#and by the time I get back to the house I’m often too mentally worn to socialize anymore

[ghosts-and-blue-sweaters]

Alrighty! <—has been saying this word on loop during my retail job I’m kinda sick of it now but I don’t really know how to stop saying it so! it stays! LIST TIME!!!

To-Do Tomorrow:

wake up early enough to get shower before work

print out ticket for a play that one of my friends is in that I am going to see :)

seek out a Ruler so that I can make measurements & decide what sized items I would like to buy [Friend pin & Ghostbur magnets]

if I have time/energy I shall aim to accomplish these things as well:

text two friends

respond to another friend’s messages

finish tagging the autism posts I’ve reblogged (I tagged about half today it was So fun)

reblog spotify wrapped posts + answer spotify wrapped asks :)

read some books

[discodeviant]

Not Duke, Not Prince - Part 4

Billy | Teen | 1.9k words Alternate Canon/Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence (sorta)

This was a very cathartic part to write lol. Hope you like it 😈

Made for @billyhargrovebingo!

Prev. | Part 1

“Doc said you’re good to go.”

It had been a few days since Billy was admitted when Neil returned to see him again. He hadn’t since the first; Chief Hopper visited more often. Not that it bothered Billy all that much, because the drug tests came back negative after all, and there was nothing in his car to point the cops in that direction anyway. No documented hallucinatory mental illness or recent head trauma that anyone but he and his father knew about. He passed with flying colors.

The last time he saw Hopper was that morning when he’d come around with a cup of coffee from the office, a bagel in one hand because Flo said it was a compromise, whatever that meant. Billy ate half of it. They talked for a while. Hopper said something about Billy’s beard growing in like his own did in high school, and that he was impressed Billy bothered shaving at all. He didn’t tell Hopper that it didn’t usually grow in so fast, or that he only had to shave once a week. That his moustache was the strongest facial hair he had, and the rest was saved for his pubes.

He was reluctant to let Hopper leave even though he’d been there for an hour already.

Neil looked disgusted when he saw Billy then, with a face that said, let’s get you cleaned up. The nurses all but shoved him out, and he couldn’t pretend that he was broken again. Shaky as he was, he could recover at home, take some time off work if he really had to. Or, that was what they thought. He hated that he felt just fine. The lack of exercise made him want to run and jump through the dense Hawkins backwoods, a startlingly new feeling, but it was still too cold for that. Maybe in the spring, he would.

The ride home was agonizing—not physically other than the lingering ache in his lower back from laying down, not stretching like he usually did. He’d have liked to try once they got home, but he knew better than to think it would be so easy. Dread covered him in a suit of its own. He felt prickly all over, but it wasn’t sweat. The inside of his sweater aggravated body hair and caught it on its fibers; he guessed that made sense, having grown so long. In days, his face was scruffier than it had ever been, arms and legs with a darker hue so the hair was actually visible now. Maybe Neil noticed, but if he cared, he didn’t say anything.

The Dread Tie choked around his neck when they pulled up to the house, and Neil helped Billy out of the truck despite his rejecting the offer. It wasn’t a choice, Neil reminded him with another bruising grip to his bicep and a pace that should have been a little too fast, though Billy kept up with it anyway.

Max was still at school, Susan at work, and Billy knew—before they made it to the front door—why Neil chose then to pick him up. Neil knew that he knew. The silence made Billy’s ears twitch, the hair on his back stand tall into his overgrown mullet, pain from the accident only subsided enough to tolerate if he was left alone. Days-old bruises throbbed beneath his skin like they’d predicted this before existing at all. Scratches burned, fractures ached, and his head spun when Neil said, “Billy.”

They were hardly inside the house.

“Do you… have any idea… of the mess I’ve gone through this past week?” Neil spoke low, taking off his jacket and hanging it up, decidedly leaving his boots on, priming the worn canvas before him. “No, you don’t. Because you’ve been in the hospital, which I have to pay for.” He wrung his hands and straightened the dress shirt under his cashmere sweater. “Because you were driving like a maniac in that goddamn car after I’ve told you, time and time again, to be careful with it, because I’m not buying you another one.” Billy was no more than a statue of soft clay when Neil got closer, up in his face, towering like he owned Billy too. “And lying to the goddamn police. What do you have to say to that, huh?”

Billy’s jaw tightened, nostrils flared, back muscles tensed like he was trying to balance himself. “I didn’t lie to them,” he said, and his voice was paper thin.

Neil huffed, amusement quirking the hair on his lip, feigned or genuine, stinging nonetheless. “I wasn’t born yesterday, Billy.”

“I know.”

“I don’t think you do.” It hurt to look into Neil’s eyes for too long, so Billy focused on his angry, stiff bottom lip instead. The wrinkles on his chin as he waited for something. “Now, you’re gonna tell me the truth.”

And Billy was silent for a long while. Stood there while his legs and feet were going numb like they did in the snow, heartbeat climbing into a sort of tap dance from one side of his ribs to the other. The air was dry as Billy met his father in a stale mate, then promptly lost the game when he said, “I did.”

He was up against the front door without a second to brace himself, one heavy fist gripped tightly to his shirt, and the other hand pointing to his nose. “I am trying to protect you, Billy. Do you understand that?” There they went again, the same old carousel, the same skipping tape. “You could have killed somebody, driving like that.”

“I wasn’t dr—“

“Hey!” Neil’s voice was a violent clap of thunder in an empty desert sky. “You listen to me.” Billy swallowed hard. “Your ass wouldn’t survive a day in prison. You don’t need me to tell you that, which is why you don’t act stupid. You don’t act stupid in front of cops. You don’t lie to the fucking chief.”

“You’re a hypocrite.”

That was when the palm struck once, a bell chime, a ringing gong through the house. “You’re a goddamn brat.” Billy couldn’t help laughing, just a little bit, enough to earn him another slap across the face. He grunted hard, expelling a sharp breath through his nose that refocused his attention on Neil’s breathing. Still too quiet, too sinister, but deep and threatening when Billy’s started to match. “I thought I taught you to be grateful for what you’ve got,” he said, “but you still haven’t, have you, Billy?”

Inhale…

Exhale…

“Have you!”

Inhale…

“You really are your mother’s son.”

Like a taut wire, Billy snapped.

He didn’t know where it came from, the bout of strength that rumbled through his core, right to both arms that shoved Neil away until he stumbled against the dinner table. Billy saw rage flicker through his eyes, the same glint that turned deep brown to flaming red. For a moment he was still frightening: both fists clenched at his sides, in position to charge and deal the damage to Billy’s form and self worth all over again. For a moment, Billy thought he still lost, and then Neil’s face changed.

His eyebrows flinched with his neck, Adam’s apple jumping down low as his mouth remained closed. Billy felt it from his chest, heard the grumble of the old Volkswagen they had in San Diego. It was his mom’s until Neil took that and ruined it too, but now it returned and sat right where it had been all along in Billy’s heart. A piece of her still with him, a moment in time he’d never forgotten even when strands of gold through the wind were taken in a rough hand and pulled back inside. It came from Billy’s throat, deep and guttural, louder than the Camaro when it revved up and called for someone to take home.

“What the fuck?”

Now Neil whispered. Now he wanted to step away, but the coffee table blocked his path. The engine continued as Billy’s chest rose and fell with stiff gusts of wind making it into his lungs. There were endless things he could have said to Neil, that he wanted to say, but none of them would be enough to express the sweet, cold, tantalizing aroma of fear wafting from his father’s flesh and blood. It was apple pie and vanilla ice cream, chocolate covered strawberries, watermelon in the summer. It soothed the rising heat that made him bleary-eyed and fogged every window, every sheet of glass in the room. Billy wasn’t half conscious of what was happening anymore other than the simple fact that Neil Hargrove was afraid, and it was his doing.

“Billy?”

Still just a whisper, bordering a desperate plea for mercy, and while Billy wasn’t numb to the aches in his body, he was numb to the voice. His voice, Neil’s voice, they both degraded into rubble. Suddenly his name didn’t feel like his name anymore—Billy… Billy…

“Billy…”

Growling so loud that it shook the floor, the ceiling, the walls, and Neil right to his bootstraps, Billy kept his stance. Blinking endlessly into the void that lay before him, five feet and ten inches of dirt that he should have wiped off his shoe long ago. That he couldn’t wipe off his shoe until, suddenly, he didn’t wear shoes; until he was two heads shorter than Neil and leaping from across the room.

Billy roared a sound he’d never fathomed hearing so close, right from his lips and through the recesses of his flattened consciousness. He did what he’d always done best, apparently, according to Neil, and broke things. He broke the coffee table and the vase on top of it; he broke the lamp, though he swore he didn’t touch it; and he broke Neil’s collarbone with the impact of his weight. Not that he cared, because Neil never did either. If nothing else, Billy was exacting his revenge, teaching somebody, somewhere, something about standing his ground, rising against fists that had no place in his memory. He was going to put Neil in his place once and for all, grab him by the collar and prove that he was even stronger.

Neil didn’t stand a chance.

Not against claws marring his face, his neck and chest; not against four hundred pounds sitting on his sternum and sinking sharp nails into his skin. Punctured by long, thick teeth and soothed by an enormous barbed tongue, though it was only to sate Billy’s appetite until dinner. The taste of copper made his eyes cross, his stomach turn, his arms reach out for more blood as the seething hatred for his father all but blinded him.

So many words, so little control over his jaw and tongue, and his voice was a deep, bellowing roar that knocked Neil’s head against the wall. In that moment, when the light faded from those beady eyes, Billy calmed. He looked around, and everything was so much taller around him, but, for the first time, Neil was below. The predator was down, the territory had been fought over and reclaimed.

For the first time, Billy had won.

Part 5

[furiousgoldfish]

Hello! Firstly, I want to thank you for your account and for your willingness to share and help others. It’s gotten me through my doubts and validated me immensely. Thank you so much! 🧡🧡🧡

My ask is about my family, primarily about my brother and mom. Sorry in advance, this is pretty long, and I think these things take a lot of mental energy, so I understand no matter the response or lack thereof 🧡🧡🧡

—

My brother and I have never really had a good relationship. There were moments when we got along, but for the most part, we were fighting (physically when we were younger, verbally when we got older, though I admit I once hit him during an argument when I was 12-13). I’m not denying I was a menace when I was younger, and not to shift blame, but my dad’s favoritism towards me and my mom’s favoritism towards my brother (and later admitted dislike towards me) didn’t help at all. He’s two years older, but for most of my life my mom would call him my little brother and I was the protector.

Back then, I used to tell him stop a lot because he tended to be loud when doing a lot of things and I tried to join in, but it’d become too much for me. Eventually, every complaint I had, whether valid or not, was met with my mom telling me the world doesn’t revolve around me and I had to be more tolerant because he was just being himself.

I soon stopped telling him to stop that often, but it didn’t help whenever he actually did something to hurt me (like stealing my electronics and lying about it for months and laughing when I found out* or mocking me during an argument) and by then, I was known as the angry one in the family (my mom asked him to draw several people by their prominent emotions despite me telling him not to and mine was anger) and he was the sweet one, so when other relatives hurt my feelings or accidentally physically hurt me, no one would take me seriously (except my dad, but he’s a whole other can of worms)

*I eventually let my mom give it to him for Christmas after she paid me a bit because came to me asking and I was worn down after she (and a therapist at the time that was friends with my mom and also my brother’s therapist) kept telling me it wasn’t a big deal because I didn’t use it much so what he did was fine. I’m upset that I let him have it and all the games where he deleted my data. He’s a known liar to my eldest sibling and I, but my mom never believed us for over a decade until my brother said so himself.

Our relationship completely shattered during a spring break two years ago that was filled with him doing things to annoy me, mocking me when I tried to speak up, my mom telling me to control myself, and my other relatives downplaying my emotions or just laughing at my brother’s actions. It drove me to an extremely dark place, and I haven’t had a full on conversation with him since.

My mom is adamant that I try to get along with him and that she’s so hurt and she wants harmony in the house. I tell her I’ve tried to get along with him but he’s never tried for me, and she just tells me he says the same about me, though I genuinely can’t think of any examples, as he’s always taken other people’s sides, like my mom, mocks me when I try to ask him to quiet down or do anything he doesn’t want to do, and he uses things he knows about me in arguments with other people despite me constantly telling him not to (and my mom sharing info with him).

He once had to stay in a ward and I think that made my mom even more adamant that she doesn’t want to punish him in any way.

Our eldest sibling agrees with me about my brother. They’ve had their own experiences with him including my brother claiming he was the smartest person in the entire family, believing himself to be morally above my dad even though they’re very similar, and saying he’s helped us and did a lot of things for us when my sibling was the one to actually do those things

Recently, I feel both anger and guilt mixed with pity. My brother has my extended family basically in love with him and that’s impacted my relationship with them, but my sibling and I don’t talk to him or reach out, it’s just my mom pushing us to do so. I feel bad for him because of this, but at the same time he’s caused me so much mentally distress and I don’t want to extend the olive branch.

—

I’m not sure what my question is, I guess I’d just like to hear your/others’ thoughts about this.

