happen?” Eddie gasps, reaching out to hold Steve’s face. The omega leans softly into the hold, but he’s soooo confused.

Before he can ask what the hell Nancy has to do with any of this,Jack waltzes through the doorway with a sheepish Dustin in tow. If that brat thinks that going out of his way to find Steve’s favorite nurse will get him out of trouble, he’s got another thing coming.

“Well now, sleeping beauty is awake.” Jack grins politely “I’m Jack, nice to officially meet you mister Munson.”

“Uhh, yeah, back atcha” Eddie nods

Jack ruffles Steve’s hair as she passes him on her way to Eddie’s IV line. Over the past few days She, Steve, and the others have grown close. The baby had imprinted on her as part of his pack, and the baby is part of Steve’s pack, so on and so forth until they all shared a bond. It’s nice.

She checks the levels of Eddie’s saline drip, and the numbers on the monitor that Steve can’t remember the meanings of no matter how many times it’s explained to him. Whatever they say must be good because Jack looks relaxed when she turns back to Dustin who’s haunting the entrance to the room leaning on his crutches (Steve resolutely tries not too give him pity points for the broken ankle).

“Alright kid, clear out.” she chimes,“I got to give your friend the full checkup and it’s feeding time.”

Jack clearly tacked on the last bit to get the stubborn pup to leave, and once upon a time it would have embarrassed the hell out of Steve, but it serves its purpose as Dustin turns heel and calls out that he’s going to visit Max.

Jack checks Eddie’s reflexes, then she has him push against her arms, follow a pen with his eyes, and tap her palm as she moves it around. All that good stuff to make sure Eddie’s brain still works right. Everything seems to be fine, the only exception being Eddie’s heart rate seemingly picking up when Steve takes his shirt off to feed the baby. Jack laughs under her breath when it happens though, so it must’ve been fine whatever it was.

“Alright Mr. Munson, you’re looking good. Your whole merry band still is being kept under observation otherwise I’d say you’re free to go. Do you have any questions for me?” Jack asks as she slips off the gloves she donned before she ran her tests. Eddie nods.

“When did Steve have the baby?” What?

“WHAT?” Steve crows, Jack’s absolutely no help as she’s too busy cackling to set the record straight. “I didn’t have a baby, Eddie!”

“But—you—You’re literally holding a baby right now big boy! And you smell like a mom!” Eddie retaliates, but he’s keeping his voice low so he doesn’t disturb said baby. That’s sweet actually.

“That’s my fault I’m afraid” Jack chuckles “he was supposed to be looking after baby nameless for me temporarily, but the little guy had other plans and decided Steve here was his new Ma. What you’re smelling and seeing right now is the result of that baby doing a very good job of convincing Steve’s body they’re his puppy”

Eddie’s mouth is hanging open on a broken hinge, Steve watches him collapse back into his bed. He would think the alpha brain dead if he wasn’t just given a clean bill of health.

“So you weren’t pregnant when we were in… you know?” Eddie prods weakly

“No, I was not knocked up when we were in the Upsidedown!” Steve shuts that line of thought down as quickly as he can, Jack might be “in the know” thanks to her job but Steve does not need his new, basically older sister, to know he did the hanky-panky with Eddie in an alternate dimension.

“Oh thank Jesus” Eddie sighs and he’s so lucky that Steve’s beginning to think he’s in love with the idiot (and that he’s a little too distracted burping the baby to smack him). “What’s the baby nameless thing about?”

Steve goes quiet for a second. Not bad quiet, just shy quiet. It’s kind of an embarrassing question to answer. Jack lets him know she’ll be right outside if he needs her, but he’s been shyly waiting for this moment and just waves her off with an appreciative look.

“He technically doesn’t have a name, before he imprinted I was only really allowed to nickname him” Steve starts “but now he’s my baby so I can name him whatever I want. I’ve had a name picked out for a while but I wanted to talk to you first. Jack’s been trying to guess the name for days now and she’s been calling him that to try to annoy me into spilling the beans” he says with a snort.

“Why did you want to talk to me first?”

“I want to name him Theodore, after you?” Steve admits but when he looks to where Eddie is propped up against his pillow the alpha sucks in a breath between his teeth. “What? What’s with the face?”

“Eddie isn’t actually short for anything, so uh it wouldn’t really be naming him after me” Eddie says hesitantly “But! But I think Theodore is a great name!” And he smiles so brightly at Steve, the omega has to kiss it off Eddie’s stupid little face.

A week later the whole group is lounging in the ward’s common room just waiting for time to pass.

The roads are back open and the town is slowly knitting itself back together. Owen’s says that his team is waiting on one more thing before they all finally can go home. The older teens haven’t said anything to the pup’s yet, they don’t want to jinx anything, but it’s looking like home might be one of the recently vacated houses for packs instead of where they lived before. Steve thinks he’ll sleep easier having everyone safe under one roof, that at least some good will come out of so much of his family being left displaced by the “quakes”.

Steve’s cozy on a squishy couch with Robin tucked against his one side, Mike and Will are tangled together on his other, he’s even got Theo napping on his chest. God it’s a far cry from the nervous buzz that thrummed under Steve’s skin at the beginning of their stint in the hospital. He basks in the calm that comes with the rest of the pups piled on top of Eddie taking a nap instead of being obnoxious. Nancy has even huddled together with Jonathan and Argyle.

It’s really nice except for one thing nagging at the back of Steve’s mind, he hasn’t seen Jack or El for a while.

“Hey Steve?” Oh, speak of the devil and all that, Steve thinks as Jack pops her head into the room. “Your adoptive dad is here looking for you.”

Steve looks at Robin then to Nancy and Jon. It’s very clear that none of them know what she’s talking about.

“I don’t have an adoptive dad?” Steve replies.

“Okay rephrase. A man, who is not Harrington Senior, and who matches your emergency contact information is at the visitor’s desk asking for his kid, who he says is you.” Jack doesn’t even get to finish her sentence before El slips into the room her dragging with her—

“Hop” Steve cries weakly, the name catching in his chest. No matter how much he blinks Hopper is still there. Will bursts from Steve’s side and launches himself at Joyce Byers, who Steve hadn’t even noticed was there, Hopper is here.

Steve somehow manages to get on his feet. Theo, the sweet angel that he is, doesn’t even fuss at the abrupt movement, instead he coos at the newcomers as if he’s confused why they haven’t started fawning over him yet.

Steve is pulled into a side hug the literal second Hopper’s close enough. Steve missed him so much. He hadn’t told anyone about how in the early days of his parents leaving him home alone he would sneak over to the police chief’s trailer because he was afraid being by himself. Or about how many nights the man spent driving him to or picking him up from the hospital after Steve’s dad got too drunk. Nobody knew how confused Steve was after Starcourt, when he didn’t know how much he was allowed to grieve. But now Hop’s back, and Steve missed him.

“Please tell me I’m hallucinating the baby” Hopper laughs into Steve’s hair. He laughs like he doesn’t know how else to react, which is fair, but he also laughs like it’s the first time he’s laughed in a while so Steve doesn’t really mind.

Very helpfully, Mike pipes up with “Thats Theo.” At the same time Dustin says “That’s Steve and Eddie’s puppy.”

Steve barely has enough time to playfully warn Eddie to run before it’s too late.

——————————————————————————————————

Sorry for the wait, I wasn’t really planing on continuing this so it to a while to figure out what I wanted to do.This is going up on my Ao3 as a one shot at some point by the way, so maybe look out for that I guess. I hope you enjoyed!

[pumkinzee]

DATING JASON GRACE

request: ˋˋ Hey! I love your Jason Grace post sm!! I was wondering if you could maybe do like headcanons for Jason Grace dating a Hades/Pluto kid? Maybe sprinkle in some nsfw if you’re okay with it? if not don’t even worry i will happily take what i can get!! thank you sm!!! ˊˊ

pairing: Jason Grace x gn!Hades!reader

a/n: I said it in the Percy post, PENDEJO ENOUGH TO DELET ACCIDENTLY

⌑ - English isn't my first language so I'm using a translator and my basic knowledge of the language!

𝐑equest 𝐨pens! + 𝐫ules!

The first thing he felt was fear, all his life he was raised to be in control of the situation, and he thought he was slowly getting it when he was with you, he just didn't have it programmed in that he couldn't control his heart rate when you approached, or the way his hands sweated on the handle of his sword when you looked at him, he was being clumsy and that scared him. When he finally realized that being in love was not synonymous with being weak, he started planning how to approach you, every move, learning your expressions, how you reacted, how you fought, how to flirt, he really studied you and planned how to make you his.

I've said it before and I'll keep saying it, this man is too much of a gentleman, for his own good, he pulls your chair up to the table, sits after you, gives you his jacket, helps you jump over mud puddles, puts his hand on the corner of the table when you bend over, walks down the street, pays for all your dinners, there's nothing he won't do for you, I've said it here before

So, you are a child of Hades. Let's start with that he has respect for you, he knows your place and how powerful you are being a child of the big three, since he is one, he knows what it's like to have the pressure of everyone, he gives you your space and his unconditional support, whenever you need him you are guaranteed to have him with open arms.

He's a little scared of your father, we all know what Hades and Zeus' relationship is like, I often think about how he tries to make you feel fantastic not only because of how much he loves you (and that you are literally his world) but to impress your father a little. He doesn't succeed, but at least he means well.

Your styles are quite opposite, especially in clothing, he will wear white sweaters, button down shirts or anything that looks fancy outside of camp, at the same time he gets used to seeing you in leather jackets, boots or black makeup because he thinks you look cool. He confirms this.

He is very patient, more than any of us here are, he is calculating and usually takes things slowly, but he knows how to work under pressure, if you ever need to make a quick decision without time to analyze the environment, I assure you that he is already three steps ahead of you. He likes cuddles, just like anyone else, only he is... complicated. He is very rigid, he is not always ready to hug you back, sometimes spontaneous hugs make him react slightly violent, like a slap or turning around faster than he should, all thanks to his camp, but as soon as he realizes it's you, he softens up. It's hard enough for you to break his shell and he'll let you hug him.

If you are similar to Nico, meaning both in personality and in having lost someone, he is a very good listener, he will take a few seconds to analyze what you said and think of a response, he is not a psychologist, but he knows how to make you feel that you fit in, at least with him.

If your powers leave you constantly exhausted, he is there to hold you up if your legs get weak, sometimes scolding you when you overexert yourself and end up even more exhausted.

I write this thinking of Hades and not Pluto (although you can consider him as outside) so he likes you to be in his cabin, he likes to be with you cuddled up in your cold cabin if it wasn't for Nico, so when Nico is, you're usually in various places but not your cabin, too cold and gloomy, almost looks like depression factory.

The military badges with your initials, when he trains, jingle against his sweaty chest and he remembers that, even when he is exhausted training, he knows you are there.

His protective instinct is very high, he doesn't want anything to happen to you, he is always on the lookout for you, like a police dog that gets upset when he hears a branch break near where you are.

nsfw cut!

He is careful, let's put it that way. I have mentioned this section before, but he almost always knows what he is doing, he is careful and delicate, he memorizes every part of your body before even laying a hand on you, he would take his time to find out what you like and what you don't like.

Limits are the most important thing to him, even when he gets lost in pleasure, he is aware of what you like and what you don't, your pleasure is his priority.

I'm not good at doing sex fics, BUT, I'm not going to let it go unnoticed that this man has a huge dick. Son of the big three, huh, son of Zeus. My gods.

His hands are always either on your waist or on your wrists, holding them above your head, he only does this when he's desperate and having a hard time being a gentleman. He digs his nails into the flesh of your waist, leaving bruises he'd apologize for and take care of, but in the moment, he's lost, hitting you hard enough to leave you with a sore hip the next day.

He spreads his legs and sits you on his thigh, his hands on your waist, under your shirt, leaning down and devouring your neck, whispering to you everything from the most romantic to the dirtiest things that even I can't think of. He leaves you a kiss on the back of your neck and lets you go, because he's busy.

Sex in public? Dream on. He wants to do things right, public sex equals quickies, and he's conflicted about this.

He puts his hand between your thighs when they're in public, he doesn't go past that, he takes it upon himself to move it up to your intimate part and throw little sparks with his fingers. Don't wait any longer.

©pumkinzee

[itsabouttimex2]

Monkiefam: Part 0

Midnight Malaise

(Part Zero) (Part One) (Part Two)

It doesn’t particularly surprise the troop when you sneak out of your room. Both of them are fully aware that you often wander around at night like this. They know that you aren’t getting enough rest, that you aren’t eating properly.

The house is silent, save for the occasional rumbling snore from Wukong. You’ve been told to never leave your room at night- but that’s more of a suggestion than a stone-set rule. Really, as long as you don’t leave the bounds of the house, they have no trouble with your little late-night adventures.

Even the garden outside isn’t off limits, as long as you don’t go past the fences.

And beside- it’s peaceful tonight. It’s no more dangerous than taking one little stroll out in Megapolis to see the moonlight.

…you’ve come to miss Megapolis. The mountain was absolutely enchanting at first, but that was back when you thought that being here was merely a choice.

Before you had asked one of the monkeys to bring you home, and received a very firm “no”. And then went and asked the other one, only to quickly receive the same answer again.

Before all that, Flower Fruit Mountain had been lovely and welcoming.

You sit at the bottom step of the stairs, taking a moment to grab both of your shoes, wishing you had something a little sturdier. But anything that would hold up outside the soft soil of the flower garden was kept well out of your reach.

And even then, these compliant and squishy sandals are sometimes hidden to keep you inside.

MK finds you before you’ve even got the first shoe on. The kid peels it out of your hand and tosses it against the other, knocking them both into the wall.

He settles down on the same step and leans against you, pressing into the warmth offered by skinship. It’s a habit of his, a desire for touch- he’s incredibly trigger-happy with affection. The hero leans his head against your shoulder, taking in the scent of you. You smell of linen and soap and home. Too much time spent hiding in the laundry room, buried under mounds of fresh blankets and warm sheets. Something that helped to remind you of simpler days. It makes him smile, how comforting that scent is.

“What are you thinking about, Y/N?” No malice. No anger. Just love. And a strong note of worry.