Sorry for the long ask, and once again I’m thanking you immensely for your help and speaking out when a lot of us don’t have words or are uncertain. 🧡🧡🧡 I wish you many bright days ahead 🧡🧡🧡

From what I'm reading here, you are put in a completely awful situation here. Your brother used you as a target for bullying, he would do harm to you, take your things away from you, disturb you with how loud and damaging he was, and all anyone else did was laugh, tell you it was no big deal, and that you had to tolerate him. And it went so far that parents, relatives and even his therapist got involved to bully you into staying passive and just taking all of this shit? it's almost unbelievable, it's incredible you didn't go insane in this situation.

Nobody is allowed to mock you endlessly, humiliate you, or take your electronics! No matter how much you use them! Nobody should be physically hurting you or taking joy in provoking and irritating you. All of these are shows of disrespect and taking pleasure in your pain, you were basically shown that you don't matter, your dignity has no importance, and you need to be subservient and a resource to your brother. For no reason whatsoever. He could do as much harm as he wanted and everyone would still side with him. It's an absolute hell.

You are right to not reach out or talk to him, and your mother should stop enabling him like this. What she's doing is wrong. You do not exist as his resource or his emotional punching bag, and everyone insisting that you do, is incredibly harmful for your psychological well being. How could you be anything in this world if people can't even get over that you're no a toy for your brother to pay with? It's absolutely disrespectful and hateful of them. I'm glad that at least one sibling is on your side. You deserve better than this.

[firespirited]

So having identified that I need to change a bunch of habits, here’s what I’ve done. personal accountability check in yay.

Exercise: no abdominal work just dorsal stretches, added a steep-ish small hill to my walk instead of two walks to work my hips more. Made peace with the grumpy man on the hill who hates dogs by telling him he’s totally right, it is disgusting (he is fr totally in his right to be upset, people are terrible at cleaning up after their dogs and several just roam free) and showing him that I don’t just pick up my dog’s but other people’s dog turds.

Will test 1 leg at a time abdominal work early May and if the pain causes the whole back seizing, we move it to June, etc...

Ergonomic computer use: I got out of the habit of typing due to a need for speed, especially in french with all the accents on the top and side and I’d like to stop pecking at the keyboard until it becomes the default. Can’t hide the keys as i peck from memory. just gotta keep catching myself and switching back into f j position.

Treats: new dolls that need TLC are out of the question and I’ve done a decent job at saying No to cool dolls that would “just need...” but that’s not enough. I’ve saved my ebay and aliexpress bookmarks to separate google notes and archived them and removed most from my browser. Same with amazon warehouse and leboncoin. There are a couple of Monster High I’d like to find and de-glue (& possibly de-stain this summer) but only if they appear at reasonable prices. I’m going to switch focus to making sure everyone is dressed and nicely displayed.

This does leave a void where the dopamine of new arrivals and projects was and that’s something to further ponder. Having things to look forward to is good for my mental health. The surprise element and “oh remember that doll” element of ebay thrifting was good too. Can’t be craft materials, I have what I need in makeup, don’t wear jewellery as I tend to swell and de-swell during the day and get irritated around the neck. sugar is not an option. local supermarket is very limited with new tastes to try. I’ll figure something out - It’ll probably be in the middle of the night after a day of brainstorming and being stumped!

Projects: I’ve decided to part with 4 more: Myscene Westley Tshirt, Barbie fashionistas greek, Barbie Grace fashionistas, Barbie Mbili blue brocade fashionistas

Getting stuff out of the house has proven more difficult, very low traffic on ebay france so it’ll probably be heads only, tracked bubble envelopes worldwide via instagram then ebay dot com when I can get that organized.

Part of that is reluctance (and reluctance to deal with the nail-biting drama of postage) but I’ve been really quite wiped by pain and the extra exertion.

Entertainment: dolltube didn’t yield much so far, I like retrospectives but that doesn’t happen often. I need to venture more into the doll crafting that’s entertaining vs crafting that makes me sad I can’t do it if that makes sense? Think Bobby Finger’s incredible diorama story videos. Also looking into documentaries that aren’t downers like How Things Are Made and upcycling stuff.

Find EU rerooters: not done but I have closed my commissions page and wiped all the numbers.

Make friends: well I got myself in some drama but I am trying to resist the strong urges to go hermit-mode, still deleting posts before I press send but eventually we’ll get there. Trying to connect with more french doll collectors. Shoot I have two messages to french ladies about rerooting I need to reply to and chickened out.

Sort damaged or too baggy clothes: still too soon. I managed 1 pair of super pilled and worn trousers. I think i’ll have perspective on the jumpers as soon as it’s hot and they don’t look so cosy with memories of being soft and warm.

[episbep]

seven days clean (again)

against my will may I add lol- I’ve tried to pick up for the last 3/4 days to no avail which I am pleased about now that the worst of the cravings have passed but also that mental obsession is still here in full force and I just wanna get high despite being so aware and certain of how much better sober life was/is. I’m falling back into a life of addiction with short periods of sobriety, but that is not the same thing as recovery. I’ve basically stopped going to meetings, I don’t have a sponsor, I’m not working the steps…I’ve been drinking Smirnoff ice (???)…life definitely isn’t as bad as it was pre-rehab when I was using every single day but I’m still chasing drugs/intoxication…I’ve been mugged off for £100 lmao (it’s not rly funny tho is it the first time I sent over £60 and he aired me for almost 2 days then got back to me like ‘oh I got nicked with it sorry’ then the next day I sent another £40 and was another day til he got back in touch, apparently he’d slept the whole day and now he’s fallen off the face of the earth again hehe haha I’m a fucking mug🤪)

spending far too much time thinking about my ex and tryna see/speak to him as often as possible, eating like shit, gaining weight again, my skins a state, I haven’t worn makeup or nice outfits for weeks I’m just, idk I’m not progressing I’m not recovering I’m just not back in full blown active addiction yet but given the means and opportunity I have no doubt that I would be…

On the plus side things in the bigger picture are getting better, the consequences of my past use are subsiding, I’m able to cope day to day and convince others enough that I am making progress and not actively using. My house is clean, I’m attending relationship therapy and mood management groups, I’m getting back into the swing of day to day life but in a healthier way, not sleeping all day, not wishing I was dead…idk, I’m struggling to see the brighter side of things- I had an issue with re-ordering my prescription and only have 3 days worth left now so didn’t take it yesterday which evidently was a huge mistake, bc I’m spiralling now, I’m stressing out, I don’t feel good. (also period is imminent which never helps and there’s a full moon so yh)

[sunniskyies]

𝐁𝐥𝐮𝐞-𝐄𝐲𝐞𝐝 || 𝐅𝐢𝐧𝐧𝐢𝐜𝐤 𝐎𝐝𝐚𝐢𝐫 𝐥𝐨𝐧𝐠𝐟𝐢𝐜

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟐: 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐩𝐢𝐧𝐠

𝐏𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: Finnick Odair x original female character 𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: All warnings can be found on the series' masterlist 𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 8.97k 𝐀/𝐍: Another long chapter !! I don't expect people to read this, I'm just posting old stuff :)

𝐁𝐥𝐮𝐞-𝐄𝐲𝐞𝐝 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

𝟎𝟒 𝐉𝐮𝐥𝐲 𝟐𝟑𝟎𝟖

The scent of salt still clings to Eloise's skin as she pushes open the cottage door, droplets from her sunrise swim dripping onto the worn wooden floor. She had swum longer than usual, for once having a whole morning free of classes and work. It’s mid-morning now, and Cova sits wriggling on Cressida’s lap as she pulls out the cloth bound in her hair to reveal two large blonde ringlets. The little girl squeals joyfully, the nervousness for the day ahead absent in her smile. Marlowe sat at the small square table picking at a plate of runny porridge. She for once doesn’t complain as Eloise quietly approaches her and begins plaiting two braids into her long dark locks. She ties them together in the back in a half-up half-down style.

“You’re gonna be okay Marly. Don’t worry so.” She assures the girl quietly and lets the conviction of her words seep into her tone. Marlowe wouldn’t be going to the games this year or any other year, Eloise would make sure of it.

She looks over to Cova to see that her mother has also decided on a half-up half-down style, but instead of braiding it she lets the ponytail sit amongst Cova’s new ringlets.

“Wow, Mama!” Cova chirps, admiring herself in the reflection of Cressida’s dirty old hand mirror. “I nearly look as pretty as Eloise.” She looks over wistfully at the older girl. Eloise snorts. 

“Yeah right. I’m as plain as they come, you and Marlowe are way cuter than me.” Eloise pinches Cova's cheeks, making her giggle.

“I put your reaping dress on the bed.” Her mother says, placing a plate of porridge in front of Cova with shaky hands. “There’s a pail of water on the stove. Wash the salt off yourself and clean your face.”

Eloise’s dark eyebrows knit together. “Do I have time? I thought I needed to go get errands done before we go.”

Her mother shakes her head but doesn’t elaborate. This happens often when she gets overwhelmed, so Eloise obliges. She stands on the sliver of grass behind their house and douses her body. She shivers, the sun well up in the sky but the air still crisp, as if the sun itself was mourning.

Back inside, Eloise’s reaping dress lays out on the bed. It was the same every year, but perhaps this time it would finally fit. It’s a long, sea-grey, sleeveless Gunne Sax dress with tiny floral patterns all over it. It was simple, perhaps a little frumpy, but Eloise didn’t care much. Staring in the mirror, Eloise saw how now that she had grown into her body, the dress hugged her somewhat nicely..

“It matches my eyes?” Eloise had said half-heartedly to Jenny-Grace once a few years ago before the reaping, comparing the colour to Jen’s one. It too was a Gunne Sax dress, but hers was soft spring green with pretty ribbon details.

“It does not match your eyes. That thing is mental illness grey. Your eyes are as blue as the ocean, everyone always compliments them. Grandma says you got ‘em from swimming in the sea too much.” She had responded. Eloise had flushed, and Jenny-Grace had burst out laughing.

“Can I do your hair now?” Her mother’s frail voice snaps her out of the memory, and Eloise turns away from the full-length mirror in her shared bedroom. Cressida stands with a matching sea-grey hair ribbon. Eloise had made sure not to get her hair wet this morning in the ocean, but she didn’t realise they were going to style it.

“My hair isn’t straight like the girls’, Mum.” Eloise laughs, gesturing to her long dark blonde curls. “You don’t have to doll me up.”

Her mother just spun her around to face the mirror again, running coconut oil through her ends, lifting a heap of curls and tying it in a matching style to Cova and Marlowe’s. She ties the ribbon in a long bow at the back.

“So you all match.” Her mother says in that whisper-like voice.

Eloise kisses her on the cheek gently. “Thanks, Mum.”

“Have you got your bracelet, Petal?” Eloise nods. She never takes it off.

Her mother gives her a soft smile, a rare sight. “Now, sit down on the floor.” She instructs, stronger now.

Confused, Elosie looks down to see her mother had extracted a handful of cosmetics from her pinafore pocket. Her eyes widened.

“Makeup? Mama, I’m only 17, and I’m not a television star!” Makeup in the districts was limited to the wealthy and adults. It was a luxury for those who earned it, not some sea-nymph who brawls at the docks and drinks beer with 40-year-old men. Her mother shakes her head, meaning that Eloise can’t argue any further.

So she watches in awe as Cressida brushes light swathes of the precious powder over her cheeks, careful not to hide the subtle freckles on her nose. Then she adds a kissable pink to the bud of her lips, and finishes off by applying dark paint to her eyelashes. 

Looking at herself now, Eloise suddenly sees that vision of herself sitting with Caesar Flickerman, wearing a beautiful gown and a TV-worthy smile. Except it isn’t just a fantasy, she really can put the almost pretty face that was staring back at her onto that girl.

Behind her, Cressida let a soft sob slip from her lips. Eloise rips her gaze away, quickly wrapping the dark-haired woman in a tight embrace. “Thank you, Mama. I look great. Come on. Come on, we need to take the girls.”

Her mother sucks in a breath, letting Eloise help her to her feet. Together they gather up the girls, dumping porridgeless plates in the sink and tying the wriggling childrens’ laces. Holding hands, the four girls walk to the square where the reaping would start at 1:00.

It takes longer to get there than it takes when Eloise is by herself, it would be improper to scuff her shiny chestnut boots running around. By the time they make it to the square, it’s swarming with people. Tear-stained children saying goodbye to their mothers, older siblings guiding youngsters to the right pens. But a solemn air hangs everywhere, filling the children’s frail little lungs and choking out the warmth of the sunlight.

The girls take turns hugging their mother, and Eloise watches as she totters off to the parent’s area. Marlowe and Eloise hold each of Cova’s hands, the little one now swamped with nerves about her first reaping.

“Now Cova, remember what I told you? They’re gonna prick your finger for a teensy bit of blood, and then you’re gonna follow your school friends to the right pen, okay?” Cova looks dazed, nodding absently. Eloise squeezes her hand reassuringly.

“Look, I’ll go first, show you it’s not a big deal, m’kay?” She says, partly for the 12-year-old, and partly for Marlowe too. The poor girl had gone as white as a sheet, her dark eyes huge.

A few more kids get pricked, and then it’s Eloise’s turn. She holds out her finger as confidently as possible to the masked Peacekeeper, wanting to encourage her younger sisters. But in all honesty, Eloise has a slight phobia of needles. She grits her teeth as the needle punctures her soft finger, rough hands pushing her scarlet blood onto the page alongside a hundred others.

As she’s sent along, Eloise tries to look back at her stepsisters. But a wave of children sweeps her forward, blocking her view and forcibly dividing her off into the 17-year-old pen. She can only hope Marlowe and Cova found their way as she’s jostled around by nervous bodies.

Finally, everyone settles down, and Eloise cranes her neck to see the stage. An elegant podium perches at the prow of the stage like a ship’s figurehead, behind it a row of chairs hem the seam between the wooden stage and the Justice Building. The chairs' occupants appear, walking up the stairs and filing along to their seats.

District 4’s Victors line up in order of victory, 74-year-old Mags Flanagan at the head. She won the 11th games, Eloise recited automatically in her head. Next, Marino Bay, victor of the 42nd games. Eloise remembers seeing the 45-year-old occasionally, popping his head in for handfuls of advice at the academy now and then. Then follows Rio Fathom, 34-year-old victor of the 53rd games. Eloise doesn’t know much about him other than he only lives with his wife and has a fondness for rum. Behind him, Caspian Dune. A meticulously vain man of 26 who won the 60th games. He wasn’t not handsome, but Eloise found his beauty artificial and tremendously upkept, hair gelled into the perfect way, lips curved in a practised smile. It wouldn’t be a stretch to say he radiated egotism.

We, he would if it wasn’t the Finnick Odair who walked a few steps behind, the arrogance that bloomed from the young man overpowering anything Caspian could muster. Finnick Odair won the 65th games at a record 14 years of age, and this is his fourth year mentoring, despite him only turning 18 five months ago. Not that Eloise is counting.

He is constantly gracing the television screen, the ‘Darling of the Capitol’ always wearing the latest fashion with a new woman at his hip and a camera on his heels. He had won over the conceited people of the Capitol with one flash of his charming smile, and after he came back from the games as a Victor his person is the only thing the Capitol seems to want to talk about. How he looks, who he is with, the whole thing makes Eloise’s stomach turn. But unlike Caspian, Finnick is undeniably gorgeous. Golden skin and bronze hair, toned physique and an alluring smile, Eloise can see the appeal. She herself finds her eyes following him as he takes his seat at the end of the line.

There used to be more Victors, 3 or 4 more, lost to ‘old age’ or ‘health issues’, but Eloise remembers the hush-hush murmurs of suicide or substance abuse.

Once all the remaining Victors are seated, the thin figure of District 4’s Mayor Saltwick followed closely by the broad shoulders of Anemone Kale appears on stage. Anemone Kale is a ridiculous woman and is well known for fully embracing the role of District 4’s escort. While other Capitolites get surgical enhancements to have colourful skin, replicate animals or other gruesome body modifications, Anemone has gotten scales, gills, and skin colouration done until her head and shoulders resemble that of a mermaid. No one in District 4 admires this look, but the woman seems to believe this is a groundbreaking beauty standard in the seaside district. Because of course, they are fishermen! What do you mean looking like a fish isn’t attractive?

The two of them barely sit in their designated seats when the large clock at the top of the Justice Building heralds 2 o’clock. The Mayor stands once again and makes his way to the podium. Eloise zones out as he rambles on about the history of Panem, his annual reprimand fading into the background. She finds her gaze sliding back over to Finnick, reclining in his chair with his leg resting comfortably over the other and arms draped about him. He looks so at ease, she thinks to herself, no sign of the drunken mess she had seen yesterday.

His gaze seems to be roving over the faces of the children, and for a moment, his sea-green eyes seem to rest on her ocean-blue ones. She instantaneously looks away in fright.

She swore he had recognised her at the docks yesterday, but did he? They had never met before, so surely he must’ve gotten her confused with someone similar… Then why did it feel like he was staring at her? Eloise scoffs at herself. He is a hundred kids and a stage away, he can’t possibly have located her eyes! But when Eloise looks back, she could’ve sworn his gaze caught on her again.

Her reverie is shattered as the crowd around her begins to clap and the Mayor, apparently finished, steps away and is replaced by a bustling Anemone. ”Happy Hunger Games!” Anemone practically sings, the microphone whining uncomfortably. “Now for the selection! May the odds be ever in your favour!”

Trotting over to the girls' bowl, Anemone rifles through the pool of tiny white envelopes. Each paper contains the name of a child, a daughter, a sister, a life. The one Anemone holds in her silk-gloved hand now contains the name of a doomed child, a lost daughter, a missed sister. Anemone leans back into the mic. “As always, ladies first!” She drawls, pawing at the black seal of the paper slip.

The mass of children and parents stills, watching with bated breath for the name that is to be announced. The fear that surrounds Eloise is stifling, but she can’t deny the validity of it. Regardless of the blood that runs through their veins, Marlowe and Cova are her sisters, and the thought of their rosy cheeks and curious eyes being sent to slaughter aches deep within her. ”Florence Bay!”

A wave of relief washes over Eloise. She isn’t a friend or a loved one, and that is the best outcome. But the same can’t be said for everyone. From behind Anemone, Eloise can see that the Victor Marino is stiff, hands clutching the armrests, eyes wide. Then she realises. She must be his daughter, Eloise grimaces.

About thirty heads in front of her, she can see the young girl pushing her way through the 16-year old pen, her curly brown locks tied in two loose plaits down the back of her eggshell blue pinafore. The girl stumbles up to the stage, hesitantly joining Anemone at the front, glancing at her father, who somehow looks more terrified than her.

Eloise feels a churning deep in her stomach at the sight of the Victors, a nervous flutter that slowly fills her whole body with a electrified buzz. Was it the way the Victors held their heads high? Was it the strong limbs and weaponry skills they all harboured? Or was it the knowledge that each one of them had entered an arena with 1/24 odds and came out with glory dripping from their names?

Eloise stares up at the female tribute, trying to picture her sitting on stage in the beautiful gown and the whole of Panem watching, but she can’t. The poor girl looks green to the face, and by the pitiful way she stands, she resembles more of a scared newborn giraffe than a fierce warrior. That girl will die for sure, and Eloise feels the strange sensation one usually gets when seeing a dead person. Unfortunately, Florence seems to know this as well, and frantically looks around at the other girls in the audience when Anemone speaks again.

”Now, as is customary, we will call for volunteers!” The escort’s voice rings out to be met by silence.

A handful of heartbeats go by, roaring in Eloise’s ears like an earthquake despite the deafening silence that stretches out, until;

”I volunteer as tribute!” a strong voice calls out.

For a second Eloise wants to look around to see where the voice comes from, before she snaps back to reality. It is her arm in the air. Her voice that had called out.

She has paused in her moment of realisation, and now everyone in the square is looking around for her. Eloise feels dizzy. But Anemone just lets out a small cough, prompting Eloise to come up and swap with Florence.

Eloise jerks into action, her legs taking her through the crowd of murmuring girls and into the corridor between the girls’ and boys’ pens. She vaguely registers Peacekeepers plodding behind her as she walks toward the stairs. There, she passes Florence walking back down to her section. Up close, Eloise can see the tears swimming in her eyes, her cracked lips forming a hasty ’thank you’ before the Peacekeepers push her onwards.

Eloise does her best to hold her head high, not wanting to look weak. She still hasn’t fully grasped the situation she’s in right now, but she knew how many people were watching this moment and on the television replay tonight. Sizing her up.

Before she knows it, Eloise finds herself standing before a sea of people, hundreds of familiar eyes trained on her. Heart pounding, her vision stretches and warps at a swell of disorientation that starts stirring in her head, and Eloise has to clasp her hands behind her back to steady herself. The cameras can’t see this, of course, but the Victors lined up behind her surely can see the way her fingers involuntarily squeeze the blood out of each other, white knuckles tangled together.

She is so out of it that she almost doesn’t hear Anemone asking her name over the roaring of blood in her ears. Eloise steps slowly up to the microphone for fear of her knees buckling beneath her. ”Eloise Thorne,” She says, managing to steady the hoarse tremble that threatens to crawl into her mouth before she speaks.

”Splendid!” Anemone trills and Eloise steps to the side of the flamboyant escort where she has seen so many girls stand before her. Never before did she actually think she’d be here herself. They were just daydreams, weren’t they?

”Let’s give Eloise a show of our support!” Anemone all but gushes, her enthusiastic claps slowing awkwardly as she finds herself the only one clapping. Hesitantly a steady smattering of applause fills the square, but Eloise can’t bring herself to search for the undoubtedly applause-less figures of Jenny-Grace and her family, she doesn’t need to look at them to see the looks of horror and disappointment on their faces.

”Now for the boys!” Anemone continues, her heels clicking on the hardwood as she strides over to the glass bowl that holds the names of hundreds of wide-eyed boys. Another wave of that stifling atmosphere swamps the plaza, and even the breeze holds its breath as Anemone’s gloved hand flits through the bowl before decidedly plucking an envelope as if it were a particularly juicy treat and not the name of an innocent boy doomed to death.

The sound of paper rustling seems to echo throughout the surrounding buildings as the escort click-clacks her way back to the microphone and slips open the paper sleeve. ”August Reed.” Anemone announces.

Eloise’s body goes slack, her previously knotted fingers dropping to her sides in disbelief. The name sounds distant, as if being read underwater, until she realises she is swaying. She swallows.

Squaring her feet to steady herself, Eloise searches the crowd for the sweet curly mop of August’s hair. She sees it, bobbing as he slips between bodies and trips over feet before he finally emerges from the 15-year-old section, brown eyes as round as saucers locked onto Eloise’s. She winks and tries to project reassurance into the smile she shoots at him. He still looks tense, but the cloudy glaze seems to clear from his eyes when he realises she wasn’t already sizing him up for murder. He pads up the wooden steps and hastily crosses the stage, the beady eyes of the crowd finally leaving Eloise and looking at the boy instead.

Eloise’s fingers twist together again when no one volunteers in the young boy’s place. No academy kid raising their arm to say ‘Leave him! Take me instead!’. 

They numbly stand a mayor-length apart as the haughty man drones on about the Treaty of Treason. Eloise isn’t listening though, her mind thinking about poor Jenny-Grace Reed in the crowd losing her best friend and her brother in less than ten minutes. Eloise begins to feel the weight of her actions sinking through her shoulders and clenching her heart. Her life that once stretched out in front of her now curls up, forming an impenetrable door that everyone else has the key to but her. Because she already knows what she has to do.

She has to get August home.

Once the Mayor finishes his dreary recitation, he gestures the tributes to clasp hands. But without hesitation, instead of accepting August’s outstretched hand, she reaches over and pulls him into a tight hug. While tense at first, August quickly melts into her familiar embrace, her arms seemingly the only thing holding him together in that moment. The crowd lets out the breath they were holding, a gentle hum of relief, pity and regret all stirred together.

The anthem of Panem begins to trickle from the large speakers mounted around the square, and soldiers dressed in white take this as a call to action. The Peacekeepers usher them into the Justice Building, unsympathetic gloved hands prodding and pushing them down opposite hallways.

Finally, at the end of the hallway, the Peacekeepers lead her into a secluded room and shut the door behind her. Looking around, Eloise can’t help but gape at the wealth cloying to every inch of the room. The walls were covered in wallpaper, white ducks and tiny seashells on a background of blue, velvet sofas and chairs, deep chocolatey wood and a shimmering crystal chandelier.

Eloise walks up to the window and peers out. The crowds have almost dissolved, Peacekeepers shouting orders around muffled by the glass but still audible. Eloise can’t bear to look at those large families going home for the afternoon, so instead she sinks into the sofa.

She thinks about Magnus, the closest thing to a father that she can remember. And all the rest of the crew, who will tell them why she won’t be there on time for her shift? Will word of mouth get around?

And her stepsisters. Eloise doesn’t worry too much about them, even without Eloise’s wages they will get by okay. In all honesty, Eloise has always believed that she’s a bit of a black sheep, with curly hair instead of straight and blue eyes instead of brown. Her mother passes more for Marlowe and Cova’s mother than she does for Eloise. Maybe it’ll even be better this way.

And Jenny-Grace. Eloise winces internally. She won’t be surprised if she doesn’t show up to say goodbye, it must be uncomfortable to say goodbye to someone you want dead, if only to keep your brother alive. But Eloise understood, she would choose the life of her sisters over her best friend, because at the end of the day, Eloise was Marlowe and Cova’s protector. And Jenny-Grace was August’s.

The door to the luxurious room swings open, two distraught sisters streaming in followed closely by their stepmother.

“El!” The girls both shriek, grabbing her shoulders.

“What were you thinking?” Marlowe wails “You didn’t get called!”

“You’ve gotta tell them you’ve made a mistake!” Cova cries, her words jumbled from the stream of tears and snot, and the sobs wracking her body.