There’s no point in lying. If you’re up this late, it’s because you want to go out to the garden and lay among the flowers and pretend that you’re anywhere but this sacred mountain.

“…I wanted to get some fresh air.”

“Not while it’s this late. It’s not safe.” He’s pretty firm about this- there’s too much worry to consider other options aside from the frequent “no” you always seem to receive. He looks at you and speaks, his voice almost reverent with love. “Instead, how about I make you a bowl of noodles and then you go to bed?”

“…I’m not really all that hungry, MK.”

“Yes you are.” He’s even more firm with that response. “I’m not asking if you’re hungry, I’m telling you. It’s been three days, Y/N. This isn’t healthy for you at all!

MK doesn’t give you a further chance to respond, just scooping you up and and walking off to the kitchen. This might’ve been harder for him, once… but you’ve lost a lot of weight during your stay.

Sitting you into a cushioned chair, MK’s humming quietly as he prepares the noodles. A well-learned cook, he’s picked up on a lot from his lessons with Pigsy- who is often stern with his training. But, even in something such as this generational cooking, you can see the kindness and gentleness MK possesses.

So you stay there in the chair, almost patiently waiting at the table. The most you do is quietly drum your fingers against the wood. Although you’re not too big on eating lately, you aren’t really brave enough to argue with the members of your ‘family’.

“It’s ready!” He slides you a bowl of steaming, delicious noodles- the savory and herbal scent alone is enough to make your mouth water. He nudges the bowl closer. He’s clearly put a lot of care and effort into making the meal, and he’s not leaving until you’ve tried it. The kid looks determined, and a little bit upset?

Maybe he’s just that worried.

With a sigh, you reluctantly tuck into the noodles and take a few deep bites.

It’s not that they’re bad. In fact, they’re objectively pretty delicious. You just… haven’t had much of an appetite lately.

MK beams at you, watching with a soft smile as you eat. “Do you like it? I made as close to Pigsy’s as I could!” He gently nudges the bowl closer, trying to get you to eat even more.

“…it’s good,” you grudgingly confess, quickly finding that your words come out slurred. There’s… something herbal in here, I think…?”

“It’s a dash of ginger for warmth and good sleep,” he says, voice cheery to mask his omission. A half-truth reaches your ears, MK leaving out the real ingredient: a ground sprig of valeriana jatamansi, it’s sedating impact enhanced by growing beside the mystical rivers of Flower Fruit Mountain.

And if you had known that, you would know that Sun Wukong had coordinated this plan with MK, giving him the herb to grind down and add to your bowl.

And after just half the bowl, your eyes are fluttering and the chopsticks waver in your hand.

He rushes forward, practically tearing the wooden sticks out of your hands before standing you back on your feet. “Bed. Now.” His voice is uncharacteristically firm, urgent. He’s a lot more serious now, almost desperate. His worry is evident in his tone.

You try to dig your feet into the wooden flooring, attempting to pull free from his grasp. “N-no, I won’t. L-let… let go.”

MK’s grip is a surprisingly strict one, though he’s quite soft while doing it. The kid’s strength only really comes into play when someone’s health or safety is at risk. He’s stronger than he looks. More importantly, he’s worried enough to drop his usual gentleness. His grip tightens, dragging you behind him as he moves onwards.

He leads you; not up the stairs to your room, but across the house to Wukong’s.

“Heh. Finally got ‘em to eat something, bud? Good job,” he says, lightly ruffling his student’s hair. “I’m proud of you.”

And MK nearly buckles at the knees, overloaded with warmth and happiness. It’s only the fact that he’s holding you now that keeps the boy from throwing himself into the affection being offered.

“Alright, both of you- get in and get comfy. We’re sleeping in tonight.”

MK tosses your nearly unconscious form to his mentor, who then tucks you in nice and tight. “There’s one of my kids… come on bud, you’re up next!”

With a gleeful laugh, the affection-seeking boy squishes in beside you, throwing his arms all around your waist.

Wukong’s chest rumbles with a deep and contented purr, nuzzling you against his fur. He bears the scent of peaches and wildflowers, sun-beaten grass and sweet honey. “Hey there, cub.” The simian’s voice is both gentle and warm, the same as the arms he wraps around you. His entire body radiates a sense of protection and safety.

“Feeling sleepy?” The Great Sage asks, one ginger-furred hand hand cupping your cheek so he can tilt your head to him.

Without a word, the simian studies your face, wearing a sad, fond smile. He can sense your unrest, your deep sorrow, the anguish of your separation from the home you adored. His ancient heart aches with worry. He’s wanted to hug you, to hold you, to ease your sadness with the power of his embrace for so long now…

And all it took to get you here was one little herb…

It’s certainly not something that he or his student will ever regret.

[alavestineneas]

Home

pairing: catohadley x fem!reder

summary: He doesn't know why her flower dress comes to mind—it's a contrast to the hard truth of reality. He lost a friend here, but Cato would need to learn how to lose much more if he wanted to get the hell out of here. And he does, no matter the price. warnings: canon-typical violence; mentions of meat (as in reader owns a butcher shop); trauma and poverty word count: 6k

author's note: hello beautiful people! In honour of my birthday, I am posting about this bad boy today. Hope you like it - it was such a fun thing to write! Enjoy!

The stones under his worn boots are changing quickly; they are coloured in all shades of grey, sometimes with funny black dots on their rounded bellies. Cato would stop and collect a few if it wasn't for the important task at hand: Mom sent him to the butcher's, letting him take the thinly metaled coins for the first time, which are now snugly stored in the pockets of his raggy coat. He has the order memorized; Mom always buys the same. Three pig legs for the soup, which are then added to the porridge she cooks, and two bottles of the cheapest milk on the counter. It's good for the bones in his body, she says, and Cato believes her. Soon, he will start school; he has to be strong to get the chance to try out for the academy.

The butcher's is just around the corner; it's the only shop in their block that is always open. And, although the signboard is already faded, it is still his favourite place to visit. The door opens with a creek, and a small bell over Cato's head sings its cheerful melody. He takes a few steps inside, the colourful counters greeting him with all kinds of meat and sausages. He reads the curved writing on each of the signs carefully, trying out the way the letters come together in words. The sound of rushed steps is the only thing that breaks his mesmerization. They are soon changed by the grunting of the wood chair on the old tiled floor, and then, finally, a head pops up from behind the stands.

''Good afternoon!'' A pair of curious eyes stare at him, a smile missing a few teeth serving as a second greeting. ''What can I do for you today?'' the girl asks, changing her cheerful demeanour to a more serious, business-like tone.

Cato straightens up, his fingers finding the coins. He is a grown-up now; no other four-year-old he knows is allowed to go to the butcher's by themselves. ''I am here to buy meat.''

The girl laughs, her hair shaking with her mirth.

Cato feels the redness creep to his ears—of course, he is here to buy meat; everyone does. ''Why are you behind there anyway?'' he mutters, crossing his hands in front of himself. He thinks the girl should stop now; it's really not nice to laugh at others.

''Grandpa went to trade for bread and left me as the captain here,'' the girl boasts.

''That's a shame.'' Partly because Cato liked Grandpa Marc—he always sneaked a few pieces of candy for him and his brothers at home—and partly because he didn't like the little know-it-all. ''I would like three pig legs and two bottles of the cheapest milk,'' he declares in one breath, careful not to mess up. He isn't sure he can take another wave of her laughter.

''Sure,'' the girl nods, packing the meat in a big brown bag. Cato patiently waits as she moves her chair to reach the milk shelves, stopping before them. ''Which one again?''

''Shirley's.''

The girl doesn't move; the flowers on the back of her dress are still facing him.

''Shirley's,'' he repeats a little louder. Cato feels silly again; he doesn't like the mean girl and the way she teases him. ''Are you stupid? The one with the blue cap is Shirley's.''

''Right,'' she finally grabs it, moving to the register. Her hands work quickly, wrapping the goods and putting them together. ''The meat is this much money, '' she scrambles the numbers on the piece of paper lying nearby, ''and milk is this much.''

Cato goes over the symbols, carefully counting the total in his head. ''Here,'' he says, reaching for the money. ''And you wrote the two here wrong—it should be facing the other way, like a swan.''

''Oh. Sorry about that. Is this with change?'' She points to the colourful coins on the wood.

''Don't you know how to count? You need to give me 50 cents in change.''

''I do!'' she argues, her hand slapping the counter. ''I was just, hm, testing you!''

''Sure. Then why are you giving me two dollars back now?'' Cato raises an eyebrow. Part of him wants to laugh at her, just like she did moments ago. But he doesn't. Instead, he swaps the coins for the right amount, giving her the money back. ''Here you go. All good.''

''Thank you! Have a nice day!''

Cato nods, grabbing the bag and exiting the shop with a light heart. He did what his mom asked him to; she will be very happy to know that. The air is warm, and the soft wind is hitting him right in the face. In no time, Cato is home; the door is never locked. He places the bag on the kitchen table; Mom will see it when she puts the baby to sleep. His third brother - the other two are sleeping on the big bed in the children's room. That used to be his, but now he is a big boy—he sleeps on the couch in the living room, right near the kitchen. He likes it here; the baby's crying is not as loud, and he can see Mom as often as he wants to when she cooks.

There's not much to do right now; it's the ''quiet hours'' in Hadley's house. Usually, Cato would go play outside at this time, but instead, he grabbed the big book from the kids' shelf. There, with big, red letters, are all of the alphabets and numbers. It was his favourite. Cato remembers how mom would sit with him on her lap, her soft finger circling every picture. ''This is one. Look, it has a tiny nose, just like you do! Here, give me your hand—that's one finger you have, little gentleman!''

Cato throws one last glance at the closed door to the parent's room—he decides that mom won't be mad at him if he plays not in front of the house for once—and grabs the book, leaving the still place. This time, he grabs a few of the prettiest rocks on his way—he builds bridges and castles with them in the small creek behind their house. The butcher's is still empty when he gets there; the girl sits on the tall chair, drawing on the paper.

''What are you drawing?'' Cato asks, trying to see, but the counter is too tall for him to reach.

The girl doesn't look surprised to see him here; it's like he never left in the first place. ''It's worms. Papa worm, mama worm, and little worm. They are having dinner.''

''What are they eating? Meat?''

''No,'' she said, shaking her head. ''Meat is expensive; they have no money. They're eating a dirt pie. Here,'' the girl climbs off the chair, sitting down on the floor instead. Cato sits down near her, looking over her shoulder. ''They have small plates and spoons.''

''My dad doesn't like pies. He likes potatoes more.'' Cato thinks meat is better than pies and potatoes, but he doesn't tell Dad that. The girl tells the truth: meat is expensive.

''Where is he? At work?''

''Yeah, at the factory.'' Most people work at the factory—that's what Cato's dad says. They go when it's dark outside and Cato is still sleeping, and they return when the clock shows all zeros. Then, his dad eats while his mom drinks tea, and they whisper about something. ''And yours?''

The girl shrugs. ''I don't have one. It's just Grandpa and me. What is this?'' She points to the book in Cato's hands, and he finally remembers why he came.

''That's my book. It has numbers. Do you want to see?''

The girl beside him nods, and Cato smiles. He opens the book and proudly shows off the beautiful pictures. The girl likes them; she listens carefully to what Cato has to say about each letter. He likes it when he doesn't laugh at him.

-

''Good morning, Grandpa Marc!'' Cato greets the man behind the counter, cutting up yet another piece of meat. It's early, but he already stands in the butcher's, his dad's old bag on his shoulder. They can't be late for the academy.

''I'm coming, I'm coming!'' YN shouts, biting into the apple in one of her hands and tucking in her shirt with the other. ''Bye, Pa, see you!''

They both passed the exam for the academy; only four people from their neighbourhood did. They got the chance only because they were ''exceptional'' students, the only four whose training was free for now. The debt will be paid by them volunteering or after the academy through their future salaries. Cato knows that no one is actually able to pay it off; he will volunteer as soon as possible. YN will go; they agreed to go in different years.

That's how it always was with them—they walked to the academy and home together, trained, and learned together. Cato helped Grandpa in the shop, and YN often looked after his brothers. It was the endless stream of jokes from everyone around—you never saw one without the other, not even on the rating board. That was until year nine.

''I decided I'm not going to sit with you at lunch,'' Cato tells the girl walking beside him on the dusty road.

YN doesn't answer right away; she watches her feet instead. ''Let me guess—you will be with the mayor's son and his pack?''

''As a matter of fact, yes. They are my friends, and they invited me to sit with them.'' It annoys him the tone she is using.

''They are not your friends, Cato. They only do that, so you will volunteer for them when the time comes.'' YN is angry; her hands on the straps of the backpack are tightly clenched.

''So what? I'm going to volunteer anyway, so why not sit with them? There is nothing to do here, and they are always hanging out at movies or something.''

''Oh, so that's what it is about.'' YN stops, turning to him. ''You want to be one of them now.''

''Of course, I fucking do!'' Cato exclaims. ''We are dirt poor, YN. I don't want to live all my life in this shithole.''

YN's face changes; her eyes look at him as if for the first time. ''This is home, Cato. This is where we belong.''

''I don't. And I will find a way out of here, and you can stay in this mud as much as you like, but I will not let you drag me down with you.''

She slaps him. The hit is heavy; they are both trained to take blows, but it stings him more than it should. Cato watches as YN leaves, her quick steps echoing on the empty street in the morning fog. He doesn't know why her flower dress comes to mind—it's a contrast to the hard truth of reality. He lost a friend here, but Cato would need to learn how to lose much more if he wanted to get the hell out of here. And he does, no matter the price.

-

YN can live without him as much as he does, she tells herself. She didn't decide to ruin the friendship, so she won't be the one to apologize, no matter how long the silence lasts. If he thinks that she will run back to him after four months of not talking, he is wrong. YN is fine; she still has two friends at the academy, she still has her grandpa and the beautiful sun above her head. It smiles at her every time she walks home alone, filling in the small gap in her chest with its golden rays. Her new companion.

What she doesn't expect is a group of people in front of the shop; they shout and argue, running around with ice and water in their hands. YN runs too; something happens. Fear rises in her stomach and travels to her throat when she sees the white coat of the doctor standing near the counter, a concerned expression on his face. ''I'm sorry,'' he tells her. YN clutches her bag, trying so hard not to cry as the crowd of familiar faces surrounds her.