“Shhhh. It’s gonna be okay.” Eloise says, pulling them both into a tight squeeze. “I’m just going on a little trip. You know I’m super strong, I’ll be back before you know it.” Eloise lies, not wanting to tell them about her decision to sacrifice herself in exchange for August’s survival.

“But it’s so dangerous! What if you… what if you…” Marlowe blubs into her dress.

“You saw that little girl up there? Florence?” Eloise says, pushing the two girls back so they could see her face. “She’s your age, Marly. Wouldn’t you’ve liked it if someone took your place? You saw the way no one volunteered for her! She’s just the same as you, just as deserving of life as you.” She reasons. Marlowe just shakes her head strongly.

“But you’re deserving of life too!” She whispers hoarsely. Eloise does her best to smile.

“Yes, and I will come back. Go on now, you two. That Peacekeeper needs you to leave.” She deflects, the Peacekeeper who appeared at the door now asking them to leave. Hesitantly, the girls oblige, leaving the room with shouts of ‘I love you!’ and ‘Please stay safe!’

Defying the Peacekeeper, her Mother stays behind, pulling Eloise into a quick, tight hug.

“Stay safe.” She whispers, not a tear in her eye. “I love you.”

Eloise studies her, the confusion must be written all over her features. Surely her mother, too fragile for even the mundane, should be breaking down at an event like this? Eloise’s eyes widen.

“You knew.” She gasps. “Forfeiting the errands. The hair. The makeup. How did you know? I didn’t even know!”

Her mother just shakes her head, lost for words as always. The Peacekeeper is tugging at her shoulder, demanding she leave. Her mother blows her a kiss before disappearing out the door, pushed by the Peacekeeper.

Other than Jenny-Grace, who wasn’t going to come, and The Wayfarer’s crew, who were currently out at sea, there was no one left to say goodbye to Eloise. She sits back down on the couch, letting her body sink into the squishy pillows. I wonder if I lay here, I’ll sink all the way in and stay there forever, Eloise thinks idly, before surprisingly, the door swings open again.

Annie, Noah, Vera, Jasper and Mako flood into the room. Eloise springs up.

“What are you guys doing here?” She exclaims.

“We’re here to give you some last-minute advice.” Annie says, hands on her hips “Why’d you not tell us you were going to volunteer?”

Eloise lets out a nervous laugh. “I didn’t know I was going to.” She croaks. Annie’s eyebrows furrow and she quickly pulls her into a tight hug, the others following suit until they are all hugging each other. Eloise had never thought about her classmates as friends before, but right at this moment, she felt like she was going to miss them terribly.

“Get to the Cornucopia first.’ Vera sniffs “You’re fast.”

“Yeah,” Noah agrees, “find a trident. Or a spear.”

“Get water!” Annie adds.

They all start bombarding Eloise with advice, even as three Peacekeepers start forcefully dragging them out.

“Think of us when you’re on TV!” Jasper calls, halfway out the door.

“Don’t die!” Annie calls, already out in the hallway being carried by a Peacekeeper.

Eloise laughs, not necessarily a happy one, but a laugh nonetheless. Don’t die, she thinks to herself. If only it was that easy.

She found herself thinking once again about Jenny-Grace. Sweet, lovely Jenny-Grace, who always sneaks peppermints into kind customers’ brown bags, and spends hour after hour patiently waiting while Eloise runs around doing god knows what. Sweet lovely Jenny-Grace who always wears yellow and smells like coconut and the sea and freshly baked bread. Eloise’s face turns stony as she thinks about how she must feel, watching her beloved little brother sent off to death. She couldn’t imagine seeing Cova or Marlowe like that, and Eloise knew more than ever why she needed to do this.

Her solitude is interrupted by another group of Peacekeepers entering the chamber. They wordlessly guide her out of the room and down a different hallway. Eloise squints as sunlight hits her eyeballs, and finds herself being led towards the Capitol train station.

Realising with a pang in her chest that this is the last time she will ever be in District 4 again, Eloise lets her eyes drink in the scenery. The smell of salt and summer flowers, and the warm, albeit weak, sun on her back.

As they enter the station, Eloise is shocked to see the eyes of a thousand camera lenses clicking and flashing in her face. Trying not to be disoriented by the shouts and whistles, Eloise does her best to smile as she’s escorted onto the flashest train she’s ever seen.

Inside, Anemone Kale sits on a plush blue sofa, but Eloise doesn’t have time to look around before a familiar mop of dark curls clamber aboard after her. August’s eyes are glazed, and Eloise wastes no time crossing over to him and wrapping him up in a bone-crushing hug.

“Hey, hey. Don’t worry, don’t worry.” She soothes, already feeling the tears soaking into her shoulder. “You’re gonna be fine, okay? I’m going to keep you alive. I’ll keep you alive.” She repeats these whispered words, hugging her best friend’s brother until he takes a deep breath and steps away.

“You can’t… you can’t do that,” He whispers, averting her eyes. Eloise understands it’s one thing to politely refuse a cup of tea, and another to refuse your own survival out of politeness. You can’t do it.

“Yes, I can.” She insists. “I’ll keep you alive until the very end.” 

“What if… we’re the final two?” August whispers with a shudder. Eloise shakes her head.

“Then I’ll die. We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it.” She says, resolutely. If not to convince herself, then to reassure August.

“Children, why don’t you go to your rooms and have some downtime, hm?” Anemone interjects awkwardly, obviously overhearing their conversation. “I’ll call you both for supper in a few hours, and you can meet your mentors! How exciting!” She gestures to a hall that must contain their rooms.

Eloise and August don’t share this excitement, shooting each other a look as they walk out of the luxurious main room in silence. Eloise gives August a shoulder squeeze before they disappear into their separate rooms.

Eloise walks into a space larger than her entire house and immediately beelines for the bathroom as a wave of nausea rolls through her. Quickly gathering up fistfuls of golden coils, Eloise collapses in front of the shiny toilet bowl just in time as she revisits her porridge. It doesn’t help that the train pulls out of the station halfway through, making her lurch and grab on tightly to the toilet.

After her body adjusts to the movement, she staggers over to the sink and washes her face and mouth, watching numbly as the precious powder her mother had lovingly applied just over an hour earlier washes away down the drain. Tears prick in her eyes. Why did she volunteer? She wasn’t Annie Cresta, she didn’t want to kill anyone! Looking into the gold-inlaid mirror, Eloise saw the face of her fantasy staring back at her, the one who sat in front of Panem and revelled in her victory.

Eloise hears a scream escape from her mouth at the sight, and stumbles back into the shower and ripping her dress off as fast as she could, shutting the door and blasting the water. Eloise had never taken a hot shower before, only ever bathing in metal tubs. But she had used the outdoor showers at the docks meant for blasting sand and grit from you with cold seawater, so finding the right button wasn’t difficult.

A rainbow of bottles and pots sit on shelves around the spacious shower, and Eloise finds herself studying them. Unlike at home, the Capitol seem to have bottles of different soaps for different purposes, instead of just one singular bar. Despite the life-threatening situation Eloise is currently in, girlish curiosity wins over and she begins reading their labels and lining up several bottles on the floor that sport different titles. She shuffles them around into the correct order according to the instructions on the back and begins washing her hair and scrubbing her body head to toe. Delightfully, she finds one of each that smells like coconut, and closing her eyes, Eloise can almost picture herself at home while her mother mixes ointments in the kitchen.

She steps out of the shower 45 minutes later, cleaner than she’s ever been. She wraps her wet hair up in one of the towels and another around her body while she rummages through the chest of drawers in the bedroom. It’s full of soft, fine clothes and that same girlish joy from before hijacks Eloise’s hands as she shuffles through them. If she is going to die in a matter of weeks, she might as well enjoy this luxury.

She chooses a soft white blouse and a pair of jeans. Jeans! Denim is unheard of in the districts, and the Capitolites don’t see much fashion in them. But Eloise finds them very comfortable. 

She sits on the side of the bed and looks out the window, running a coconut-scented lotion through her hair in an effort to remind herself of home. It smells more artificial than the stuff her mother makes, but Eloise doesn’t mind. Outside, the train seemed to be racing through a huge expanse of red dirt, cacti and lumps of rock are the only undulations on the surface. This is nothing like home, ELoise thinks, picturing the soft sand and expanses of water that rule her beloved District 4.

Eloise must’ve fallen asleep, because she wakes up to a sharp rapping on her door. “Dinner time! Hurry now!” Anemone’s insufferable voice pierces through the door.

Groaning, Eloise sits up from the uncomfortable tangle she had fallen asleep in. It must’ve been a few hours, because her hair is soft and dry and stars twinkle outside her window. Slipping her feet into the fluffy slippers provided for indoor use, Eloise shuffles down the hall and is welcomed by a deep mahogany table ladened with more food Eoise has even seen in her life.

Everyone else is already seated, and 4 pairs of eyes glanceup at her arrival. A curious pair of sea-green ones meet with hers, and the breath leaves Eloise’s lungs. Quickly avoiding his gaze and trying to suppress the rapid thuds of her heart, Eloise sits down with her head lowered. Distracting herself with spooning meat, vegetables and the fanciest bread onto her plate, Eloise is awestruck at the mountain of food available. This table could feed a large family for over a week!

Anemone doesn’t seem to register her shy demenour, smiling at Eloise’s polite ‘table manners’  as she takes small, unenthusiastic bites. She must be bored by now of starving children shovelling food in their face, Eloise thinks bitterly.

“It’s August, right? And… Eloise?” A velvety deep voice asks from across the table, and Eloise could feel eyes on her. It wasn’t really a question, more of a statement. Glancing up for the briefest amount of time, Eloise nods, and sees August doing the same.

“And you're a Career, huh? What’s your weapon of choice?” Finnick presses. Eloise fidgets slightly.

Eloise isn’t usually shy, but all she wants in this moment is for the Victor’s attention to leave her. “What? No! No, I’m not a… I’m not…” Eloise begins, but trails off when a flash of white catches her attention. August was cutting a slice of ham away, his wrist sporting a string of cowrie shells.

“August? Is that?” Eloise starts at the sight, and August’s dark eyes meet with hers in confusion. Eloise gestures to his wrist, and August’s eyes widen in understanding.

“Oh! Oh, yes it’s Jen’s.” The usually bubbly young boy says, devoid of his usual spark. His eyes seem to glaze over. “She gave it to me. For my token.”

Eloise (Who has now forgotten that a certain someone is across the table, unanswered) takes in a breath. August notices this, and he gives her a sad smile.

“She told me to send her love. And, and that she wanted to come say goodbye, but she- she-” August says, searching for the words.

Eloise smiles. “It would be too difficult,” She croaks. “I understand.” A weight seems to leave August’s frame at that, and he sits a little higher in his chair, his eyes less dark.

Sensing a silence, Anemone begins rambling on about the schedule of the next few days, spurring on their mentors, Finnick and Mags Flanagan, to begin coaching. The two of them ask various questions about weaponry, survival skills and other Games-related trivia. Finnick ends up taking the lead, but his rapid-fire questions seem to be aimed at Eloise, who finds herself often pinned under his intense stare.

Thankfully, August is all too happy to answer the questions for Eloise, generously raving about her abilities at the Academy and her jobs in the community.

“My grandmother loves her.” August says. “She says El always gives her the freshest bread. And she is so brave! You must’ve heard about the time when the Peacekeeprs caught her r-” 

“Want some more salmon, August?” Eloise interrupts quickly, shooting August a glare. He flushes, looking sheepish.

“Yup!” He squeaks. Finnick’s eyes roam over to her again, raising an eyebrow as if to say ‘Go on?’. Eloise averts her eyes again, shaking her head slightly. Damn it, August!

A swarm of Avoxes come out, clearing the messy table in a couple efficient seconds. Behind them, another group follows, arms carrying trays spilling over with various deserts. The two tribute’s eyes practically pop out of their head.

Awkwardness forgotten, Eloise eagerly joins August as he piles his plate high with slices of cakes, puddings, sweet sauces and fruits. A bowl of fruit sat near Anemone catches her eye, and she gingerly reaches over and plucks a piece from it, rolling it around in her hand.

Calling it a bowl of fruit is generous. In reality, it was a bowl full of fresh, pink peaches. Eloise slowly takes a bite, and is transported back to the narrow grass lawn behind her tiny house overgrown with various fruit trees. She pauses, her mouth about the soft flesh as she drinks in the scent for a long moment, her eyes looking up at Anemone.

“Are these from District 4?” She asks, holding up the fruit.

“Yes, they are.” Mags answers instead. Her voice is frail, but not the way Cressida’s is. Hers is delicate like a spindly sapling, whereas Mags’ is frail after a long life of courage and strength. Eloise meets her friendly gaze.

“Me and Finnick brought them from home. We didn’t want to leave them to rot. Aren’t they just the most delicious peaches you’ve ever had?” She smiles, taking one for herself. Eloise’s breath hitches.

𝟎𝟏 𝐀𝐮𝐠𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝟐𝟑𝟎𝟒

"Mother, do we have to do this? It’s our food; we shouldn't share it with other people. Especially not him, he was stinkin’ rich!" 13-year-old Eloise whined. Cressida stood at the kitchen table, gently filling an old Blue Eye beer crate with juicy pears, bunches of grapes, and nectarines from the orchard garden outside. She then filled a small wicker punnet with handfuls of sugar-snap peas, tying the peas' flowers into bunches along with other wildflowers from outside, and nestled them in between the fruit until the crate resembled a glorious gift basket.

"Yes, Petal. It is a kind thing to do. Their poor boy just got back from the games," she sighed with a smile, popping a pod of peas into Eloise’s pouting mouth.

"But they don’t need it!" Eloise insisted. Her mother frowned.

"How did you know that they don’t need it?" she asked. Eloise's brow furrowed.

"Because they can afford food easily! They don’t need us to give it to them!" she responded adamantly.

"Yes, maybe you’re right. They do already have food. But a gift is more than its contents; it’s showing the other person love, and that you care about them," Cressida hummed, settling a few jars of her coconut lotion in the crate too. "That little boy has been through an ordeal; wouldn’t you agree that the thing he needs most right now is some care?"

Little Eloise thought for a long moment and then nodded. "Yes, I understand. But what are they giving us in return?"

Her mother, finally finished, handed Eloise the punnet of peas while she carried the crate on her hip like a basket. Eloise opened the door, and they began walking away from the house.

"Nothing, dear. The kindest souls are those who perform good deeds without expecting anything in return, simply because kindness is their nature. Even when it goes unseen," she responded. "Does that make sense?"

Eloise nodded. They were heading somewhat out of town, and after 20 minutes of walking, the two girls reached the iron gates of the Victor's Village. Eloise was almost speechless by the gleaming white houses that lined the road stretching out ahead, and pictured herself returning from the Games to a house like that.

"Come on, Petal. We don’t want them to see us, remember? We’re not here to be attention-seekers; we’re just being generous," Cressida said. She had already placed the gifts in the gateway and started walking away. After another moment of awestruck staring, Eloise tore her eyes away and began to follow her mother back home. She had just turned the corner, out of sight of the Village when she heard a door open. Ducking behind a huge ivy bush that climbed the wrought iron fence, Eloise peered into the Village.

A young boy exited his house in the distance and seemed to notice the crates at the gate. Curiously, he began to walk over. He knelt down, inspecting the crate of fruit for a name, a note, anything. Not having found one, he looked up, confusion etched on his soft features as he glanced around for a sign of the kind gifter. He looked down at the crate again and plucked a peach out. Rolling the sweet fruit around in his hands, a small smile began to spread over his lips.

Eloise Thorne had never seen a boy like him before. Not like this. The boy’s tan skin was soaked in golden morning sunlight, a breezy white shirt hanging off him. His bronze hair was tousled, and Eloise felt like she could just reach out and touch it. It looked so feathery, falling into his eyes when the boy had looked around for the gifter. She could see his eyes, the softest shade of sea-green. Eloise had never seen eyes that colour before. Her heart skipped a beat at the happy expression that molded his features, his lips upturned at the corners as he studied the peach, his brow furrowed gently.

She had done this, Eloise realised. She had made this boy smile like that. Euphoria filled her body, and she gazed eagerly out at the boy, her eyes drinking in every inch of his pretty face.

Butterflies tried to flutter up her throat when the beautiful boy looked up once again, searching for the gifter. She jumped back out of fright when his eyes landed on the bush, and with one look back at Finnick, she sprinted down the road and after her mother.

Every month after that, Eloise took it upon herself to fill an empty Blue Eye crate with whatever fruit was in season in her garden. She picked bunches of flowers, jars of jam, handfuls of carefully selected seashells. Her mother watched on fondly, knowing full well why her silly daughter was so eager every month to carry out her delivery.

"It’s just a nice thing to do!" 15-year-old Eloise had protested once, Cressida laughing at the oblivious girl.

She never let the gorgeous Victor see her, of course. She sneaked over to the Victor’s Village ridiculously early on the morning of the 1st, 2nd, or 3rd of each month to drop off her delivery before her morning swim, sometimes pausing for a moment behind the bush to try and glimpse him.

Finnick would always try to catch a glimpse of his “Blue-Eyed Gifter” too, waking up early at the beginning of the month and hurrying outside. But every time, he was only greeted by a crate full of thoughtful gifts, the closest thing to a name in sight being the large Blue Eye label printed onto the wood.

Eloise never admitted it to herself, but her surge of admiration for the young Victor led her to take on her intense lifestyle. She begged and begged Remus and her mother to let her drop out of regular school to attend the combat academy. Her parents were at first horrified at the idea.

"Why would you throw away your education for fight training? You’re not going into the games!" Her mother had whispered hoarsely, her hands gripping the table.

"Mother, please! I’ll study at home and at work; I’m smart! But I want to be strong so I can work a proper job here in District 4!" She had begged. Remus scoffed.

"We’ve already let you take up those shifts at the grocer and that savage job at the docks. Why should we do anything for ya?"

Eloise frowned. "Let me? I give you all the money from those jobs!"

Magnus, darling Magnus, had started teaching Eloise combat in secret a few weeks back, and it became apparent she had a talent for it. He had suggested attending the Academy, and Eloise was set on it. Think about all the Victors that came from here! Eloise had daydreamed.

Every reaping, Eloise caught sight of the golden boy in broad daylight, and every year she wished for his sea-green gaze to notice her. Every lesson at the Academy she hoped he would be there to lead a lesson, but was always disappointed by Marino Bay or Rio Fathom instead. Every month, she fantasized about leaving a note with the delivery, a name, or a place to meet, before blushing out of embarrassment and deciding against it.

Eloise has never acknowledged to herself that she has a crush on Finnick Odair.

𝟎𝟒 𝐉𝐮𝐥𝐲 𝟐𝟑𝟎𝟖

Right now, a boy with golden hair sits across the table from Eloise, watching her intently as she studies the fruit in her hands.

“Yes, they’re very delicious.” She mumbles. Could these be the ones I dropped off yesterday?

They all finish eating in comfortable conversation, August now fervently asking questions about survival skills to Finnick, who responds with equal enthusiasm. After everyone is stuffed to point of discomfort, Anemone tutting dissapointedly, Mags instructs them all to go down to the television where they will watch the reapings. Eloise feels nerves bubble up as they begin to move to the long, crescent shaped couch. These were the kids she was going to have to kill.

August and Eloise fill a large bowl with popcorn, cookies and slices to nibble on as the holographic television powers on. They sit next to eat other, watching intently as Ceasar Flickerman and Claudius Templesmith open the program, excitedly revelling at what an amazing Hunger Games that had before them this year.

The begin showing the reapings switching to a shot of the glistening town square of District 1. Naturally, two 18-year-olds volunteered, a tan girl called Starla and a muscular boy named Nikolai.

“Careers.” Finnick says, “They are going to be your biggest competition, unless you ally with them.” He shoots a quick glance at Eloise, who realises with a jolt he thinks she is a Career too. And, well, she is, really. But not like them. They have spent their whole lives preparing to kill, she has spent her whole life preparing to survive.

District 2 is next, and unsurprisingly two more Career volunteers. What is surprising, however, is the 14-year-old girl who was lightning-fast to put her hand up. Once up on the stage, the cameras zoom in on the young girl.

“Woah,” August breathes.

She is gorgeous. Possibly the prettiest girl Eloise has ever seen. Unlike the tan skin of District 4, this girl has pale skin and bleached, ice-white hair which she wears cropped around shoulder-length. Like Eloise, her pin-straight hair was put up in a loose half-up half-down style, and the cameras manage to pick up the menacing line of silver earrings adorning her ears. She has dark eyeliner on, and she looks ready to kill. For a 14-year-old, she’s unbeliveably fit. She must’ve been training her whole life.

Speaking into the microphone, she reveals her name to be Minthe Vercoe, and the 17-year-old next to her is Bennett.

Everyone in the room is silent, all of them knowing that that girl, despite her ridiculous age, would be the biggest threat. But Finnick obviously doesn’t do well with defeat, and pipes up.

“Don’t worry about her. From what I’ve heard, you are plenty strong enough to hold your own against whatever she’s got, Eloise.” Eloise blushes at that remark, and shakes her head softly. She tries to restrain the butterflies in her stomach that begin to dance at the sound of her name on his lips.

From District 3, an uninspiring duo of 15-year-old Clarke and 16-year old Wyatt. And then it is District 4.

Eloise watches as Florence Bay is reaped, and she watches her very own hand shoot up in the air. Eloise has never seen herself on video before, and is secretly pleased to see how put-together she looked walking up to the stage. She sure didn’t feel it in the moment.

She sees herself introduce her name, surprised again to hear how steady her voice was. She can see her arms behind her back, and knows the way their fingers must be twisted.

“For a second there I though your fingers were going to drop off!” Finnick says from along the couch. Eloise whips around to lock eyes with him, a smirk playing on his features, and unbelievably a laugh slips out of her mouth.

“You saw that?” She winces with a giggle. Finnick nods, seemingly pleased to of finally made her react for the first time all day.

“I did. Although I was quite distracted by old Marino almost passing out from relief. Thanks for saving Flo, by the way.” He grins with a wink. The dancing butterflies in Eloise’s stomach have started a rave.

The TV shows August’s name being called, the camera panning to the nervous young boy walking to the stage. Thankfully, the camera focusing on August takes the attention off of her, where on the side of the screen you can just make out the way she sways slightly from shock. Caesar and Claudius ‘ooo’ and ‘aww’ when the two Tributes hug at the end, and Finnick and Mags comment on how this was a good start as the program continues on. Eloise actually agrees with them, to anyone else she must look like any other Career tribute.

A 12 and a 15-year-old are reaped from District 5, and a 17 and a 13-year old from 6. None of them look particularly menacing.

But from Dsitrict 7, a little 13-year-old girl named Bronwyn captures Eloise’ attention, reminding her painfully of Cova. Her District partner, a handsome 17-year-old boy named Kam.

District 8 hosts a pair of jittery tributes, wheras District 9 reaps two tough looking lumberjacks. A girl the same age as Eloise called Ivy, and a 16-year-old boy.

Out of the remaining 3 Districts, 6 underwhelming kids are reaped, obviously there due to tesserae withdrawal. Eloise feels pity stir in her stomach at the sight of the malnourished children, but pushes it down. If she wants to save August, she has to think like a Career. And an Career would only see those little mites as easy pickings.

Anemone clicks off the TV. “How thrilling! I’m going to head to bed now, it’s awfully late. Kids, I’ll fetch you for breakfast tomorrow. Get some rest now!” She sings, standing up and shuffling off in her mermaid-shaped dress. Eloise rolls her eyes dramatically, and from the loud snort across the sofa, Finnick must’ve seen it.

“Well. How do you feel about that lot?” He asks the two tributes from his relaxed sprawl at the end of the couch. “I think you two have a good shot! Pick your allies carefully and listen to me and Mags, and odds are you can come back alive.” He says, his sea-green eyes once again subtly looking at Eloise

The butterflies turn to black, goopy mush in her stomach. “I’m not coming back.” Eloise shoots back tersely, harsher than she meant to. She stands up abruptly. “August is. I’m going to bed.”

Eloise escapes from the now stifling room, chased by three pairs of curious eyes, flinging herself on the bed as soon as the door shuts. Embarrassment at her statement battles with the flustered feeling Finnick gave her in her mind. Why’d he keep looking at her? Why does she not know what to say around him? She hates herself like this, she’s usually so calm and in control. Red-faced, Eloise tries as hard as she can to push that boy from her mind.

She strips down to her undergarments and crawls into the cool sheets of the bed, but sleep does not find her. Eloise has spent the last 4 years of her life sleeping in a warm heap with her two sisters, and the feeling of sleeping alone in this air conditioned room is too much. She tries humming a lullaby to no avail. At one point she even jumps out of bed and does a short workout. Still nothing.

So Eloise fishes a tank top and pair of soft cotton shorts from her drawers. Slipping out of her bedroom, Eloise finds her legs taking her all the way down the train, right to the end where she discovers a smallish lounge room surrounded by windows. A plush, curved couch hems the end of the traincarriage, and Eloise slumps exhaustedly onto it, chin propped up on the back of the sofa and watches the train ride through the night. She studies the darkened landscape, trying to picture where on the big hand-drawn map at her old school they were.

Her thoughts inevitably wander back to Finnick. She wonders sleepily if he’s asleep right now. I wonder how he got his hair to look like that, Eloise thinks drowsily, sleep pulling her into a dreamscape of golden sunrays and sea-green waters.

© sunniskyies 2024, do not repost or translate my work

[lovemesomesurveys]

[joybucket @ bzoink]

How long has it been since you moved out of the house you grew up in?   A little over a decade ago. 

What color shirt are you wearing?   It’s like a periwinkle color. 

The last time you ate leftovers, what was it that you were eating?   It was the last time I had pizza. 

What was the last flavor of ice cream you ate?   I had Reese’s ice cream just a bit ago. So good.