He fell while trying to reach for the shelf, and a customer found him unconscious on the floor. Grandpa broke seven bones in his body and damaged his head. They are taking him to the hospital for, god knows, how long. The doctor places a hand on her shoulder; the cost of surgery is covered by the state, but she needs money for the medicine. They don't have any.

YN spends an hour crying into her pillow before pulling herself together—she is alone. It's not some stupid game they play—they pretend to win for years in the generated arenas in some big green boxes—it's life. The most brutal arena of all. So, she does what any fifteen-year-old would do—she washes her face with ice-cold water and grabs the keys from the shop. She has to speak with a few people.

-

The door to Hadley's home is never locked; nobody closes it in their neighbourhood, but YN still knocks out of respect. Cato opens it; she is surprised he is here and not with his new friends. He wants to say something, but YN has no time for him.

''Is your dad home?'' YN asks, trying to look over his shoulder.

Cato nods. ''Come in. Mom, it's YN.'' He shouts, closing the door behind her.

''Ah, YN. How is Grandpa Marc?'' She is cooking something—a big pot boiling with the best smell one could imagine.

The woman's concerned face stirs something in YN, so she fights the urge to cry and swallows her tears instead. ''Alive

''Come sit with us; we were just preparing to eat.''

YN wants nothing more than a plate of something warm, but she declines. She came here not to lessen the portion of someone; nobody here has money to make extra food. ''Thank you, but I need to speak with Mister Janus.''

''Spill it.'' Mr. Janus nods, standing up from the couch.

''Can we speak outside?'' YN asks, feeling a pair of blue eyes on her.

''Of course,'' Mister Janus shares a look with his wife before stepping outside. ''What happened, kid?''

YN takes some air inside her lungs. ''Is there a place for me at the factory for the night shifts?'' The man opens his mouth to argue, but YN is quicker. ''I know I am young, but I am strong from all the training, and I know a lot of useful things. I can reach where most men can't, and I will do anything you ask me to, I promise.''

Mister Janus sighed. ''I know you are good, but what about the academy? Night shift is six to six; you won't have time to get enough sleep and do the homework.''

''I quit the academy.''

''What?'' Mister Janus's face changes. ''YN, why? It's the only chance for you to survive.''

''Work is the only way for me to survive. Poverty and an empty stomach will kill me much faster than some games. I need the job, Mister Janus, please. If you don't give it to me, I will look for it elsewhere.''

The man thinks, his forehead creased with worry. ''Fine, kid. But be careful—get enough rest and don't push yourself too hard. We are here to help if you need us to.''

''Thank you, thank you so much!'' YN smiles, a few tears escaping her eyes. She hugs the man tightly, a glimmer of hope finally appearing. ''Thank you, Mister Janus; I will not let you down!''

Mistes Janus smiles back, patting her back. ''Go before it gets too dark; I'll see you tomorrow at five thirty.''

He watches as YN turns the corner of the street before returning to the warmth of his house. How much do these kids have to endure in this world?

-

YN didn't push herself too hard; she simply did what she was supposed to do. At six, she returned to the shop after the shift at the factory—butcher's opened at eight—so she had two hours to wash the dirt and sweat away with the old basin and a little warm water from the kettle and to master something edible on the stove. When that was done, she would dissect the meat and check the dates on milk bottles; the soon-gone bad would go to the sale section, and the new ones took their place. Then, the doors of the butcher's opened—people still needed to eat, and YN wasn't about to let them starve because of her own ''tiredness.''

The heaviest flow was in the morning, with the shop becoming quieter in the afternoon—that's when she took most of her sleep in, resting her head on the wooden counter and closing her eyes for a second. Oftentimes, customers would find her like this—they gently shook her shoulder and woke her up before ordering. Each time, YN felt shame creep to her cheeks, but each time, no one said a word to her; they just smiled, thanked her, and left the shop with a big brown bag in her hands.

That's how the rest of the year passed, with it becoming slightly easier when Grandpa was finally discharged from the hospital. His right arm didn't move like it used to, and it was hard for him to walk, but it was still better to have someone home to return to. Besides, he insisted on still serving the customers, so YN had an opportunity to sleep in her own bed for a few hours before a new portion of cut meat was delivered.

That's what she thought about standing in the main square in a crowd of children—how much meat she needed to cut before her shift. Grandpa was also here; some man had to hold him up so he wouldn't fall from being on his legs for too long, but he could at least enjoy the fresh air, which YN was grateful about.

The reaping was going quickly; the girl named was from the academy, so they didn't have to go through all that volunteering. YN didn't know her personally, but she saw her a couple of times; she was good with knives. As for the boys, it didn't go as smoothly—some poor eleven-year-old's name was called out, and he burst out crying on the spot.

''I volunteer!'' the voice boomed through the street, and YN turned with everyone to see who it was, although, in her head, she knew the answer.

Cato. He walked to the stage calmly, his legs conquering the steps in no time. He looked determined and happy, but YN knew better—that's what they taught them to present. Ruthless. Bloodthirsty. Killers. She hears distant cries from the crowd behind her—it's probably Miss Hadley. YN clenches her jaw, her teeth grinding together until her head rings. It isn't the time for her to break.

-

Cato can't bear to watch his mother's puffy face as she clenches her arms around him, whispering something like a prayer into his chest. His father is silent, a lonely tear escaping his eye as he holds Cato's youngest brother closer. The twins are also here; both of them are at the academy, so they have a faint idea of what he is doing. They tell him he will win because of how big he is, and that will be very easy. Cato smiles at them reassuringly—if only it were that easy.

''Dad,'' he nods in the direction of his crying mother.

''Come on, darling, you will upset him before the games,'' his father tells her, carefully pulling her way and placing a hand on Cato's shoulder. ''Stay strong, my boy. We will all be rooting for you every second you are in that arena; don't forget that.''

''Thank you, dad. Boys,'' he watches as twins show each other away, trying to get to bed first. He hugs them both; he has two hands for a reason. ''Behave and don't bother mom too much, or I'll have to kick your ass once I get back,'' he whispers into their heads.

The youngest one waves goodbye, blowing him a kiss. Cato smiles, watching his family leave the room. He wants to remember this moment forever, to put it in his pocket, and to never let it go. He knows why he is doing this—for them to have a better chance at life, for his father to finally have a day off, and for his mom to have new pots she secretly gazed at when she thought he wasn't looking.

''Hadley. Seven minutes.'' The peacekeeper announces, opening the door once more, even though Cato doesn't expect anyone else. Well, he hoped she would come—he really wanted her to—but he believed she never would. YN is not the type. Still, she is here. Closing the door behind her, in a simple blue jumpsuit and a nice scarf around her head.

''Hi,'' she nods. ''I came to say goodbye.''

Cato's heart skips a beat—those words hit harder than seeing himself on the big screens, with a tribute written under them. Soon, he may be dead; she will watch him on her small TV in the living room.

YN speaks quickly, almost in a rush. ''I know we don't speak anymore, but I know how you fight—you are capable of winning more than everyone else out there. Please, just don't think too much about what you are doing; just do it, okay?''

''Yeah, I'll try.'' He finds it weird that she doesn't want him to think, but Cato doesn't question why—she does know him better than anyone, having been training for a lot of years side by side.

''You have to return; your family needs you.''

''Don't worry too much about them; we already got the money for my volunteering from the mayor. They will be fine; dad can still work, and twins could help out. You have enough on your shoulders as it is. How is Grandpa Marc?''

''Better. He can't move like he used to and still needs help with walking and eating, but other than that, it's good. Although he is devastated that I didn't let him handle the meat, you should've seen how he tried to sneak a few knives at night.''

Cato's lips turn into a smile. ''That does sound like him.''

''Oh, I almost forgot. Here,'' YN rumbles in her pockets before taking a few pieces of candy out. ''We thought you should have a few.''

''You are kidding me? Lucky-talkies? I haven't had one in ages!''

YN laughs at his excitement, carefully placing the sweets in his hand. ''I know. They are as hard as they used to be; don't chip your tooth; it'll look bad at the promotion.''

Cato chuckles, pocketing the candy before his mentors have a chance to take it away. ''Thanks, YN. For everything.''

''I'll give you as much as you want if you don't die in there. Just try to stay alive, okay?''

''Easier said than done. But I'll try.''

YN smiles. Their time is up. The peacekeeper opens the door for her, his gun tangling dangerously around his neck. She doesn't turn around as she exits; her walk is steady. Cato thinks that he caught her shoulders shaking, but it could be just a twist of his tired brain.

-

The days after that are agony. YN doesn't know if it was her tiredness that finally caught her in a narrow corner or the grim reality of her life—it was definitely both. Even her favourite silent friend didn't cheer her up like it used to—the sun shone almost violently, burning her skin and leaving her body dizzy. The rotten cycle was now worsened by the non-stopping playing of what seemed to be a thousand screens, with stomach-curling screams echoing from time to time. They were everywhere—at the shop and their small flat above it, on the main square she passed each day, and, what was worse, they were at the factory, where she couldn't pretend to watch even for a second.

The work she does is heavy—carving the stones on the machinery bigger than her; her muscles were constantly aching, begging for a break. The suit she wore was too tight and too hot, and the annoying voice of the announcer blared through the speakers, stealing the air in her lungs. YN wanted nothing but to make it stop—for the world to go silent and still, even if just for a moment. But wonders didn't happen with people like her, so she continued to work, pushing herself through her gritted teeth.

''Welcome, welcome to what seems to be the last day in this beautiful arena!'' The blue-haired man spoke, his accent making YN's head hurt even more. ''To remind our dear viewers all across the Panem, here is a small recap from my colleague and sometimes friend, Claudius.''

''Thank you, Caesar. We are left with only three tributes on day eighteen—the first, of course, being Cato from District 2. His strategy has proved efficient so far; no doubt, he is one of the best contestants we've seen in a long time. And then, much to my surprise, a pair of tributes from District 12 are still in the games—their love story truly captivated the audience. Let's see what this day, or should we say night, brings us today and who will have the odds in their favour in the end.''

YN doesn't react to their comments; it feels wrong to compare herself to the kids out there, being selfish enough to think she deserves a break. She should be counting her lucky stars; it isn't her there, going through the bodies of the competitors one by one. Cato received body armour from the sponsors; that was good. He also lost his district partner; YN remembers her now; she was in his ''new'' friend group. She feels sorry for the girl; her death was awful, and her screaming Cato's name will forever be engraved in YN's memory.

''Aha, here he is! Our gladiator from District 2—he is running from—what's that?—wolves! Look at that speed—he surely is a good runner!''

YN turns her attention to the giant screen—surely enough, Cato is running from some monstrous creatures. He is bloodied; his skin is covered in bruises. YN prays it all will stop soon and he will get home safe. He doesn't even flinch when the arrow shot by twelve hits his chest; he just keeps running towards the Cornucopia.

''Please,'' YN whispers. He can't die, not when he has survived for so long.

''Look at them—all of the tributes managed to get on the Cornucopia just in time! Oh, here is a clever move from Cato's side: having Peeta in a headlock is a classic move. Now, he is sort of a ''human shield''. Brilliant!''

"Go on, shoot.'' Cato's voice booms through the speakers, sending shivers down YN's back. She missed hearing his voice, but it didn't even sound like him anymore. Like a stranger talking from the inside of what looked like her friend. '' And we both go down, and you win. Go on. I'm dead, anyway! I always was, right? I didn't know that until now. Isn't that what they want, huh?''

What the fuck was he doing? YN's mind raced—why won't he just kill him and get it over with? She doesn't notice how her hands begin to shake and how everyone else in the room seems to be eyeing her.

''No! I can still do this. I can still do this. One more kill. It's the only thing I know how to do. Bring pride to my district. Not that it matters."

''Kill him! For fuck's sake, just kill him!'' YN stands up, her nerves getting the best of her. Her voice echoes—she didn't mean to say it out loud.

''No talking!'' The peacekeeper in front of her shouts, his hand steady on the gun.

YN turns to face him slowly. Who was he to tell her to shut up when it was her friend who was dying right before her eyes? She feels her hands clench into fists; she will be able to take him down in a fight, maybe even kill him. YN was willing to try, at least.

''She won't talk no more,'' one of the older men in the group mutters, his voice bitter. ''Sit down, child.''

YN wants to argue, wants to scream or run until the bullet catches up to her, but she doesn't. What use would her dead body be to her grandpa? So she sits down, biting her cheek until her mouth fills with a familiar iron taste. Everything she wants to say, she tastes in her throat instead.

''Wait, can we zoom in on here?'' One of the announcers asks. ''Here, yes, what exactly are they staring at? It fell from Cato's pocket, right?''

'''Well, Claudius, it looks like a candy wrap to me. The real question is: why does Cato have one in the first place? He didn't strike me as a big sweets fan. ''

''Well, whatever it is, it seems to have changed his mind—look at how masterfully he throws Peeta down, like a feather! Oh, and now he is lurching for the girl on fire!''

A loud snap is heard through the speakers, and the girl falls, lifeless. YN covers her face with her hands, the dirt from them leaving a mark on her sweaty face. A choir of relieved exhales rings through the room.

''Ladies and gentlemen, I believe we have our 75th victor!''

- 

It's hard, the first thing Cato realizes. Being here, breathing in the air that feels like spikes inside his lungs—everything was supposed to be easy, but it's so far from that. They have a nice house now; it has a room for each of his brothers, and even twins don't have to share anymore. His dad doesn't work; it's not fitting for victor's family to do so, so he takes up gardening instead. If a few years ago Cato heard that his father would ramble about how badly roses had grown on this soil, he would've checked himself into a mental asylum.

He isn't very loved in the Capitol, but his mentors said it was for the best. Cato believes them, but it stings a little. He wanted glory but got disgusted instead. It was not a fair trade, but at least his debt is paid, as is his brothers'. Money could buy a lot of things, just like he predicted, but it couldn't buy him peace. Cato has nothing ahead of him; he can't study like his peers do, can't work, can't live, and pretend it didn't happen. It very much did—when he closes his eyes, he can still smell the blood on his hands.