Do you regret anything you've done in the last 24 hours, and if so, what?   I don’t think so.

What is your favorite type of soup? 🍜   I don’t have one. I used to be obsessed with ramen as some of ya’ll may remember, but I don’t know everything got all weird when my health really declined and my tastes changed.

When was the last time you saw a beautiful sunset? 🌅   I have no idea. 

What is your favorite song at the moment?   I don’t have a particular current favorite. 

What are 5-10 things you love about being you? Mehhhh.

What is your favorite board that you've made on Pinterest?   I have various boards that I enjoy.

Do you get on Facebook or Instagram more?   Facebook, but I really don’t spend much time on there either. I just rarely go on Instagram, so. Not sure about this Threads thing, but to be fair I fought against Facebook when everyone started ditching Myspace for it and even my very first post on here says something like, “I don’t know how much I’ll actually use this.” That was in 2009, by the way. 

What color is your favorite sweater?   Black.

What are three things people would never guess about you just by looking at the photos you post on social media?   -Well, I have a friend I chat with in a tiktok live for someone we both obviously watch, but also someone we mod for. Anyway, she was apparently shook when I told her I was turning 34 soon. She claims she legit thought I was 21. I was like omg nice, good people do exist thank you so much lmaoooo. 

-You couldn’t know what health struggles I’ve been struggling with physically and mentally just based off a selfie. 

-Uhhh, you couldn’t guess .... I don’t know, there’s a ton of things you couldn’t guess just based off a photo.

What is one thing you have too much of?   Stuff. But I waaaaant it.

What was the last thing you ate or drank that was blue raspberry-flavored?A slushie quite awhile ago.

What are three of your favorite scents?   Patchouli, cedar wood, sandalwood. 

What was the last flavor of tea you drank? ☕️   Chamomile. 

When was the last time you wore your hair in a fishtail braid?   I’ve never worn my hair that way. I don’t know how to do that type of braid myself and I’ve never asked anyone else to do it for me. 

What is one annoying thing your computer does?   It’s getting a bit laggy. It’s my brother’s that I’ve been using ever since mine went kaput last April, for which I am extremely grateful for. However, it’s full of stuff and it’s super unorganized, so it drives me nuts but I can’t just go cleaning out his laptop and shit. I’m gonna have to ask him if he can clear stuff up, though. I feel so bad I like took over his laptop. It was especially nice to have when I was in the hospital. He’s been really cool about it cause he really didn’t use it anymore once he finished school, but still. He’s furthering his education and going for his master’s, so I think he may need his laptop back. Although, I honestly kinda think he’ll just buy a new one. 

What type of fruit do you eat the most?   I very rarely eat any fruit or consider myself a big fan, but I do like bananas. 

How often do you go out to eat?   I haven’t been out to eat in SO long, but I get takeout all the time.

What would your dream wedding dress look like? 👰‍♀️   I’ve never thought about it, honestly. I don’t see myself ever even getting married to be honest. 

Which fall flavor do you prefer: pumpkin spice or apple cinnamon?   Apple cinnamon.

What is the most annoying thing about your life right now?   Being stuck in this damn bed. It’s beyond annoying. 

Which holiday treat do you like better: candy corn or conversation hearts? I like them both. I know, so controversial. 

What is your favorite apple-flavored treat?   Apple fritters are good.

What are you counting down the days to right now, if anything?   My birthday, kinda. I’m not able to go anywhere again, but at least I’m home and not in the hospital this year. Oh, so since the Barbie movie comes out near my birthday and I was obsessed with Barbies as a kid, I kinda joked about having a Barbie cake and wanting a Barbie, right? Well, it became a thing and now they’re looking for one and I think are getting me Barbies lmaooo. Anyway, so that’s something fun. 

What was the last book you read about?   It’s a murder mystery FBI type stuff.

Have you been daydreaming a lot lately about a scenario you wish would happen?  Yeah. I really want to travel. I need a vacation. I neeeeed the beach. I need a change of scenery. Can I be on bed rest at a nice beach rental overlooking the ocean? ha.

What are three of your favorite things about camping? ⛺️   Nothing, I’m not a camping person.

If you could choose what month to be born in, what month would you have chosen as your birth month, and why?   October would be cool.

...and what is your actual birth month?   July.

What are three of your favorite things to do on a rainy day? 🌧️   I don’t do anything different, but I do love the rain.

Would you rather eat strawberries 🍓 or watermelon 🍉?   I like both.

Do you prefer smoothies or milkshakes? 🍹   Milkshakes. 

Do you prefer hamburgers 🍔 or hot dogs 🌭?   Hot dogs. 

When was the last time you felt nauseous?   Earlier. I feel that way a lot. 

What was the last thing you ate that made you feel nauseous?   I always feel sick after getting my formula in the g-tube.

Do you enjoy going to your local county fair?   I have never been. Not my thing.

How far away do you live from the place where you were born?   Like 10 minutes.

Do you prefer zebra print or cheetah print? I’m not a fan of either, honestly.

[unfoundhoney]

a sister’s sacrifice ; part two ↠

↠ platonic!c!sleepy bois inc x fem!reader , platonic!c!tubbo x fem!reader ; angst with a minuscule amount of fluff

↠ masterlist

↠ part one ; part two ; part three ;

↠ @leafyturtle @basheverythingyesterday @terribletoothbat

after all is said and done

after l’manberg is left half-ruined but still breathing

after techno runs off

after tommy and tubbo take seats in the cabinet

after wilbur has been killed by phil

after it all, you leave

you leave l’manberg & the rest of the server & refuse to pick a side

you move to a dark oak forest & build a little cottage for yourself hidden among the trees

you’re tired

you’re so so tired of everything & you just want to be at peace

of course, you could never fully leave everything

you’re still visited by your brothers (those that are left) & your friends

you help niki with her flower shop & various other building projects

you remain out of any political affairs tommy & tubbo are involved in

but you still spend most of your time alone in the woods

you’re content living like this

are you happy with the way your life has turned out?

god no

but you can live with being content

& then ghostbur shows up

(ghostbur) hello! are you the y/n phil keeps talking about?

you wanna talk about trauma?

let’s talk about being approached out of nowhere in the middle of the woods while mushroom hunting by your DEAD BROTHER and a blue sheep on a leash

what the f u c

(you, bewildered) ...will?

(ghostbur) i’m not wilbur. not the one you knew. i’m ghostbur! are you y/n? you look like phil described & i haven’t managed to find any other houses hidden in the dark oak forest.

this is... great

ghostbur becomes quite attached to you

will had distanced himself while living in pogtopia as his mental state deteriorated

it seems ghostbur is fulfilling the closeness alivebur wishes to have had maintained with you

.......

cool

this is fine

it’s totally fine

ghostbur visits you often

even though you know it’s not really your wilbur, it’s nice in some odd way to have a version of wilbur still around

it’s through ghostbur that you learn of tommy’s exile, long after it had happened

it seems no one wanted a protective mama bear y/n sent after them, so during your brief visits to the main residential areas, talk of tommy’s exile was conventiently never a conversation piece

you just figured he was busy or distracted or avoiding you like a moody teen

then ghostbur hands you a small letter one day

(you) what’s this?

(ghostbur) it’s an invitation to tommy’s beach party. he’s been quite lonely in exile

(you) quite lonely in what now

ghostbur fills you in as best as his little ghost brain can on what’s happened with tommy & burning down geroge’s house & tubbo exiling him

what do you mEAN TUBBO EXILED TOMMY????

WTFFFFF??????!!!

CAN YOU GET A BREAK????!!!?!?!?

WHAT ARE THESE IDIOT CHILDREN DOING

you’re the only person to get an invite

you watch from afar, wary of approaching your youngest brother with dream so close

you wait for dream to leave before going to him

(you) tommy?

(tommy) ...y/n!

you catch him in a hug without hesitation

(tommy) i knew you’d come

(you) tommy, i’m so sorry. i had no idea you’d even been exiled or i would have visited you immediately-... are you okay?

tommy is so....

he’s so.......

worn down

his clothes are torn & dirty, he has bags under his eyes

he’s thinner than he used to be, which is very concerning as he’s always been a bit of a walking stick

he just looks so tired

the usual fire that burns behind his eyes whether in anger or mischief or just happiness is nonexistent

(tommy) what?

(you) are you okay? i’d been worried because i hadn’t seen you around and- god, i’m so sorry. i should’ve looked for you or asked about you but i just assumed and now this and-... tom?

tommy just starts crying

because he thought you’d stopped caring about him too

he thought everyone stopped caring about him

but you’re here & you’re concerned & you’re as caring as usual

he buries his face in your shoulder & just cries his little heart out

you hold him and pet his hair and just let him cry

(you) tommy

(tommy) yeah?

(you) come home with me

(tommy) what?

(you) come home with me. you can live with me for the time being & we’ll get this sorted out, okay?

you’d seen how manipulative dream was being even in the short time you’d watched him & your brother, so it takes some convincing but soon tommy has packed his things & is heading out with you back to your home in the dark oak forest

you spend a while nursing him back to health, both physically & mentally

it’s truly heartbreaking having to recondition him out of the dependent mindset on dream

it also pisses you the fuck off but you focus your energy on tommy, not on revenge

tommy tries many times to convince you to come back

to go back to l’manberg & “plant the seed of rebellion”

which wasn’t even call for an actual rebellion, just that you could go back & raise hell about your littlest brother being exiled & demand he be allowed back

but time & time again you refuse

you are content staying away from everything & remaining out of conflict

tommy is very much not

so you lead him to techno’s new home

(you) don’t cause too much trouble for him

(tommy) he blew up l’manberg!

(you) wilbur blew up l’manberg. techno just tried to kill the government

you leave him there & head back home

do you get a moderately angry visit a few days later from techno, who eventually agrees to helping tommy upon your asking?

possibly

you’re not present when tommy & techno sneak onto the smp

you’re not there when tommy & tubbo fight

or during the doomsday war when techno, phil, & dream lay waste to l’manberg once and for all

you’re aware, yes

you’re around, you’re in the know

you just remain out of conflict & out of sight

you’re also not there to say goodbye to tommy & tubbo as they head off for their final battle with dream

that little tidbit you weren’t caught up on, too busy wallowing in your own self misery & crying over your broken family

but ghostbur comes to visit that day

(ghostbur) hello, y/n!

(you) hello, ghostbur. it’s nice to see you

(ghostbur) you, as well! would you like some blue

(you) no. thank you.

(ghostbur) i sure do hope tommy & tubbo come back alright

(you) come back from what?

you were expecting “a trip to the nether,” “a journey to a new woodland mansion,” “a search for sunken ships”

instead, you get:

(ghostbur) their final battle with dream. they set off not too long ago

(you) ........if you’ll excuse me

you head off immediately, tracking tommy & tubbo despite all odds

you do not care, those are your brothers & they are not dying on your watch to dream of all people

they may have been told it’s a battle

they may think they have a chance

but this is dream we’re talking about

you know a trap when you see one

you climb up the mountainside as stealthily as possible

you arrive just in time to hear tubbo’s screams as he is cornered and killed by dream, losing his second canon life

tommy seems to be beat into submission as dream threatens to kill tubbo a final time, who respawns defenseless without any of his items

dreams leads them down into the mountain, villain monologuing the whole way

dramatic bitch

you jump down after them, tired of hearing him threaten your brothers

(you) i think you’ve said enough, dream

(dream) there you are. i was beginning to wonder when mama bear would show up

you put yourself between dream and your brothers

(you) you won’t hurt them anymore. i’m taking them & we’re leaving

(dream) i don’t think that’s up to you, y/n

(you) we’ll see

you take the first swing at dream, landing a clean hack at his shoulder with your axe

but again

this is dream we’re talking about

you’ve never been the most talented fighter & dream is second only to technoblade

i.e. you never stood a chance

but all reason went out the window when it comes to saving your brothers

soon you’re backed against a wall, dream’s axe at your throat

(dream) well this was a waste of time

(you) you’re a monster

(dream) thanks

(you) you think distancing yourself from everyone & everything will work? trust me, it doesn’t. it doesn’t matter how far away you move or how much you push those you love away, those feelings will always be there

dream considers you for a moment

you hope he at least has no satisfaction as you stare back in defiance

you’re unafraid; coming down here was a death sentence & yet you still jumped in headfirst

(dream) maybe for someone like you. but i’m not like you. i don’t care about anything or anyone on this server. i’m not burdened by attachment & i will never be again.

(you) i pity you, dream

(dream) pity me in hell

dreams draws his arm back & swings his axe down

you will lose your final canon life to dream, for your brothers

it’s always for your brothers

as much as you think you should hate them, hate everyone for everything that has happened to you

you can’t

they’re your family

you’ll love them infinitely

tubbo gasps in shock & tommy gives a yell of protest

you know they love you, too

you close your eyes

dream’s axe meets your neck

and you’re gone

[luxaofhesperides]

stealing clothes

college au ft. domestic joongdok. i am so predictable.

also on ao3.

.

.

.