That's why he is here instead of Victor's village, eating ice cream on the empty main square in the warm evening. It's funny to think how he wanted to try it, collecting the money his father let him have for almost a year before ordering his first chocolate scoop. It was the tastiest thing he had ever eaten; now, it tasted just like every other one.

He hears the nearing footsteps—the people are returning from the day shift in the factories. Cato nods to a few of them—old neighbours, parents of classmates, or dad's friends. The men are all different—short and tall, ginger, blond and brunette—but they all bear the same expression that Capitoleers called ''a district 2 glare'' once. Cato used to get angry when he heard it, but now his face is no different—the word is a heavy thing to endure.

His eyes drift to the only person looking up and not on the road ahead—of course, it's YN. She thinks about something only she and the sun know, her steps mirroring those of the people ahead. One of the men notices him watching; he gently shoves her shoulder, whispering something in her ear before pointing in the direction of his seat. Suddenly, Cato wants to hide the ice cream in his hand and run away, but he doesn't.

''Enjoying your victory, Mister Hadley?'' Her voice is loud and filled with teasing, and a few men snicker at them.

Cato isn't angry; he deserves it, quite frankly. ''Always was known for the sweet tooth,'' he shrugs. ''As a matter of fact, are you free any time soon?'' He asks when the crowd is far enough away.

YN raises an eyebrow at him. ''Why is that? You know I work.''

''I was hoping you and your grandpa could come by sometime. Mom is awfully lonely, and the boys would love to see you, too.''

She nods. ''I am free on Sunday, but Grandpa is still a little shy about eating in front of people.''

''I'll ask mom to cook a soup then—it's better?'' He would cook the damn soup himself if it meant seeing her for longer than five minutes. If it meant not being alone in that house, that reeked of the arena.

''Yes, I think we can do that. What about 12? We could be a little late with all that walking.''

''Thank you; it's perfect.''

YN smiles at him. For the first time since he won, someone smiled at him. Cato smiles back, although he is sure it comes out more as a grin. YN doesn't notice or pretends to do so.

- 

''Oh, come in! Janus, come right down; the guests are here!''

YN and her grandpa are greeted with Miss Hadley's voice, her warm hands wrapping first around her, and then the older man. YN smiles; she missed just sitting down for a meal without having to worry about how much money she was going to need for the next one. The boys have grown. They shout, each trying to be the first to show her their own rooms and the cool things they have. YN tries not to get lost in the maze of toys, balls, books, and a thousand other different things, while Grandpa talks with Mr. Janus.

When the boys start to embark on what feels like a fifth circle around the house, Miss Hadley puts an end to it. ''That's enough! YN, darling, come sit here—what would you like to eat?''

The table is full of different things. There are so many that they could eat for a few weeks and be full. YN doesn't think she saw that many vegetables and fruits in her life. She asks for what everyone is having and is happy to have her plate full. Grandpa also seems to be enjoying himself; he insists on wearing his best shirt for the occasion and now listens attentively to what the twins have to say. They make a good team, YN thinks—twins finally found free ears that are not yet tired of them, and there is nothing that Grandpa loves more than a good story.

When the dinner is over, YN speaks, talking to Miss Hadley beside her. ''Thank you for the invitation; your house is just lovely.''

''Cato made us clean every corner of it before you came—I didn't even have time to play outside!'' The youngest boy whines, pouting slightly.

YN chuckles as she watches colour gather at Cato's ears, his eyes glued to the dish in front of him. ''Well, it was definitely worth it—I had the most marvelous time with you here. And the food was delicious! But I am afraid we have to go; Grandpa should walk when it's still light outside.''

''We will take you home,'' Cato announces, nodding to the twins to put on their shoes. They do so happily, grabbing them and their jackets before Grandpa has a chance to stand up and stick to his side like glue.

The evening is pleasant; the wind is quite chilly, but Cato doesn't mind. The only sound on the street is twins arguing over who will help Grandpa Marc with his cane for the next two minutes.

''Thank you for coming,'' he says, looking at the woman walking beside him.

''Of course. We had a good time, - I hope you did too. How's life been? We haven't talked in a while.''

''Good,'' Cato lies. ''And yours?''

''Better. Since your dad quit, I got the day shift; it pays better, and I can finally get rid of those horrible dark circles.''

Cato nods. ''I've been thinking a lot about our past these days, especially our childhood. It feels like a lifetime ago.''

''Things change,'' YN shrugs. ''We've grown and become different people since then. I would've never imagined working at the factory, but here I am. And you win the games—that was your dream.''

''Don't you miss it? How easy were things back then?''

YN smiles. ''They never were easy, I think; we just couldn't understand them properly. Besides, not much changed, if you think about it.''

''Maybe not for you.''

''Why?'' YN turns to look at him.

Cato swallows. ''YN, they made me different. The games, all those kills—they changed me.''

''You did what you had to survive. It doesn't matter now that you are here.''

''You think I don't notice how people tiptoe around me now? How can Mom stand to look at me for more than a minute? How do boys try to avoid me at all costs? And dad—he doesn't even speak to me! ''

YN is silent. Cato curses in his mind—he shouldn't have said that. He takes a deep breath. ''I'm sorry. It just feels weird. It's like I don't have a home to return to and can't get into a new one. Just hanging there, mid-air.''

''When Grandpa was in the hospital, that's how it felt. I was too young to be alone, but there was no choice but to watch as everything I once loved fell into ruins. I was supposed to be going to movies, partying, and sneaking out, not juggling the bills from medication and the shop. But life decided otherwise. So, I built my own home within myself—one that nothing could tear down or take away.''

''I don't think there is anything left to build on. I'm not like you; everything anyone sees when they look at me is a monster .''

''I don't.'' YN stops. ''I see the boy who brought me a pretty big book with pictures so I could give the change correctly; I see a man who volunteered for his family to have a chance at a better life. I see you, real you, not the role mentors or Capitol made you play. Just Cato.''

''Can I hug you?'' His voice is barely above a whisper.

YN doesn't answer - she just takes a step closer into his arms, resting her head on his shoulder.

''I'm sorry; I am so sorry for everything I've done," Cato mutters, his hands trembling as he holds onto YN tightly. ''I should've said it sooner. ''

''It doesn't matter now. We survived this; we are still here, you and I.''

Cato nods; his tears mix with hers, pooling in patches on his shirt. They are different—children who were forced to grow up too early in a world that wasn't for them. ''I think I never lost it—my home. It was always here, with you, on this street. Isn't it funny? All those years of searching, only to return here, where we truly belong?''

''The butcher's, you mean? If you wanted more candy, you could've just asked,'' YN smiles, whipping away her red eyes.

-

''Fucking finally,'' an aged voice mutters from behind the corner.

''Grandpa Marc!'' the twins turn to him, surprised.

The old man just smiles, his wrinkled face appearing younger with joy. ''Don't tell YN I said that. She'll never let me live it down."

The twins giggle, their happy laughter echoing on the street. A few moments later, Grandpa Marc joins in, his breathy laugh adding to the chorus. It's not the first time the street leading to the butcher's was woken up by sounds of joy, and he hoped it wouldn't be the last.

[panchulien]

I saw your ask. So.

Makarov spitting on his shoe and asking Nolan to “wax it” aka lick it clean? Eh? Sorry if it’s too much

Never too much, Anon. Here's a lil' something, never written something like this before but I hope it is to your liking. :) It's also almost 4 am so, expect complete dogshit.

Makarov knows Andrei would do anything for him. Anything. The man would rip his heart out and hand it to him if Makarov willed it. That's how devoted he was. And Makarov appreciates it, he really does. He's never had someone like that before. Sure, Ivan once got close, but his time was done and it was long since he was buried underground.

Makarov isn't a cruel man, no, he takes care of what's his and he's a fairly reasonable, disciplined boss. He pushes his soldiers to their limits, ends their contract or their life if they fail to meet his standards.

But with Andrei there seems to be no limit. The man has done every dirty thing under the sun, gave up so much of himself, even endured the worst of tortures and still didn't break. That's why Makarov never doubted his decision in making him his second-in-command. The man was unbreakable, he was too stubborn, too dedicated. He was someone worthy of Makarov's attention, and eventually, his affection.

So, it was only natural that they got closer over time. The soldiers don't question it, they would never dare, and everyone just pretends nothing changed, when so much has. They turn a blind eye to Makarov's public displays of affection, as subtle as they are, or his genuine praises and sometimes teasing remarks towards his second-in-command. The business is well, their Commander is well, so there's no reason to worry.

They're professionals, of course, so the soldiers don't even know the tip of the iceberg. What really goes on behind closed doors. What a sweet and attentive lover Makarov is, or how Nolan is so obedient and passionate to the point of worshipping him, although that much has always been clear. Nolan is the only one who gets to see that side of him. And he feels very lucky for that.

That is not to say Makarov goes easy on him, no, he's still very much his boss, and the same rules apply to Nolan. Makarov wants absolute order and perfection, and Nolan is all too happy to strive towards it everyday.

So, when Makarov calls him into his office one day, Nolan doesn't make him wait. The text reads, 'My office, now.' at 17:43 and Nolan is at his door 17:44.

He finds Makarov sitting on his chair by the desk, his posture relaxed, in a sharp suit and black leather shoes. Nolan's heart briefly squeezes in his chest at the sight before him, Makarov truly looks gorgeous.

''You called, sir?'' Nolan asks as he steps inside. He doesn't drop his composure completely, still acknowledging him as his boss as he carefully approaches and stands before him.

''Andrei. Please, take a seat.'' Makarov smiles up at him, Andrei can tell it's genuine.

He walks over to the chair across from him, only for Makarov to stop him with a hand gesture. Andrei pauses, simply raising an eyebrow as he watches Makarov motion to the floor with his hand. Right in front of him, in between his knees. Oh.

Andrei is a little confused, but he obliges anyway. Certainly not the strangest thing Makarov has asked him to do, so he doesn't question it. He never does.

So he walks over, slowly kneeling before his boss and taking his place on the floor. Brings his hands together on his lap and looks up expectantly, awaiting his next command.

Makarov simply reaches over to grab his cheek with a gentle hand, caressing it slowly. ''Always so obedient.'' He praises Andrei, watching how his pupils dilate. He looks so pretty on the floor like this, his blue eyes bright with so much love and adoration that Makarov feels he could get lost in them. He quickly pulls himself together though, because that's not what he wants to do tonight. No, he has other plans than making sweet love to the man right then and there.

''Do you know why I called you in here tonight?'' Makarov asks.

Nolan shakes his head, he feels uneasy for a moment, feels like he should know the answer. But, really, with a boss like Makarov it could be anything.

''You see, we will have guests later tonight. Investors from a foreign country.'' He starts explaining, and Nolan immediately catches up. They weren't due another two days, though. Andrei speaks up,

''But, sir-''

''Change of plans. They're coming tonight.'' Makarov cuts him off, ''And as you know, these people are very important for our funding. We've been waiting for this deal for a while.'' Andrei simply nods, he's been there every step of the way. This wasn't what he was expecting, but he's happy to adjust to the news.

He pulls his hand away from Andrei's face, not missing the look of disappointment on his face at the loss of contact as he continues, ''We have to be on our top game tonight, Andrei, and I want to look good in front of our guests.''

Andrei wants to argue, to tell him that he already looks perfect but Makarov acts faster than him. He leans forward, looking down at his leather shoes and to Andrei's surprise, he spits on them. Andrei looks down in surprise, not having expected that, then lets out a gasp as Makarov harshly grabs his face. ''I want you to clean them up.'

Andrei takes a moment to process, his heart beating faster at the sudden gesture as his thoughts start racing. Makarov can't help but let out a soft huff of laugh at his confusion, Andrei looks so adorable trying to put the pieces together. But he's not about to go easy on Andrei, so he presses on. ''Did I stutter, my sweet Andryusha?''

Andrei quickly pulls himself together like a good soldier, looking up at his commander with determination in his eyes and a slight flush in his cheeks. ''No, sir.'' He clears his throat before looking down, and finally getting to work.

Makarov's eyes widen, he would be lying if he said he wasn't expecting at least some resistance or questioning. But Andrei, as obedient as ever, goes along without a word no matter how ridiculous or humiliating the task is. It makes something shift in Makarov's chest, sets something on fire in his stomach. He doesn't deserve this man. He doesn't get to dwell on that thought though, as he gets pulled from his thoughts with Andrei's movement below him.

The man now on all fours, leaning down with his face next to his commanders shoes; gives it an experimental lick. Makarov wants to burn this sight to his memory forever. His collar suddenly feels too hot, his heart beating faster.

Andrei seems very focused on his task, determined to do his best as he gives the shoes in front of him a proper cleaning. Makarov's spit now mixed with Andrei's spread all over the shiny leather, Andrei keeps up his licking. Makarov can hear the wet sounds of his tongue and his panting, and it almost drives him insane. So eager to please, to complete the task he's given. Makarov's dick grows harder in its confines, the sight sending a shiver down his spine.

Andrei finally finishes cleaning up and he slowly straightens his back to look up at his commander. He hasn't said a word once or complained. Simple and efficient, getting the job done just how Makarov liked it. Andrei licks his lips one final time as if he just tasted something delicious and it's the most beautiful sight Makarov has ever seen. The flush on his cheeks, his wet lips and his big blue eyes almost throw Makarov over the edge. It's too much for him. He spreads his legs slightly further before he can help it, squirming in his seat, and doesn't miss the way Andrei's gaze flicks over his crotch.

''Done, sir. All cleaned up.'' Andrei smiles at him. He's teasing, the bastard, as if he didn't just lick his boss' shoes clean. Makarov is impressed once again by how charming his right-hand man is. Takes a moment to find the right words, his hand reaching to rest on top of the mans head. ''Very good, Andrei, very good.'' He returns the smile, all warm and appreciative. ''Guess I should reward you for doing such a good job, huh?''

Makarov doesn't miss the way Andrei's eyes narrow, something close to desperation and lust apparent in his blue eyes. They both know exactly what the reward is, and Andrei is soon to find out as Makarov tightens his grip on his hair and pulls his head forward to where he wants him the most.

[aribluedreams]

Blood in the water

aribluedreams

Summary: Where Malachai’s Parker downfall wasn’t only for power, but for love.

Parts: 1 - 2 - 3

Warnings: magic user, mentions of death, blood, and other triggering things. Family issues. Bad fathers. Long one shot. Malachai in general (love him tho).

Masterlist!

“Oh, look at my pretty lady”

Kai had never lost a single feeling for her, even after everything that had happened to them. So it was no surprise that he said that with all the feelings in the world, smiling to his girl’s direction when she appeared in the big kitchen. She seemed calmer than the previous day, especially after taking a shower and changing out her clothes. Now she had a little more of her own style, probably because she took clothers from her old room in the house next door. Of course, to him it seemed to be quite a problem to set his eyes on anything that wasn’t her, leading her to smile with amusement while sitting against the table, ignoring Bonnie’s presence completely.

She was their new addition.

“Why am I doing here anyway?”

“Ugh” Kai rolled his eyes at the interrumption “Can’t I have a moment in peace with my girl?”

“No if you don’t tell me what’s going on”

“This is where we grow up” the other girl didn’t even look at Bennet “This is Malachai’s house, the one next to this is mine… I guess we’ve been always really close”

“You can bet on it, baby” he smiled because she never calls him by a nickname “It's not like we like to be here anyway, but it's our best option right now”

“Why?”

Bonnie didn���t know when to shut up.

“We have been counting eclipses since we were trapped on this empty planet” Kai spoke when he realice his girl no longer wanted to do it “And according to our records, we’ve been here 6771 repetitive supernatural days.”

Even for them it was too much. Because yes, both could be alone and do everything they wanted without having to be interrupted or looked at badly by anyone. But that didn’t take away the fact that the day were always the same and that things didn’t always work out for them. Besides, they wanted revenge. They wanted to get out of there just to get their revenge already.

“In the real world, to which we will not return because you hid your magic in the teddy bear, today is Malachai’s favourite day of the year" the girl spoke with a bit of sarcams while taking her plate of food “Thanks giving… you know what we used to do in thanksgiving? Hide in my basemant to make out while everyone was busy having fun”

“We did have fun too, baby” Kai winked at her playfully “Making out with you in peace made me feel like christmas”

“We had a lot of time to make out in peace after that” she shake her head amuse “And I guess we’ll have many more now after what this idiot pull”

“Don’t call me an idiot” Bonnie looked at her irritated “And why do you have me here if you don’t like me?”

“I’m not really sure” Kai shrugged like it was nothing “I think it’s because we can finally show all this to someone” to show her their own personal hell “We were from two different covens but we were allies. Do you know what that meant? That we shared everything. Houses on the same field, same protection spells, eveything.

And everything seemed to include a relationship.

“God, you made yourself the best chef I’ve ever met”

His girlfriend said, savoring the dish he made, and changing the topic for a bit, not wanting to go that way. Cooking was something they had to actually learned over the years after spending so much time alone and not being able to depend on anyone. Although, to be honest, he did much beter than her in that. Which is why he used to cook for the two of them every night, sometimes making things she though he got from a récipe books.

“Thank you my love” he winked at her again “Always happy to serve you”

She giggle, shaking her head in amusement as he wrapped his around the back of her chair in a relaxed manner. All under the watchfull eye of Bonnie Bennet, who certainly believed everything they said about their relationship. Maybe they were both compulsive liars who would do anything to save themselves. But even then, there were things that couldn’t be denied. And one of them was the way they treated each other with so much love.

“My magic is gone, so we’ll be stuck here forever” Bonnie tried to get away from them anyway “Why don’t we split the world in two? You guys in one side, and I take the other?"

"Fine, just eat your food and then you can go” Kai petended to think about it while sipping from his glass “But… don’t you want to hear the rest of our story?”

“I read the newspaper” the witch thought she knew everything “You killed your siblings and one of your brothers in law, and the coven sent you two to this prison”

“Our family sent us to this prison” the other girl said almost in a whisper “My father, who though I was too powerfull to live. My brother, who wanted my magic for himself”

Truth is, she never heard her talked in that way. But Kai did. Kai knew that was real, where a part of her was still hurting from what has been done to them. A pain that turned into a thirst for revenge at the end, when she realized that she couldn’t trust anyone but herself and him, because the rest just betrayed her as if nothing matter.

“My father treated me like garbage for 22 years and then locked me here” Malachai sighed as he watched her put her plate aside “My father in law, who wanted to kill her because he knew what she could do, hid her for days from me.

“It was as if their children didn’t matter to them” his girlfriend rest her face against his shoulder “He wanted to kill me… and he would have done it if he didn’t know that releasing my magic to the void would destroy everthing in it’s path”

The Coven always comes first.

That was the general rule for both.

“I don’t understand” Bonnie stopped them for a second “Weren’t you together when it happened?”

“No, Jo and I were trying to merge” Kai said after leaving a kiss on his girl forehead “And she was running through the woods, trying to get away from her family”

“But we both felt the other”

Malachai bit his tongue without her noticing, indicating it was true. But Bennet notice, leading her to think that perhaps he had it much worse than her. Because she had suffered the pain throughout her body, screaming like there was no tomorrow to try to free herself from that horrible sensation.

But Kai… Kai had to listen to her, feeling helpless that he couldn’trun to her like his mind was begging him to do. He just fall, with his girl’s screams in the background, and a suffering inside him that was imposible to reverse.

“My plan was to use the power that I took from my sister to take my place as leader and take what we deserve” Kai couldn’t help but explain his part idea to both of them “I needed the magic to find her and put her into safety…. Guess they found her before me”

His girlfriend sighed softly, feeling the pain as if it were hers too. Even Bonnie thought she could do it as she walked them to the front of the house. Where they were supposed to show her where that happened, only to realice that trusting them was the worst thing she could do. Because, looking innocent as they walked hand in hand next to her, they did exactly what their parents did to them.

Leave her there all alone.

[natasharswifey]

It almost worked

Agatha Harkness x Rio Vidal

Summary:

Being a witch is difficult

Being alone is difficult

Being Agatha Harkness is difficult

(Some Agatha Angst as if we haven't already gotten enough)

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A/N: This is kinda OOC, please don't throw tomatoes 😔. It was also posted on my Ao3

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Tags: interrupted suicide attempt, grief, hurt/comfort

Agatha stares out over her balcony.

It was late, and cold, and she'd had enough wine to make her head clearer then usual. Being able to think about what was going on in her head didn't ever end well.

It was just another one of those nights. Those nights where her mind wandered. Sometimes it was hard to remember those moments where she held Nicky in her arms.

His cherub cheeks and deep brown eyes looking into her soul, a constant reminder she still had one, his small hand curling around hers.

How he had looked so happily at his mothers, content to simply be in their presence.

Had he looked so joyfully at her when she was taking him away? Had he even realised?

With every precious frame of memory that faded, another piece of herself felt lost to the vast sea of time.

Perhaps this was why witches seeked covens. She remembered sisterhood, a deep understanding and acceptance of one another. It had held the place where her mother's affection should have been.

It had felt good, until… everything.

Agatha knew what happened that night wasn't her own doing, she had tried to tell them, to warn them. Despite her mother's calloused approach to her execution, she didn't want to hurt her. To hurt any of them.

The digital clock on the dresser by her window read 2:00. Another hour and any of her efforts to weaken herself enough not to survive the drop from her balcony would be futile.

But she still found herself waiting. For something, anything to happen. Agatha didn't remember the last time she found herself doing this, waiting so patiently for a miracle.

Even in her youth she knew that nothing good was ever bound to come her way by sitting around expecting it to fall in her lap.

Tonight she couldn't help herself, like a tall child with her legs dangling over a rooftop, hoping to catch a glimpse of some mythical creature parents made up as an excuse to spoil children.

But tonight the universe took pity on Agatha Harkness, which was only fair considering. Unfortunately, that pity came in the form of a familiar face that wasn't so welcome.

“Well, this is a little awkward.”

Agatha’s head whips around and she finds her feet in an instant. “What are you doing here?”

“You practically called…” Rio cautions a step closer. “It's been a while.”

“I was hoping we could have kept it that way.”

“Oh, really? So that wasn't you that sunk the ‘unsinkable’ ship?”

Sinking the Titanic wasn't something she had actually planned on doing, but Rio always knew just how to get under her skin.

Everything felt like a game with her, and with them both being so competitive, their little ‘games’ would often get out of hand.

Rio reaping a few extra souls here, Agatha causing a few tragedies there. It had been going on for so long even with their level of pettiness it was hard to keep score.

“You have no proof.”

“Real mature, Aggie.”

Agatha scoffs, “Well if you came here to reap me then you wasted your gas money, you've completely killed the mood.”

“That sounds like one of your compliments.”

Fuck.

“Don't flatter yourself.” Agatha closes the door to her balcony and sits on a chair in the corner of her room.

“I've missed you.”

“Could've fooled me.” She mutters, although they both know she's lying to herself.

“I still think about us, you know”

“We were... fun.” Agatha replies reluctantly

“We still are.”

Rio is hesitant to leave, but she knows their paths will cross again.

They are eachother's constant, so entangled in the other their worlds are almost askew when they're apart.

One can only stay teetering on the edge for so long.

Notes

If any of this stuff hit too close to home there's a bunch of websites where you can talk to people, or maybe try talking to a loved one, stay safe <3

If projecting onto characters was a crime I would get the electric chair.

The titanic reference came from tumblr which I so desperately need to get off of but oh well.

Title was taken from 'It almost worked' by Tv girl. Hope u liked!!!

[the-chosen-fanfiction]

Gentile. | Chapter XLII

Quintus confronts you about your behaviour whenever Atticus is mentioned. Your body gets ready for labour.

Chapter list

Something is amiss; no letter from Rome has arrived yet, and you know that Lucius would never leave you without any kind of response for such a long time, even if it is the shortest of messages to update you on Lucilla’s condition. You don’t dare to ask Quintus about it, not wanting to risk unnecessary wrath over yourself by accusing him of omitting correspondence, although it would not be beyond him.

“Writing a letter again?” Your husband has applied perfume under his ears and on the insides of his wrist with larger quantities than usual, causing you to involuntarily gulp behind your cup as you take a sip of water. The cistern has been fixed by Gaius and Simon, so owing to their hard labour, you tend to drink more of it now that the servants don’t have to walk into the open fields outside of the city under a glaring sun. 

“Lucius hasn’t responded to my previous one yet,” you say, “Perhaps that it got lost somewhere, so I’m making sure that he will receive it.” 

Quintus rolls his eyes as he slides his freshly cleaned and recently sharpened gladius into the sheath on his hip, the steel dangerously ringing a little as he clicks it into place. He takes his magistrate’s neckchain and slides it over his head, securing it into place; a sign he still proudly wears in his duty as Praetor. You observe him getting ready for yet another workday as he completely seems to ignore your concerns about your brother not replying to your letter, his gaze averted as he readjusts the deep red sash on his shoulder, tugging it into place. 

“Could you get it sent out for me later?” you try to get a reaction out of him.

“Sure,” he states, “Just stop by my office whenever you are ready. Speaking of which, I’d prefer you sit with me today.” Quintus finally looks at you, something dangerous in his gaze. “I can’t be too careful with you nowadays. For all I know, you’re going to run off and get involved with Jews again.” 

You swallow the bile creeping into your throat as you resist the urge to roll your eyes. If it were up to him, he’d have you locked up in your room by now, and part of you fears that he might do so sometime soon. Turning back to your letter, you let out a shaky breath. “I’ll be with you soon, then.”

“Don’t take too long.” He halts behind your chair and tips up your chin so that you have to look up to face him upside down, and he inspects your face before he hums. For a second, you are afraid that he will press a rough and unforgiving kiss to your lips, but he releases you with a certain strain in his jaw. Tension flickers, and it is definitely not the good kind.

“I’ll be expecting you,” he promises, and leaves you to your writing. 

You dally on writing your letter for as long as you can, until you are sure that he is growing suspicious of your lengthy absence, and after another bathroom break, you find your way to Quintus’ office, an unsealed letter in hand. Upon handing it to him, you sit in the stuffy room and support your stomach as your gaze momentarily lingers on the large map of the Roman Empire hanging on the wall opposite you with an absentminded stare. 

“Do you really think Lucius has time for all this?” Quintus mutters as he holds up the letter with disinterest. “I’m glad that my sisters never send me letters like these. They sound like a waste of time.” 

You swallow at the mocking intonation. “You aren’t as close to them as I am to Lucius.” 

He sighs and puts the letter with his other papers. “Have it your way. I’ll get it sent out later today.” Unconvinced, you hum and take a novel from the bag you have placed on the floor, attempting to get somewhat comfortable in spite of the looming strain between you and your husband, as well as the deep ache in your lower back.

The morning drags on slowly, sweat beading on your forehead and underneath your stomach as the baby twists and turns. You have been experiencing new symptoms, a strange hardening in your belly and phantom contractions lasting for about thirty seconds at a time. Every so often, you flip the page, causing Quintus’ eyes to find you at the mere rustle of paper. He is on edge.

You grit your teeth and hiss as a painful wave shunts through your lower abdomen. Quintus looks up half-exasperated from his work, but his hard expression fades into concern as your book falls from your lap onto the floor. Quintus sits up straighter and leans towards you. “Are you alright?” 

You’d almost believe he’s worried. “Is the baby coming?” Of course not. You shake your head at his question without letting your discomfort show too much on your face. He hums and turns back to the paperwork in front of him. He hasn’t been out for fieldwork lately, apparently too busy with administrative tasks around Capernaum. Sifting through documents seems to be all he is doing these days, his patience growing thinner. You haven’t dared to ask him about it yet, but you doubt it is good news. 

When your pain seems to visibly subdue, Quintus stands and walks over to one of the side tables, grabbing the carafe of wine and pouring two chalices full to the brim. Taking them in his hands, he heads your way and offers one in your direction. You refuse it with a shake of the head, causing him to deeply sigh in what sounds like irritation. He places it down on his desk with such force that the dark red liquid spills over the edge onto the hardwood of the table. The gesture makes you jump in your seat and you look at your book laying open on the floor. Your husband picks it up and lets his gaze flick through the contents, causing you to mentally sigh in relief as you thank yourself for opting for romance novels around him instead of religious texts, just to be safe.