Kim Dokja is extremely lucky to have Yoo Joonghyuk as his roommate. Not just because Yoo Joonghyuk is the campus heartthrob and Kim Dokja is the one who gets to see him everyday, and not because Yoo Joonghyuk is the perfect house husband, cleaning and cooking because he banned Kim Dokja from doing both. 

While both those things are nice, the best part about having Yoo Joonghyuk as his roommate is stealing his shirts. 

Not to do anything weird! They’re just… comfortable.

He even got permission! For the first few, at least. 

It all starts because Yoo Joonghyuk was going to throw out perfectly good shirts that have been worn and washed enough to become soft, the type of softness that even the most high quality shirts can’t capture. They weren’t dirty, or torn, just old. So Kim Dokja protests this and tries to get Yoo Joonghyuk to keep them, only for him to scowl and throw the shirts at him.

“You keep them then,” he said, then left. And Kim Dokja did. 

He’s well aware that wearing his hot roommate’s shirts might be (is) weird, so he only wears them on long nights when he needs some extra comfort to get him through his last assignments, or when Yoo Joonghyuk isn’t home. He never wears them when Yoo Joonghyuk might see. He’d rather die. 

And because his wonderful roommate is out for the night, no doubt at a party celebrating his latest gaming tournament win, Kim Dokja is settled in for a long night of reading, curled up on the couch in one of Yoo Joonghyuk’s old shirts. It’s long enough to reach down past his thighs, so he doesn’t bother wearing pants, and a blanket over his shoulders helps with the chill his exposed collarbones bring. 

The apartment is quiet, most people out or sleeping, and the latest update of his favorite web novel is a long one. And should he get hungry, there’s dinner in the fridge, courtesy of Yoo Joonghyuk who is very determined to get Kim Dokja eating more regularly. 

It’s been too long since he was able to be so relaxed and comfortable. No urgent deadlines, no projects to stress about, no tests in the near future hanging over his head like a guillotine. 

He’s so comfortable that halfway through the chapter he’s reading, Kim Dokja begins nodding off. The living room is gradually getting darker as the sun begins to set, and he sees no reason why he shouldn’t take a nap; his sleep schedule is fucked anyways, a little rest won’t hurt him at all.

The sound of the door opening rouses him. 

Distantly, Kim Dokja hears a lock click and a heavy sigh, but half-awake, he can’t be sure if it’s real or part of a dream. 

He opens sleep-heavy eyes to a dark living room; he must have been sleeping for a few hours, long enough for the sun to fully set and the moon to shine brightly. His entire body feels heavy and slow. 

Slowly, Kim Dokja sits up, the blanket falling off his shoulders to pool around his hips. He stretches his arms up above his head, arching his spine a bit, drawing out the stretch as he shakes off the last of his nap. 

Behind him, someone chokes. 

Startled, Kim Dokja drops his arms and turns to see Yoo Joonghyuk standing in front of the hallway, staring at him with wide eyes. He’s… shirtless. Kim Dokja quickly looks away. 

“When did you get back?” he asks, trying to break the strange tension that suddenly fills the apartment.

Yoo Joonghyuk is silent for a few moments before Kim Dokja hears him step closer. “Just a few minutes ago. I thought you were asleep.”

“I was. Is it late?”

The light turns on suddenly and Kim Dokja winces, blinking to clear the spots from his vision. 

“It’s only nine.” 

Huh. He wasn’t asleep for too long then. He feels the couch dip and looks up to see Yoo Joonghyuk sitting right next to him instead of anywhere else on their rather large couch. He’s staring at Kim Dokja’s chest, which makes him shift uncomfortably. 

He glances down to see what has Yoo Joonghyuk’s attention. There’s no stains or anything…

Then his heart stops for a solid minute. He’s wearing Yoo Joonghyuk’s shirt. And Yoo Joonghyuk knows it’s his old shirt because it’s way too big for Kim Dokja! 

Please don’t bring it up, Kim Dokja mentally begs, trying to send the plea into Yoo Joonghyuk’s head. 

“Isn’t that one of my old shirts?” he asks. Telepathy has failed. Kim Dokja changes to Plan B which is Fake His Death And Start A New Life. 

“Uh. Yeah. You gave it to me,” Kim Dokja answers, hoping Yoo Joonghyuk won’t think he’s weird and kick him out. He’s not willing to give up the best roommate he’s ever had! He just can’t go back to living with the worst people in existence, who treat him horribly and steal his things. He just can’t. 

“I’ve never seen you wear them,” Yoo Joonghyuk says instead of demanding that Kim Dokja move out. 

“I don’t wear them often.”

Yoo Joonghyuk’s eyes dart farther down. “You’re also not wearing pants.”

Kim Dokja pulls the blanket over his legs and tries to pretend Yoo Joonghyuk didn’t just say that. “Well, you’re not wearing a shirt! You’re only wearing…” he trails off, finally letting himself look at Yoo Joonghyuk. Those sweatpants look familiar. They look just like the ones he thought he lost months ago. “...Isn’t that mine?”

“...Our laundry must have gotten mixed up.”

That’s a lie. Yoo Joonghyuk is not one to mix up their laundry. They’ve never accidentally taken each other’s clothes. 

Kim Dokja smiles and Yoo Joonghyuk looks away, his ears turning red. “Joonghyuk-ah,” he says sweetly in a way that Yoo Joonghyuk knows is a threat.

“I don’t see why I can’t have some of your clothes if you have mine.”

“My clothes don’t fit you! And besides, isn’t it strange for us to be sharing clothes?”

“No. You should wear my clothes more often. You look good in them.”

Kim Dokja has no response to that. He freezes, then ducks his head, trying to hide his quickly warming cheeks. 

Yoo Joonghyuk, the bastard that he is, doesn’t let Kim Dokja hide. He wraps an arm around Kim Dokja’s waist and pulls him closer, hard enough to send him falling against his side. “Stop being so shy and wear my shirts while I’m around.”

“Shut up. Aren’t you supposed to be at a party?”

“I got bored and left early. I prefer being here with you.”

“Don’t think sweet talking is going to make me forget about you stealing my sweatpants.”

“Oh?” Yoo Joonghyuk runs a large hand down Kim Dokja’s spine, making him shiver. “What should I do then?”

“Nothing!” Kim Dokja hits his chest, but makes no moves to put any space between them. He is not going to be thinking about why. “Anyways, aren’t you tired? You should go to sleep since you spent hours at that tournament. Congratulations on another win, by the way.”

Smiling, Yoo Joonghyuk leans closer, forcing Kim Dokja to bend back a bit, putting more of his weight on Yoo Joonghyuk’s arm. “You were watching?”

“I always watch when you compete. What’s the point of having a popular gamer for a roommate if I can’t brag about him?”

Without another word, Yoo Joonghyuk collapses on top of him, crushing him against the couch.

“Hey!” Kim Dokja flails, then smacks Yoo Joonghyuk’s shoulder. “What’s that for!”

“You’re right, I am tired.”

“Then go to bed!” 

Yoo Joonghyuk tightens his grip on Kim Dokja’s waist, then nuzzles into his neck. The feeling of his hair brushing against his neck makes Kim Dokja shiver, not quite tickling him but just enough to have the sensation send sparks down his spine. 

He sighs softly, and feeling it against his skin brings a deep blush to Kim Dokja’s cheeks. “I’d prefer to stay here for the night,” Yoo Joonghyuk says. Kim Dokja grumbles about being squished beneath the heavy weight of his body, but ultimately decides to indulge himself and stay. 

They stay like that, sleeping on the couch, all through the night. They both wake with stiff necks in the morning, but Kim Dokja doesn’t mind at all when it lets him stay in Yoo Joonghyuk’s embrace a little longer.

Things change after that. 

Kim Dokja wouldn’t call them friends, per se. Not before That Night. Roommates, yes. Acquaintances who get along well, yes. Friends? No. 

But now, he’s not too sure what to call their relationship. They live together so they have to spend some time together, but school keeps them both busy and Kim Dokja often spends his time at the library with Han Sooyoung and Yoo Sangah while Yoo Joonghyuk streams and goes to tournaments. 

It’s more accurate to say they exist in the same space, than to say that they spend time together. 

They get along well enough, which is why they’ve renewed their lease together for another year, but somehow, after That Night Yoo Joonghyuk is suddenly… sticky.

He’s constantly making food for them. More so than before. He asks for Kim Dokja’s preferences instead of just silently handing him a plate?

Kim Dokja stares at the box of pasta in his hands. He doesn’t understand why he’s grocery shopping with Yoo Joonghyuk, but he’s gone with it for too long and can’t ask any questions now.

“Did you want pasta?” Yoo Joonghyuk asks, appearing behind him without warning. Kim Dokja jumps a little, then glares at him, annoyed by how amused he looks.

“I don’t know. Maybe. I can just buy instant noodles.”

Scowling, Yoo Joonghyuk grabs the box of pasta from his hands and adds it to the cart. “Absolutely not. I’ll make noodles for you later.”

“You can make noodles from scratch?”

“It’s not hard.”

Kim Dokja would marry Yoo Joonghyuk right that very second if asked. He also doesn’t understand why Yoo Joonghyuk is suddenly spoiling him, but he’s not going to question a good thing. He’s going to get as much as he can out of this, because who knows when it will end?

So he bumps his hip against Yoo Joonghyuk’s with a smile as they walk down the aisle, and asks, “Can we get ice cream?”

Yoo Joonghyuk does not answer for a long minute, then glances at Kim Dokja’s hopeful expression and sighs. “Fine.”

He really is getting spoiled.

Kim Dokja fully intends to use this knowledge for evil.

Another thing that’s changed: clothes. 

Since Kim Dokja didn’t complain enough about his sweatpants being stolen before he fell asleep, Yoo Joonghyuk decided he could just take Kim Dokja’s most comfortable sweatpants and wear them whenever he wants. So what if he looks really good! They’re still Kim Dokja’s and he will hold this grudge for as long as he needs to. 

He intends to steal more of Yoo Joonghyuk’s shirts as revenge, except he doesn’t need to steal anything. Because Yoo Joonghyuk just leaves his shirts in Kim Dokja’s room. So he wears them and tries not to get flustered when Yoo Joonghyuk stares at him each time he walks out of his room wearing something Yoo Joonghyuk left him. 

It’s a losing battle.

On the bright side, he no longer has to hide it. It’s still embarrassing, but he’s getting more and more used to lounging in the living room in Yoo Joonghyuk’s shirts. 

The hungry look Yoo Joonghyuk gives him is also nice to see. 

Kim Dokja may be the king of denial, but even he can’t lie to himself with how obvious Yoo Joonghyuk is being. Nor can he pretend that he isn’t doing this for that exact reason, or spending more time at the apartment to be with him. 

They’re both pushing in little ways, but it’s not enough for him to be willing to push their relationship out of the cloud of ambiguity its currently in. 

Before he knows it, half his closet is Yoo Joonghyuk’s clothes, and he has to go to Yoo Joonghyuk’s room to grab a pair of sweatpants to study in because all of them got stolen. The rude bastard really has no shame. 

“Why don’t we just keep our clothes in the same room?” Yoo Joonghyuk suggests after Kim Dokja complains to him about this. 

“Whose room?”

“Mine. Just take all your things into my room. I’ll make space for you.”

And so Kim Dokja suddenly finds himself sharing a room with Yoo Joonghyuk. And then sharing a bed. And then waking up with him to his absurdly early alarm. 

They’re not dating, and he says as much to Han Sooyoung when talking about this; she just rolls her eyes and calls him and idiot for not realizing what’s going on. 

She has absolutely no room to talk, being in a friends-with-benefits relationship with Yoo Sangah instead of just asking her out on a date like normal people would. 

They’re not dating, but Kim Dokja leans into him when they watch a movie together after rejecting a party invite. They’re not dating, but Yoo Joonghyuk kisses his cheek each morning before he gets up to make breakfast. They’re not dating, but Kim Dokja will settle into Yoo Joonghyuk’s lap while wearing nothing but one of his shirts to finish a reading for one of his classes. 

They’re not dating, but he certainly wants to. 

However, Kim Dokja would sooner pass away then actually talk about his feelings, so he bottles it up, greedily hoards all the affection he gets from Yoo Joonghyuk, and hopes he makes his move soon because Kim Dokja is starting to get impatient.

In the meantime, he’ll steal another shirt and pretend he didn’t do it on purpose just to get Yoo Joonghyuk to look at him. 

[moemammon]

Hi there! I finally snapped and walked out of my shitty job after being there for almost 3 years, so could I please request the brothers reacting to the MC finally quitting their horrible job that they've been encouraging them to for months? Thank you!!! <3

Congrats on Quitting! (Feat. the Demon Bros)

(There's nothing like the sweet sweet release of leaving a shitty job, but it ain't an easy task. Good for you! 😤💪)

Lucifer

He's seen the way your job has been affecting you. The weary look in your eyes, the way your joints constantly ache, the dread on your face when you'd soon have to go into work. Trust him, he knows the feeling all too well.

Naturally he tried giving you that push to leave, but he knew he couldn't make the decision for you (as much as he wanted to). He’d just have to wait until you made the move yourself.