Wordlessly, he hands it back before pacing past his desk to look out the window that is not obstructed by your chaise longue, bringing the cup of wine to his lips to take a long sip. Some of the tension seems to leave his shoulders for the briefest of seconds, although an awkward air lingers between the two of you. You observe him as he gazes at the semi-translucent drink, swirling it around in the goblet before taking another swig, footsteps approaching causing you to straighten up in your seat and appear busy.

Primi Gaius enters the room, seemingly summoned by the Praetor. He clears his throat to gain Quintus’ attention. “Dominus.” 

Releasing the small curtain he had pulled aside, Quintus downs the rest of his wine, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. 

“Do you have brothers, Gaius?” You feel your heart drop at your husband’s tone and Gaius closes his eyes for just a moment, seemingly sensing his dour mood as well. It is plausible there is a lecture coming. 

“Yes, sir, one.” 

“Germanic origins and you only have one?” Quintus slowly turns.

“Yes.”

He hums and slowly paces back to the desk. “Older or younger?” 

Gaius remains silent for a second. “What?”

“Your brother!” He places his cup next to your untouched one. “I could have you drawn and quartered for not answering me the first time.”

You flip the page of your book, pretending to not pay attention. “Younger.” Gaius replies.

“Ah.” Quintus takes a candle between his fingers, bringing its wick to the burning oil lamp on his desk to light it. “And did he ever tell on you if you broke a dish, stole a fruit, did something with a girl?” He turns to the altar of Mars behind him, starting to light the candles resting in the candlesticks of the altar to Mars. 

“I do not often reminisce, but yes.” 

“—Atticus is meeting with Pilate in Jerusalem, and he’s telling on me, like a meddling little brother.” He shakes the candle in his hand so that it goes out. Gaius gives you a look from the corner of his eye, your focus immediately drawn back into the conversation. “He’s there right now, slandering our oversight of Capernaum.” 

As Quintus turns around to continue explaining to Gaius why he had called him in, he catches the Primi before he is able to turn back to the Praetor. Your husband’s gaze finds you for just a moment. You visibly gulp, but he doesn’t mention the moment of silent contact between you and Gaius. There is a narrowing in his eyes. 

“I need Pilate’s endorsement if I ever hope to get a promotion.” The candle falls back into its copper bowl with a clank. 

“Your record speaks for itself, Dominus.” Gaius flatters. 

“You have utterly failed me in the tent city.” 

The Primi grimaces. “I will do better,” he promises. 

“—You’re not enforcing the ordinances I suggested, and worst of all, they have no money… Zero! No one works. They’re waiting around for a spectacle from the Preacher, Who I might add, I thought we were done with.” He points an accusing finger at Gaius. 

The soldier collects himself, remaining calm in spite of Quintus’ obvious agitation. 

“And jailing them costs money, so.”

“How can I make it right?” Gaius asks after a moment. 

“You could kill Jesus of Nazareth,” Your heart drops at the cold, unfeeling suggestion, nausea creeping sourly into your mouth at the idea, “Make a very public display of it so they have no reason to stay.” Quintus pauses and sighs. “But…. Then they will revolt, and it gets bloody, and I hate the wailing.” He shakes his head. “Oh, I do hate the death wailing, I don’t know how Pilate does it. Anyway, we are not savages.” The Praetor seems to believe the words himself; he’d be the only one in this room to do so. 

A brief pause. “Let’s get rid of the tent city.” Quintus suddenly concludes. 

“What… How can I do that?” Gaius asks with uncertainty to his tone, as if he fears what your husband will offer, and rightfully so. 

“Gaius! Use your imagination!” He turns back to the recently lit altar sharply, gesturing at it. 

“If you see a damaged home…” Quintus licks his fingers and pinches one of the flickering candles to extinguish it, “Tell them it’s not up to code and tear it down. If you see somebody who’s sick,” he snuffs out a second candle, “Arrest them for spreading pestilence. Somebody selling wares…” He quenches the final flame, “Tell them they don’t have permission and shut them down.” 

Quintus turns and once again points at the altar, now void of light. When the Primi doesn’t respond, your husband’s volume increases in frustration, “Put out the fires, Gaius! Until it’s too cold, dark and miserable to stay…” The same description could be applied to living under the same roof as the Praetor, you bitterly think to yourself.

A dangerous flicker dances in his eyes, his brow lowering as he observes Gaius and his silence for a moment longer, taking a few steps in his direction. “Primi?” he presses with a lilt to his voice that makes the hairs of your neck stand on end. You have fallen victim to that tone of voice often enough to know that Quintus is growing suspicious of something.

“I know what I must do, Dominus.” With a determined step back, Gaius turns to leave, his gaze momentarily flickering over to you and softening before he leaves the room. Your husband stands in silence for a second, overthinking the words.

“Hm.” He grabs the chalice of wine you had denied earlier, taking a slow sip. “Why do you always do that, (Y/n)?” 

“Do what?” you ask, a puzzled look on your face.

“Freeze up whenever Atticus is mentioned.” 

Your throat runs dry as your heart skips several beats inside your chest before it starts to race instead. Caught completely off-guard by the question, you know you cannot hide that same reaction at the very moment, seeing a dark look pass through Quintus’ eyes. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” 

“I just think it’s… Strange. Especially with the rumours circulating about. I meant to confront you about them earlier, but I had to discuss other… Matters with you then.” 

Your jaw tenses and for a moment you wish you had accepted the cup of wine even though you haven’t liked the bitter liquid in quite some time now, if only for the fact that you could have hidden your embarrassed flush behind a long sip of the drink. “They’re just rumours, Quintus.” 

“Sometimes, they hold truth.” 

“You know how people are,” you whisper, “I… Might have an inkling who has helped it into the world. It must be Cecilia. She has been trying to slander my name in front of you, just as she did with the Jewish texts.” 

It’s a poor excuse you’re just making up on the spot and Quintus narrows his gaze at you. “So far, all of her findings have been trustworthy.” 

“She’s just trying to impress you.” 

“Why would she do that?” 

You raise an eyebrow. “Maybe so that you will give her husband a promotion. Maybe she has a thing for you. How would I know her motives? All I know is that she has been foul towards me ever since arriving in Capernaum, even before I met her in the first place.” 

Quintus’ features soften. For a moment, he seems younger than he actually is, and lets out a sigh, almost as if he is feeling guilty about it. “Please, don’t stress me out right now. I can’t handle it with this… This baby in me!” You gesture at your huge bump. The tears you don’t have to feign, for they present themselves rather naturally. Your frustration regarding your situation bubbles up and you sniffle, causing Quintus to step forward and cup your chin in his hand.

He tilts it up to make you face him. “I’m sorry. As I said a few days ago, I just don’t want to lose you.” You are certain that he means that he needs to maintain his control over you rather than keep you close to him as a person, but you don’t say that out loud. “Stop giving me reasons to be suspicious of you, alright?” The question feels so strange that you can’t help but shudder. He leans down and kisses your forehead.

“I want to go and rest in my room,” you sniffle, wiping your nose on your handkerchief. The urge to cry has left you as fast as it had welled up. Quintus hums and gives a curt nod. 

“Go on,” he says, “I will be back home later.” 

You tuck a bookmark between the pages of your book and place it down on the side-table next to the chaise longue before standing up and brushing out of the room, pulling your cloak a little tighter around your shoulders even though it’s not cold at all. 

With discomfort shunting through your abdomen, you find your study and reach for the book of poems you had been writing down. Lately, you have started to add your prayers to them as well, pouring them onto the pages with heart and soul. They have been pleas, proclamations, expressions of hope. Every so often, you have found yourself writing as if speaking directly to the Father, as if you were a child rambling about what they got up to that day. The way that Jesus had called the woman who had been bleeding for twelve years ‘daughter’ has been spinning around in your mind for a while now. 

It still confuses you a little. You had always imagined the concept of fatherhood as a stranger with an iron fist claiming to know what is best for his children whilst being away constantly. It somewhat shifted when Lucius became a pater and you saw him interact with Aurelia, but now everything seems to be thrown from its axis.

Everything you have known all your life is rapidly shifting into motion; the more you learn about Jesus and God, the more you realise how little you actually do know. 

You flick to one of the prayers you’ve written down and start to pray it inside your mind, the discomfort in your tummy already becoming less. “Father God, I am Yours, the breath in my lungs is Yours, the heart in my chest belongs to You. Please let Yourself be known to me, Father, that I may find comfort in You, that Your greatness may fill me and give me strength in my hour of weakness.” 

Every so often, when you write down your prayers to Him, you find it more difficult than writing poems. You reckon this a strange and almost humorous thing; your usual writing doesn’t require you to step away from verbose wax poetic, but a prayer to God needs to be so raw that it’s stripped away from all that you’re used to, a bare-bones version of what you’d usually write down, the opposite of what the prayers to Roman deities contained. It’s a shift in culture in many ways, from pleading towards a pantheon of gods to only One, from garrulous drivel to genuine whispering. 

The way you pray, you find out, is just as much in need of transformation as the rest of you. With a sigh, you put the journal down on your heavy belly and tiredly scratch the underside of the bump. You huff a laugh when the infant suddenly kicks, causing the little book to nearly fall off. “Alright, I got the message.” You take it up again and start flipping through the pages. “What would you like me to pray for, little one?” 

In an attempt to get more comfortable on the sofa, you shift on the small seat, when you nearly bump your head into the corner of the mantlepiece. You flinch and hold your head even though the impact was barely a graze, and you look up at the area above the fireplace to make sure you aren’t putting yourself into any unnecessary danger. 

Then, your eye falls onto the small statue of Juno; it is dented from when you had thrown it against the wall a while ago in your fit of fear and anger. You grit your teeth and grab it, inspecting it up close. You don’t recall putting it back up there, so one of the servants must have done that for you. Biting your lip, you momentarily look down at the fireplace. The flames warm your face and lick the sky around it with orange tongues. Your gaze flicks back to the statue in your hand. 

For a second, you consider tossing it into the fire, but you know that it would most likely not melt at this temperature. However, you know it would be satisfying to see it wither away right in front of you, the very presence of the so-called goddess affected by something so insignificant and physical. With a sigh, you place it back onto the mantlepiece, knowing that you’d get questions if a soot-covered statuette from Juno was to be recovered from the ashes later on.

You take a deep breath, taking your journal again. “Right, the prayer—Hah!” 

Dropping the leatherbound journal from your grip, you immediately grab hold of your tummy as a deep, harrowing pain goes through your legs and lower stomach. It knocks all air from your lungs and you stumble to your feet, hoping that it would make the excruciating ordeal more bearable. 

Sweat beads on your forehead as you lean against your bookcase, which creaks at the disturbance, but you don’t pay it any mind. It takes you a moment to remember how to breathe, and you heave for air as you feel your unborn child twist and turn, visible through the skin of your belly under your dress. “Oh—!” you yelp as your legs nearly give out beneath you, and you turn back to the sofa, your heart stuttering inside your aching chest as a wet spot sits on the plush. You reach over to touch it and smell your fingers — it’s not urine that accidentally escaped you, which has happened over the past few weeks more than once, but it isn’t blood, either. 

It isn’t your water, that’s for sure, but whatever it may be, your body is preparing itself for labour, your baby eager to get out of your tummy. Bitterly, you would almost wish it to stay for as long in the safety of your womb as it can, staying out of Quintus’ claws for just a little longer. 

The pain subdues as you force yourself to breathe in and out through deep intakes of air, your head spinning less. Once you’ve calmed down again, you head for the bedroom to get yourself a clean dress, and tidy yourself up, finding a bit of spotting in your underthings. A rush of nervousness hits you right in the chest, nearly causing you to whimper as you lean into the sink, looking up at your expression in the mirror. Fear shimmers in your eyes.

You doubt that you will ever be ready, but nature will have its way. 

Exhausted, you finish redressing and slide under the comfort of the covers for a bit, glad to have the entire bed for yourself.

---

Next chapter Chapter list

[lostinthewalls]

TLT Chapter One

Internally Lost.

TW FOR THIS CHAPTER: Pills mentioned(anxiety meds and anger issue meds, only one is taken), slight panic attack, swearing.

Story under the cut!!

It was sometime close to noon when Evan Laurel finally rolled out of bed. He had almost had a panic attack when he checked his alarm clock near his bed, then quickly realized he wasn’t even a full month into summer break. His junior year was officially completed, and that hell had been left behind, so now he had a whole three month to prepare for the inevitable senior slump of his final year of school.

He threw his blankets off, trying not to let the concept of school bother him too much as he reached to the side, snatching his glasses off his nightstand, sitting up in his bed and pushing them atop his nose. He stretched and swung his legs over the bed, figuring he had to be quiet since his mother was most likely still sleeping.

His heels hit the carpet first and he stabilized himself as he stood up, crossing the room to his dresser, rummaging around the top drawer for a decent shirt to wear. Clothes were scattered around his room, and he figured he would have to clean it today but...that would come later.

He found an old, pale pink turtleneck he had stolen from his mother's closet almost forever ago and decided to wear that, pulling it over his head and combing his fingers through his sandy blonde hair. Lunch was in order, because he was starving.

He tried to be quiet as he flicked on the lights of his home, walking through the hallway to get to the kitchen in their small, single-story home. Peeking into the Livingroom, his mother was asleep, snoring softly, still in her nurse outfit. She seemed so peaceful...so strong. He aspired to be like her one day.

He kept the Livingroom light off as he reached into the upper cabinets of the kitchen, grabbing a box of Cheerios and a bowl. He dumped the small, circular rings into the bowl, setting it on the counter as he walked to the fridge, opening it and grabbing the small carton of almond milk.

He unscrewed the lid while he walked back to the table, kicking the fridge shut and pouring the milk into the bowl, reaching behind him and grabbing a spoon from the drawer, sitting down to eat.

As he ate, he tried not to let the subtle sense of summer paranoia creep into his mind. That odd feeling that something was about to go wrong never left him, leaving his chest clenched with fear and his hands pulsing with nerves. He tried to focus on the cereal, drowning himself in the simple task of getting his body the fuel it needed, although still being cautious not to eat too loudly, like something was going to jump up and grab him from behind.

Footsteps from behind him startled him as he whipped his head around. His mother stood in the doorway between the Kitchen and Livingroom, the same stunned look he had on his face plastered on hers. She seemed to settle down more quickly than he did, though, and she walked over, brushing his hair from his eyes.

“Can you even see like that, Evan? We need to get you a haircut...” She muttered, her tone dead-tired but still having that musical lilt, just like always. Evan shrugged her off, looking away with a nod and a quiet ‘I guess.’

“Something bothering you...?” She pulled out the chair beside him and sat down, a concerned look on her face. Evan looked at her, his darker blue eyes meeting her own brown ones, before he shrugged and swirled the milk in the now Cheerio-less bowl with his spoon.

“No. Just- anxiety, probably. Like it usually is. I’ll be okay, mom. Don’t worry about me.” He tried to give her a reassuring smile, but it only came out as a lop-sided, begging smirk. His mother just sighed, nodding and standing back up, kissing the top of his head.

“Alright. There’s some of your anxiety meds in the bathroom cabinet under the sink so if you need them, feel free to take them. Only one though, like usual.” She rubbed the sleep from her eyes as she gazed at her son. To say Karley was a proud mother was a big understatement, she just wished she was able to spend more time with him. But, ever since his father was cut from the photo...

She was drifted from her thoughts when Evan gave her another quiet ‘okay’ as a response. She beamed at him before moving away.

“I’ll go change out of my scrubs. Then probably go back to sleep. I work at seven tonight, I want you in bed before midnight, okay?”

“Yes, mom. I know.” Evan sighed as he watched his mom walk down the hall and round the corner to her room. The door shut, and he was alone again. He sighed, dropping the spoon, which clattered on the rim of the bowl, pushing it away as he set his head on the desk, yawning widely. Clearly the morning grogginess still had him in a chokehold, despite it only being 1 PM. He had 6 hours to burn until his mother left...and his mind was left blank on what to do.

So, he tried to occupy himself with simple chores. Cleaning up his lunch, doing laundry, picking up his room like he had mentally said he would. The whole time, he felt eyes on his back, and shivers ran down his spine almost constantly. Eventually, he took his mother's advice, and stepped into the bathroom.

He flicked on the light, noticing the tissue box moved away from where it usually was. Strange...it was now balancing precariously on the edge of the shelf above the toilet. He sighed, trying not to think too hard about it as he returned it back to its normal perch, pushing it backwards to a more secure spot.

He crouched to open the cabinet under the sink, reaching into the boxes kept below, fishing out the small, bright blue Tupperware container where the Laurel family kept their medication. He sat down crisscross on the floor, setting the container in his lap.

He started rummaging through the box, managing to pull out a half-full container of Prozac. His hands twitched over the container, his eyes growing a bit wider as he stared at the bottle, moving his thumb aside to reveal the name on the bottle.

He gasped as he saw the name and almost tossed the whole bottle in the trash, pressing his palm to his forehead, trying to calm him as his shoulders began to shake. Images flashed in his mind and he shook them off like it was disgusting sludge coating his body. Hard to get off, permanently stuck to his form.

He just had to find the anxiety meds. He stuck his hand in the container again, managing to pull out a near-empty bottle of Buspirone, uncapping it and peering inside.

Four pills...he’d need to tell mom he was running out. He took out one of the pills and filled the empty cup by the sink with water. He took the pill with the water, staring at himself in the mirror. He looked so much like...like him...

He shook his head, pushing himself off the sink and putting the container back under the sink, shuffling outside of the bathroom with a long sigh. He defeatedly returned to his room, ignoring more things that seemed to be uncharacteristically off as he sat on his bed, pressing his palms on his shaking knee to keep his leg from bouncing, waiting for the medication to kick in. He huffed, thankful when his body finally gave in and stabilized itself, looking up to his door when his mother knocked.

“I’m about to go to work, honey. Remember what I said.” She said softly. The woman had her purse slung over her shoulder and had a different nurse outfit. Evan smiled, nodding and standing up, walking towards her.

“If you need anything at all, just call me or Atlas, got it?” She said, kissing him on the top of his head. He nodded, leaning against her shoulder, wrapping his arms around her.

“I will, mom. Don’t worry. Go- don't be late for work.” Evan pushed away from her as she chuckled and shook her head, leaving the room.

“Love you, mom!” He called after her, earning an ‘I love you!’ back as she slammed the door. He sighed, turning on his heel and shutting the door for another night to be cooped up in his room.

He walked over to his dresser, grabbing the laptop on top of it that was plugged in, almost turning around to return to his bed before he saw something strange.

His blue eyes met someone else’s shockingly smaller features, framed by a cloud of long, white hair. Evan blinked, his grip tightening on his laptop as he continued to stare at what he thought was a doll or at least a hallucination.

Until it moved, scrambling back to the wall his dresser was propped up against, dragging what appeared to be an injured limb behind it.

“Uhm-” Evan struggled to form words, or even thoughts for that matter, taking a step forward before a loud voice startled him from his trance.

“DON’T FUCKING TOUCH ME.”

ENDING NOTES

Suuupper proud of this first chapter!!!! Getting into it with the foreshadowing RIGHT AT THE START :3. Don't worry though, our boys will be A-OKAY!!

[cleolinda]

Weekend links, April 14, 2024

My posts

Honestly, I spent much of the week coping with storm migraines. You can tell, because I was reblogging a lot from under a cold compress rather than doing anything useful with life. 

Reblogs of interest

The Hot Vintage Lady Polls are rough out there, y’all. Round three started closing yesterday (see what’s still open here), and as of this writing, we have lost Bette Davis, Alla Nazimova, Theda Bara, Myrna Loy, Barbra Streisand, Fay Wray, Lucille Ball, Ginger Rogers, and Olivia de Havilland--and it looks like Catherine Deneuve, Clara Bow, Lana Turner, and Mary Pickford are on their way out. Meanwhile, I learned about a ton of actresses I’d never heard of before, only to shriek when Sharmila Tagore, Nadira, and Waheeda Rehman lost this round. (Edwige, I will never forget you.) 

Let me remind you (and me sometimes, too): Not everyone has the same taste or childhood attachments or cinema experiences as you. And everybody in this bracket loses. Everybody but one. 

(I can tell I’m not cut out for brawling because I’m like, “I will be very sad to see Norma Shearer go, but Hazel Scott seems nice!”)

--

“Actually, Mr. Musk, I am an attorney. Do you know that?” Here’s the highlights of Mark Bankston, the man who brought down Alex Jones, coping with Elon Musk and Elon Musk’s Lawyer, who is not even licensed in Texas, for 100 pages of deposition. 

Hozier Watch 2024: “Too Sweet” has now charted higher in the UK than “Take Me to Church,” and it’s getting real close on the US charts. This is a song that didn’t even make last year’s album. I am endlessly fascinated. 

Happy Leland Melvin Day!

Happy Neil Banging Out the Tunes Day!

“Posting endless DNIs because we can’t (or don’t know we can) make spaces just for the people we do want to interact with” actually makes a lot of sense in this centralized social media hellscape. 

There is a 20k mg weed gummy and nobody needs that. “Forget meeting the Hat Man this is what turns you into the Hat Man. This is worse than that torture drug that makes you experience 600 billion years in a second. This is the secret to honest to god shifting.” 

One of the best uses of the Kate Beaton Poe comic I’ve ever seen

“Americanisms that tell you to check on your American” (they are all correct)

“Tuxedo Mask is the first example of being ‘Kenough’”

Just this once, I will allow this AI rendition of a “traditional Polish family” and their traditional Polish woodchuck. 

I am absolutely not saying there is anything wrong with being into tentacles; I’m just saying that Pyramid Head doesn’t even have them and thus is a pretty tame choice to complain about. 

Little Guy, a game

A cursèd chair called “Oops!”

Sparrow Tarot: Honestly, this is one of my favorite takes on the Hanged Man.

This dog is a biscuit and she is precious

Video

One of the things that’s so great about this Ilia Malinin free-skate program is, he makes it look so effortless that I would have never figured out on my own, without Tumblr’s commentary, that there’s a couple moves in here that no one in the world can do but him. Like, the very first jump and the announcers start screaming. 

A journey from fearing moths to raising them

A dude puts on a dress For the Meme and then discovers that he loves it (and then he styles it as a full outfit and it looks SO GOOD)

Watching this cat ride around on a roomba on a sped-up surveillance camera is self-care.

So is this (although it’s a bit strobe-y)

Bat type: hi doggy

Was the jello for the tuna salad lamb supposed to be lime?

The sacred texts

Holy Shit, Two Cakes

The origin of “Me, an intellectual”

#AllMyLifeIHadToFight

Personal tag of the week

Designer Roberto Cavalli, who passed away this week at age 83. I reblogged several fashion posts--I hadn’t even realized myself that he had designed Beyoncé’s famous yellow dress in Lemonade.

[madhatterbri]

New Rules | K.M.

Summary: Anna has new rules and she counts them, but sometimes rules are made to be broken.

Author's Note: Day 2.

Anna was in New Orleans for a business trip. It was a simple overnight thing. She had to impress some CEOs so that they pick her company to partner with them. They seemed to like her although she sealed the deal with a low top.

While walking back to the hotel, she saw him. The man she left behind in New Orleans. He was talking to his siblings. Not one to take a chance, she walked quicker until she made it inside the hotel lobby.

There was nothing wrong with Kol. She just made rules for herself. They were quite simple.

First one was to not answer his phone calls. Easy enough she could just turn her phone off. The second rule was to not let him into her hotel room. They couldn't communicate so he couldn't know where she was staying. The third rule was to not be his friend. He was so charming. The last and final rule was to not get under him. How could she possibly get over him if she was under him?

Anna still wasn't sure how the rules were broken so easily. Not even eight in the evening and he was visiting her in her hotel room. Her head laid on the arm rest of the chair. Their shirts lost on the floor. His lips caressing her neck. His hands roamed her body freely. Soft moans of his name filled the room.

'I'll tell him to stop after this,' she reasoned. 'Why spoil my body a good lay?'

After the couch they made it to the table. Her bare ass sat on the table. One of her legs rested on his shoulder. His head between her legs. Kol put his mastered tongue to work. A finger sliding in and out of her. Her fingers snaked his hair. The other hand gripped the table so tightly her knuckes turned white.

'Okay, this has to be it,' she told herself. 'They'll finish and he'll leave,'

Their final stop was the bed. The sound of his jeans unzipping made her grip the sheets in anticipation. She stayed on her hands and knees. Kol entered from behind her. She threw her head back. Her body screaming at her for denying it this pleasure for so long.

'It's just for tonight,' she reminded herself. 'You go back to Miami tomorrow,"

Anna woke up naked in her bed. Muscled arms were wrapped around her. She tried to slowly slip away from his grasp.

"Think you can get rid of me that easily, darling?" He asked without opening his eyes.

"We are never discussing this again," Anna spoke with a matter of fact tone. She slid out of bed. Kol sat with a cocky smirk on his face. He watched closely as his ex-girlfriend scrambled to find her clothes.

"Discussing what? How we made up for lost time?" He asked and took a sip of his drink.

Her phone buzzed. It was her boss.

"Its my boss telling me about my flight back to Miami. You can see yourself out," she called while walking into the bathroom. She put her boss on speaker and started to brush her teeth.

Her boss was happy with her about the meeting. They wanted to partner with their company. She could see a big payday in her future. Ecstatic wasn't good enough to describe her mood. Until her boss dropped a bombshell.

"We are going to need you to stay there,"

"Stay where?" She asked in confusion. They assured her it would be just an over night thing. They couldn't possibly mean...

"New Orleans. They liked you so much they want you to stay for six months. They agreed to pay for your boarding. I hear it's very nice,"

"Sir, I..."

"I knew you would agree. I see a promotion for you very soon, Anna. Enjoy New Orleans and we'll see you in six months. We'll text you with more details,"

Just like that the call was ended. She let out a frustrated groan and opened the door. Kol sat on the couch in her room.

"Six months, huh?" He asked with a smug smirk.

"We need some new rules," she sighed and placed her hand on her head.

[thatunusualwriter]

𝙺𝚎𝚗𝚜𝚑𝚒 𝚡 𝙹𝚘𝚑𝚗𝚗𝚢'𝚜 𝚜𝚒𝚋𝚕𝚒𝚗𝚐!𝚁𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛

𝙷𝙴𝙰𝙳𝙲𝙰𝙽𝙾𝙽𝚂 sfw

.⋆｡⋆˚｡⋆｡˚｡⋆.⛓❤️‍🩹🗡️🇯🇵⛓.⋆｡⋆˚｡⋆｡˚｡⋆.

Like, reblog, go to askbox to request anything! 🫶

banner made by @infinitnei

SFW:

Just because Kenshi and Johnny are best buds doesn't mean he gets a green APPROVED pass of a big brother from JC just that easy! Oh no no no, don't be so naive

Johnny is overprotective. Let's get that straight

That is the reason why Reader and Kenshi kept their relationship a secret for so long -- even thought Johnny could smell from miles away that something was up

When they DO get to tell Johnny that they have been dating it's almost the end of the year since they started to date. JC freaks out okay? He's an overreactive diva of course he does! And it's his baby sibling we're talking about!

Kenshi doesn't really do PDA so it was fine with him to be "hidden under the Johnny Cage radar" for a while. As they say, under the candle is the most shadow! :D

That being said... I think we all know how/where Reader met that swordsman. It was when Kenshi broke into Johnny's house, Reader woke up just in time to see their brother beat up the intruder, then they help tie up Kenshi while panicking. Like— they should have called the police right? Why the hell JC isn't doing just that?!

Anyway, it was quite a hot piece of meat Reader had tied to a chair...

Reader and Kenshi got to know each other properly when he, Johnny, and their other two friends return from Outworld

Although Kenshi felt like he knew them better now, even when they haven't directly interacred until now. You see, Johnny was mentioning his sweet little sibling every. damn. day. Kenshi didn't ask but the actor didn't care, he gushed about Reader and showed pictures he took —— Kenshi took a liking to hearing about what the Carlton siblings were up to in their teen years ((they were quite a migraine to any adult lol)) after he lost his sight

Reader isn't into movies, weirdly enough, they prefers series. At least Kenshi has longer essays, plus theories and whatnot to hear about. He likes to take his very occupied mind off everything by listening to the stories of series Reader lives for, just like when he appreciated Johnny's stories about his films during his 'darkest' time. (pun very intended)

Now and then Reader may drop an anime/manga that they're into

Kenshi is pretty busy being one of the OIA agents but when he's back from missions he spends as much time with Reader as possible — when not knocked out cold that is but even then they both gladly stay snoozing in bed all day, snuggled together if not doing olympics in bed.

Reader sometimes persuades their swordsman to be at Johnny's movie sets to show support. #no1 little sibling right here! (and when Kenshi can, he goes. Gotta support his pal)

By the way, ever since Kenshi returned from Outworld he had became more paranoid, poor guy can barely sleep without holding onto his sword... 😔 So! Just for that, Reader is going around making some sort of noises so Kenshi wouldn't feel like he's going to get sneak attacked. Rattling keys, tapping a can with fingernails, whistling, humming, or singing. Reader is doing either one of those when they know Kenshi is relaxing without his sword. (but that is only during the day)

Trying not to be sneaky at night with sleeping Kenshi is a little bit more difficult but nothing that can't be managed. But yes, poor guy sometimes get the spooks when Reader has a toilet emergency lol

[ladytauria]

Fandom: Batman Pairing: Tim Drake/Jason Todd Rating: Explicit Words: 13k+ (kind of)

Mr. Drake has asked Jason to meet him after class.

This fic has two endings; chapter 1 is a reading guide, while chapters 2 and 3 have the fic + ending a & b. I started writing this part of the way through devil in a dress (god you're so shameless) and meant for it to be fairly short... Um. I think at this point I should just stop trying to write short things :P

Preview under the cut! I hope you enjoy :)

Jason smooths sweaty palms over his skirt, spreading the pleats over his thighs. Butterflies swarm in his stomach. His gaze darts, briefly, to the clock. Five minutes. It feels like he’s been waiting for ages.

Finally, the door swings open.

Jason flinches, but quickly composes himself as Mr. Drake steps out. The butterflies grow even more restless at the sight of him. He’s so handsome, with his long hair half up, a few strands escaping to frame his face. Well-dressed, too, in a button up and vest, and well-fitted slacks.  It’s always so hard to focus in his class—though somehow, Jason has managed to maintain an A anyway.

Although…

Maybe he hasn’t, since he’s been asked to meet him after school today.

His expression is stern, but not cruel, when he says— “Jason?”

“Y-yes, Mr. Drake?” Jason says, cursing internally at the way his voice betrays him.

“Come in, please.” Mr. Drake holds the door open wider.

Jason’s heart batters at his breast. He has to force his feet to move, carrying him from the hall to Mr. Drake’s office. The door shuts behind him; the click of the latch echoing between Jason’s ears.

He barely keeps from jumping when Mr. Drake’s hand ghosts over the space between his shoulder blades. It doesn’t matter that he’s wearing both a blazer and a shirt, or that Mr. Drake’s hand seems to almost hover rather than touch—the contact is searing.

“Have a seat,” Mr. Drake says quietly, directing Jason to a chair situated across from his desk.

Jason sits, ankles crossed and hands folded in his lap.

Mr. Drake walks around his desk, sitting behind it. He laces his fingers and rests them atop his desk calendar. “Do you know why I’ve asked to see you, Jason?”

“N-no, sir.” His heart beats a little louder. He chews his lip without really meaning to, part of him wishing Mr. Drake couldn’t see him so he could chew on a knuckle or his tie instead.

Jason does his best to be a good student. He never, ever misses his assignments, or forgets to turn in his homework. He studies every day, answers questions in class, volunteers to help whenever he can. He’s polite to his teachers, even the ones he privately thinks are assholes. It’s exhausting, sometimes, and he knows what the other students think of him… but, he already has enough working against him. He doesn’t want to make it worse.

Mr. Drake hums, and Jason tenses.

He’s Jason’s favorite teacher this year, and his second favorite… ever. He’s—he’s so passionate about his subject. It’s easy to get wrapped up in the way he speaks, swept up by the light in his eyes and the clear zeal in his voice. Jason has learned so much from him, even despite the way he gets lost daydreaming, sometimes.

But—even more importantly—he’s kind. He cares about his students, even the ones most people are happy to let fall through the cracks. Gotham, or the education system in general, hasn’t chewed him up and spit him out yet.

Jason doesn’t want to disappoint him. But—the sound of his hum… He feels like he’s messed up already. He fiddles with the bottom of his blazer.

[slutforalastor]

Say It With A Smile, Part 4

(I have been hesitant to preface the actual text of these posts in order to let them speak for themselves, but I have to be clear, this is the point where this fic really enters territory not suitable for minors. There's only so much I can do to prevent that from happening, and it's not as though we're jumping straight into the kama sutra, but I refuse to let it go unsaid that this is not intended for minors. From here onward, it's also fair to say this will have nsft and nsfw stuff going on. With that warning, here's what you've come here for)

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You don't know much about him, but given the prolonged silence between you two, you're getting the impression that Alastor loves to savor all things. After thanking Niffty for fetching tea for the two of you, he'd taken his time letting it cool, then taken measured sips from his "Oh Deer" mug while surveying the skyline of the Pride Ring from his bird's-eye view. You're holding a mug of tea no fuller than when you'd been handed it, the warmth on your hands helping to ground you after your near-death experience. Maybe "near-second-death experience" was more accurate. And you're frightened, but that's not the only emotion; there's a very present, yet repressed, writhing feeling squirming out from under the stifling weight of self-preservation. The sort of feeling that had an entirely separate section of Hell to help put it into practice.

You wouldn't dream of initiating the conversation. You can only wait for him to collect his thoughts, or become bored of teasing you, or whatever is making him drag out the stifling silence.

"So, little fawn. My sincerest apologies for losing my temper. I can't expect you to just forget what you saw back there. Normally, when I feel that someone could be a problem, I just kill them, but killing you hardly seems appropriate. For both of our sakes, I'd hope that you'll put that exchange out of your mind. I try very, very hard to only kill when someone's really done something to deserve it, and luckily, I don't know you well enough to judge your morality. And you may be in Hell, but that doesn't make you a bad person, does it?"

You hope not.

"Wonderful! You have my word that I will exercise the utmost restraint around you from now on. You have nothing to fear if you simply stay on my good side." He pauses, the area around his eyes darkening, like they've lost some of their luminescence. His voice, however, drips with knowing sultriness. "But you want to be on my good side, don't you?"

You do, yes. Although not only to avoid being killed.

"That goes nicely into the next point of discussion." He turns in his chair so that he's looking directly at you, his eyes finding yours no matter where they may drift. Using his cane as a visual aid, he continues. "These ears aren't the only thing that are perfectly tuned. I also have an excellent nose, much more sensitive than your average sinner's. And dear, you reek of pheromones. Just the sort that I'd normally change the station on, but these times are hardly normal. My body, powerful as it is, needs to repair itself, and it's putting a strain on the rest of me. The kind of strain that makes it... difficult, to control oneself. There's nothing worse than not being in control, wouldn't you agree?"

It might depend, honestly. Controlling one's destiny, or living space, or boundaries, those are good. But sometimes, it can be nice for someone else to take the lead.

He chuckles, but his jovial cadence loses a bit of its luster. "An area where we differ, then. I prefer to never give anyone the upper hand against me. This will not be the exception." He stands from his chair, one hand on the middle of his cane and both arms behind his back as he paces the floor, his back to you, his voice back to its usual springiness. "You're in a very unique position, little fawn. I can tell without even hearing you say it that you're interested in me, and I just so happen to be in need of a plaything, and a way to make sure that you keep my secret. Why don't you and I make a deal?"

You're not sure how interested you are in a Faustian bargain.

"Come now, this isn't a handshake, or a paper to sign. It's a promise; I'll give you the attention you're clearly craving, and in return, you never breathe a word to Charlie or Vaggie, or anyone else, about what you saw. Oh, and there'll be no touching me. But we're both adults here, so you're free to stop me at any time, and I'll be frequent with my asking permission. Seem fair?"

You can feel the heat rising in your cheeks, your heart accelerating all over again. He's not wrong; there's an animal magnetism that keeps you from thinking straight around him. As dangerous as he is, there's an intoxicating idea of him bringing you right to the edge, and then pulling you back. The relinquishing of power, giving yourself over to something that could easily kill you, but caresses you instead. But this feels so sudden.

"Well, I'm not going to lay claim to you tonight, my dear. Where's the fun in dessert before dinner? This is an arrangement we're making that you'll honor when the mood is right. I'll have a special phone placed in your room, and should I have need of your company, I'll send for you. As long as you honor the agreement that we've made, you will have a wonderful time, and that's a guarantee."

And this is something he'll enjoy, as well?

"You must understand, the act in most of its forms does nothing at all for me. Even in the Living World I had no use for it. But this isn't about that; it's about the control. Any fool can grab whatever piece of control they can dig their claws into, but when someone gives it you willingly?" He turns, his smile curled sadistically. "Now that's entertainment."

You feel a shiver run through your body, a nervous excitement gathering in you that you're sure he can sense somehow. He crosses the distance between himself and you, with methodical steps that you know he's enjoying. Inches away from you, he takes your chin in his clawed fingers, the points settling on your skin so gently you can only feel their very edge, an eyelash away from cutting your flesh, perfectly restrained. He forces your face up, making you keep your eyes on him. In his eyes, you see the gaze of someone who's just found a new favorite toy. "We're going to have such fun together, you and I."

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Also on AO3! | Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

[kasagiggles]

Hiii!! I don't know if I've said this or not... but your fics are seriously amazing! Super heartwarming to read and super neat hehehe! If you have time and have played the Fontaine's archon Quest... please consider writing a lee! Wriothesley... with ler either Childe or Lyney hehehe... since either Childe or Lyney has definitely made direct contact/conversation with Wriothesley! Thanks a lot!! P.S. please no foot tickles hehehe...

HELLOOO :3

i am so so sorry for how long this took, i have had no motivation lately 😅

anyways this is such a cute idea and it was so fun to write!! enjoy <3

lee - wriothesley ☆

ler - childe ☆

“so, i hope you can get used to your new life here in the fortress of meropide.” wriothesley said unphased, as if there wasn’t a fatui harbinger right in front of him. he daintily sipped his piping hot cup of tea, deeply enjoying the aroma.

“you expect me to live in this shithole? it smells like sewage everywhere and everybody treats me like i’m weak.” the ginger boy complained, banging his fist on the table, causing tea to splash out of wriothesleys cup.

“well, nothing i can say but get used to it.” wriothesley chuckled under his breath, wiping some of the spilled tea droplets with his finger.

childe huffed, “that’s it! this is unacceptable!” he stood up menacingly, hands on the table. before leaning over and attempting to throw a hard punch at wriothesley. childes angry fist was met with wriothesleys palm.

“i’m afraid that’s against the rules, you can’t physically assault the duke of meropide. kindly humble yourself.” he gently pushed away childes palm. at this point, childe would have smoke coming out of his ears, the frustration in his eyes was enough to make anybody feel unsettled.

how could he teach this brat a lesson without getting into further trouble? his mind raced with all sorts of ideas, both violent and not.

until something hit him, a form of torture that is close to harmless but still could make anybody lose their mind. sure, it was silly, but childe would do anything to see this ass begging for his mercy. nothing is more satisfying to childe as a harbinger.

he sighed, closing his eyes as he remained standing. wriothesley noticed his electro delusion, it slowly began to glow in a mesmerizing way. while he got lost in the glowing purple orb, he felt his hands get pulled above his head, as if some invisible force was tampering with him.

out of instinct, he attempted to pull his arms down, but they felt strictly binded. oddly enough, as he looked up, he saw what appeared to be some purple cloud ensnaring his hands entirely.

as an important figure, he had to remain calm and unbothered. “can i atleast drink my tea?” he sighed. slouching back into the chair. “you’re just increasing your time spent here, little man.”

childe snarled, making his way over to the annoyed wriothesley. the black haired duke felt some sort of nervousness as childe approached. he made his way around and stood behind the duke. a few seconds of silence passed. until wriothesley felt a tingly feeling along his ribs.

this caught him very off guard, in fact, he actually flinched. it wasn’t that it hurt, but it strangely itched. he quietly grunted under the gentle touch. it felt very humiliating to be in such a situation.

“you said i cant hurt you so… i’ll have to resort to something else.” childe said cockily. wriothesley muffled a laugh as he felt the gentle fingers explore his exposed torso.

“eh…enough.. this is… rihidiculous.. unhand mehehe…” he stuttered, gently squirming.

“you’re quite ticklish indeed! seems not everyone is as tough as they look.” that snarky remark just made wriothesley want to sink into himself out of embarrassment.

as much as he hated to admit it, it was true. wriothesley was indeed very ticklish. tickling was never really something he thought about much. although sometime sigewinne would tease him about it.

he lost his train of thought as the feeling of wriggling fingers sped up. “hey, come on. enough with the tough guy act.”

wriothesley had one goal right now, to not laugh. he would rather die than be at the mercy of this bratty redhead. plus, it’s embarrassing to lose composure.

“you… arehehnt getting anywhere with thihis..” he choked out, trying to escape the feeling. he was slowly beginning to panic.

he thrashed against the chair, trying to wriggle out of his situation.

“kichikichicoo…” childe giggled, clearly he was having a blast.

“st-stohhop!! this is foolihihish!!” wriothesley squirmed and laughed under the wiggling fingers.

minutes passed, and wriothesley was beginning to grow weaker, no matter how much he squirmed he couldn’t escape the itchy feeling.

childe waited until wriothesley was panting with tears of laughter streaming down his face. until he could officially say that he had bested the duke.

“don’t even think about doing anything to me, duke.” he stepped away from him, very satisfied with what had come.

wriothesley was too humiliated to respond, he simply lowered his face, clenching his eyes shut with a frustrated frown.

“i’ll be on my way then.” childe said friendly, as if nothing had happened at all.

“h-hey wait.. my hands are still stuck, come back here at once!! i order you!”