So when you DID? Oh, he was so relieved. He never doubted that you had it in you. Extremely proud of you for taking that leap of faith, and he won't let you regret it.

You're 👏 getting 👏 spoiled 👏

"Where would you like to have dinner? I'll make reservations at once." "...Why are you giving me that look? Obviously this calls for celebration. I won't be taking no for an answer."

Mammon

Even Mr. Money Bags himself knows that no amount of money is worth suffering over (uh, at least not suffering for three years straight)

He's been bugging you to quit for forever now. "If it's money ya need, I can introduce ya to way better jobs! There's this guy I know that can set ya up with something real nice-"

When you announce you've finally quit, he literally sweeps you off your feet and shouts for joy. Fucking FINALLY! He was getting worried, always seeing that gloomy look on your face.

And now? You're not gonna be spending much money. He's spending for you, buying whatever you need (and everything you don't need). You're unemployed, so let him spoil you!

"Nuh uh! Don't even THINK about bringin' your wallet with ya! Didn't I say I'd be payin' today?? Just worry about relaxing a little, and let The Great Mammon take care of everything' else!"

Levi

Working irl was never something that interested Levi, unless he was doing volunteer stuff at concerts and conventions. But seeing what you're going through? Yeah, that's exactly why he stays home.

He's tried to ease your nerves by inviting you over for games and tv, but there's only so much that Ruri-chan can do for an overworked human.

So the moment you announced leaving your dead-end job, he was over the moon! This obviously calls for a movie marathon night! He's got plenty of recommendations, but it's probably best if you pick, right?

Trying his best not to overwhelm you with his excitement, but he can't wait to start spending more time with you!

"Seriously? You finally quit?! That's... that's great! That means you'll be home all the time, and-! Er... if you wanna come over, my door's always open for you!"

Satan

Literally told you right away that you should quit. He's not so oblivious that he doesn't notice how you're being exploited.

You're a hard worker, and your worth was being taken advantage of. Why would he want to sit around and watch you wither away? It annoyed him to no end.

So he did all he could to convince you to leave, suggesting alternative career paths, mentioning he could help you find something, but only you could make that important decision.

And BOY was he thrilled when you decided to leave. He congratulated you immediately, then proceeded to let out every insult aimed toward your job that he’d been holding in this entire time.

"They weren't good enough for you, so I'm glad you've finally realized that. If you want, I could leave them with a 'parting gift' to show them just how much you loved your job? I can even whip up something special for your boss."

Asmo

All the days you had to suffer working at a place like that.. You always looked HAGGARD coming home, and he hated it!

But now that you've quit working at that terrible place? Asmo's gonna make up ever single day that you could've spent pampering yourself. Also tried convincing you to start an OnlyFans-

He'll make sure you're so relaxed and cared for, you'll completely forget about all the grief your job put you through. Work? Who's she??

Massages your shoulders while you tell him stories of all the shitty customers and coworkers you've had to deal with. Spill the tea, hun. Speaking of tea, do you want him to top off your glass for you?

"Ive been worried sick about you, you know! Instead of working, you ought to just stay home with me instead! I know plenty of ways to make money without having to leave the house, after all~"

Beel

He always tried making sure you ate well before you left for work, but it didn't seem to be enough to keep you from being worn out when you got back.

He even tried suggesting that you workout with him to relieve stress. But after a hard day at work, it's understandable that you didn't want to move much.

Beel wasn't the type to outright urge you to quit, since it's nice to have a way to earn money, but after seeing the metal toll it was taking....

He couldn't have been happier when you announced you'd finally quit. Like Lucifer, he immediately wants to celebrate! This calls for eating until you're about to burst! Do you want Madam Scream's? He'll get you a lifetime supply of blackberry cheesecake, too!

"Since you're finally free from that place, we'll be able to spend more time together. It's been lonely, not seeing you as often. The food tastes better when I enjoy it with you, so let's eat together from now on, okay?"

Belphie

Sometimes, you were such a hard worker that it exhausted Belphie to even look at you. But he knew you were only human, and your stamina wasn't as limitless as you tried to make it out to be.

You were growing weary, both physically and mentally, and he could tell from a mile away. Was it really worth all this hassle just to make a buck or two?

He certainly didn't think so, and tried to get you to see it from his point of view. Just find something easier to do that wouldn't wear you out, you know? Or be unemployed. You know his brothers won't let you stay broke-

You tell him that you've finally quit, and Belphie can't help but smile. He won't admit that he was getting worried for your health, but you can tell from the way his expression relaxes.

"The hard worker had finally joined the lazy side, huh? That means you'll be able to make up for all the lost sleep, and I think we should get started right away. No objections, no objections. Come here." ".....I missed holding you like this."

[yuckydraws]

For the romantic requests could you do Bear and #6?

6 - “Will you marry me?”

••••••••••••

It’s rare that you ever come home and Bear isn’t on the couch, ready to greet you happily.

You’re not too worried though, knowing that he’s probably in the backyard, either working or doodling in that notebook of his.

He’s always writing or drawing in it, and he keeps it close at all times. His gaping head injury left him with memory problems, and the notebook is his way of remembering things that happen to him. At least until he’s read it enough to commit it to his long term memory.

You close the front door, and move to slip off your shoes, when you notice something - a rose petal on the ground right in front of you.

Huh.

You go to pick it up, and notice another one just in front of it.

And another one, and another one.

Oh!

A trail of rose petals?

A smile grows on your face. Bear is such a sweetheart, always surprising you with stuff. Your mood instantly skyrockets, just what has he put together this time?

You follow the trail, ignoring Sugar’s “no shoes on the carpet” rule, just this once, seeing as the petals lead right to the back door. Opening the back door, you look for Bear, only to come up empty. Hm.

You continue along the path, realizing pretty quickly where it’s taking you: the clearing in the woods behind your house.

The picnic spot.

Making it to the clearing, you see fairy lights set up on the branches, a yummy looking picnic set out on top of a quilt, and Bear pacing around seeming nervous.

He’s dressed up. Which is odd for Bear. Of course he puts some effort into what he wears when he takes you on dates, but he’s actually wearing a dress shirt?

… As much as you’d love to just stand here and admire how nice he looks in it, you need to get him out of whatever mental spiral he’s having to cause him to pace like this.

“Are you okay, love?” You call out worriedly. Bear freezes, looking at you with a growing blue blush. Even from here, you can see how that big red eye-light of his dilates when he focuses on you. Stars, you love when it does that.

He just nods and makes his way over to you.

“i’m okay now that you’re here.” He says smoothly while taking your hands and leading you to the picnic set up. You snort at his words.

“Nice one.” You joke.

He sits you both down on the picnic blanket, and starts getting out the plates and utensils. You notice how his hands are shaking and you quickly try to take his mind off of whatever is worrying him.

“This is so nice! Thank you so much! What’s the occasion?”

Apparently that was the wrong question, because he starts to sweat (which you still don’t understand how skeletons do, but you’ve never gotten a better answer than “magic”).

“…uh…” He gets out, looking anywhere but you.

You place a comforting hand on his shoulder, which causes him to finally look you in the eye.

“Hey, it’s okay. You don’t have to tell me, it’s a surprise right?” You give him a gentle smile, and he blushes a bit, and nods.

“How about I tell you what happened at work? You will not believe what Sandy did-” You start blabbing on and on, and you notice how much Bear relaxes at the subject change. It’s familiar - you talking about everything and nothing and Bear listening, intervening telling a joke every so often.

You both eat, and it’s not until you lay your head on his shoulder with satisfied sigh that he starts to look nervous again.

“That was sooooo yummy. I should give the chef a kiss!” You joke, sitting up and leaning closer to Bear. His face erupts in navy blue, as he places his hands on your waist.

“heh…” He chuckles nervously. “…i didn’t cook it. sugar did.”

“Whaaaat?”

“i know. i’m a fraud…”

You giggle and give him a little kiss anyways, looking up at him expectantly.

“Sooo….” You start.

“…i wanted to show you something.” He moves away from you to dig through the picnic basket and pull out what looks like a scrapbook.

He turns back to you and looks down at it in his hands.

“it’s…” He stops himself, seeming to be searching for the words before he settles on, “well, you’ll see.”

He hands it to you and you gingerly take it. The cover is simple, just a delicate lace pattern, leaving you with no idea what’s in it.

You look up at him, to see him watching you intently. It gives you an idea.

You scoot over to him until you can climb into his lap with your back facing him. He just watches as you do this, supporting you with his hands on your waist as you get comfortable. You look up at him with a smile.

“I know you’ve already seen what’s in here, but this way we can look at it together.”

He gives you that happy lopsided grin of his and hugs you close, resting his head on your shoulder, and staring down at the book in your hands. You take that as a sign to open it.

It’s…

Full of note pages. Some really old and worn, and they’re obviously not all from the same notebook with the differing sizes.

But, you recognize Bears small, neat handwriting. As you read through the first page… you realize exactly what he put together for you.

It’s full of notes that he had written about you in his notebooks. There’s little tidbits in there about you. How he feels about you, stories you’ve told him, notes about your favorite things, times you did something silly that had him rolling on the floor laughing, and everything he never wanted to forget about you.

But it’s also full of your milestones as a couple.

The day you first met, little run in’s you had, the day you became friends, the day you became more than friends, when he realized he was in love with you and all the little firsts you both shared.

There’s pictures too, wherever he could find a picture to match his notes, he placed them with it.

By the time you get to the last page, the sun has started to set and you’re crying.

You look at Bear through the corner of your eye and you see him looking at you, his eye-light fuzzy and dilated. You wipe your teary eyes and sniff.

“I almost don’t want to read the last one. This is so beautiful.” You say, your voice all shaky. Bear chuckles, grabbing your hand and squeezing it.

“well, i hope you do… it’s an important one.” He jokes but you can tell he’s nervous. More nervous than ever.

You squeeze his hand back and look at the page.

On it? He talks about just how much he loves you. How he feels when you walk in a room, how he’d trust you with anything, and how much he wants to spend the rest of his life with you.

At the bottom of the page, is another picture of you both, one that Sugar must have taken without your knowledge because it’s very candid and domestic. It’s of you both joking around while working in the garden, all smiles.

Bear closes the book, setting it aside, and surprises you by getting up and helping you up.

But he doesn’t stay up for long.

Soon he’s on his knee in front of you.

You clutch your hands to your chest.

He relishes in the moment, looking up at you with all the love in the world.

His eye-light morphs into a little upside down heart, and he reaches into his pocket to pull out a ring. He holds it in front of him, and finally speaks again.

“will you marry me?”

[bokutosworld]

a piece of you in me | hq boys in love

characters: kageyama, tsukishima, kenma, akaashi, kita!   

wc: 1.5k words, fluff!!! 

prompt: "i am a mosaic of everyone i've ever loved, even for a heartbeat." 

-> the little things that remind them of you and how your love has made them feel complete

---

KAGEYAMA TOBIO: He picks up on your favorite expressions and phrases, and slowly incorporates them in his life and makes them his own. He doesn't even realize it, that he's already scrunching his nose like you do when you see something you don't like. Or that when he's thinking hard about something, he's tilting his head in the way that you do. There are also subtle changes in the way he reacts when Hinata messes up his spikes -- less shouting and more helpful explaining of how his partner could improve. And when the team sees this, they are dumbstruck and left thinking how you were a good influence to him.

"What do you think of this, Tobio?" You summon your boyfriend to help you decide on which dress to buy. He immediately walks over to you, putting a hand on your waist as he settles by your side and gives a look over to the clothing item. He hums as he tilts his head, eyes narrowing as he imagines how it would like on you.  

As the two of you were too engrossed on choosing what to buy, an old saleslady passes by the aisle and smiles at the scene in front of her. She watches as Kageyama takes dresses from the racks and takes you in front of a mirror to help you see which looks better. She takes note of how the two of you act so in sync, how his actions complement yours. But what the lady is most amazed about is how the two of you come to the same exact decision at the same time. It was a refreshing sight to see a young couple going along so well, that the old lady can't help but think that you two were meant to be.

TSUKISHIMA KEI: He remembers how on your very first date at that summer festival, you didn't hold back on trying the different kinds of food and snacks. You left quite the impression on him, so much so that after years of being together, you are the first person that pops up in his mind when he's trying a new restaurant with his family or friends. It's like second nature to him to scan the menu, looking for dishes that you would like and making a mental note to take you to that particular place.  

The waiter arrived at your table, placing the plate of stacked pancakes right at the center. At this point, you and Tsukishima were starving after spending almost twenty minutes in waiting. He excitedly brought you out to brunch, sharing how much you'll like the breakfast menu at this new restaurant. And he wasn't wrong.

Your jaw almost dropped, seeing the most scrumptious stack of chocolate pancakes. It was topped with the most luscious pieces of strawberries and covered with maple syrup that was slowly drizzling down the plate. You were quick to take shots of your order from different angles. When you were finally satisfied with the photos, you look up to see Tsukishima extending his hand and offering you a piece of pancake which you gladly accepted. Your eyes went wide, glancing at your boyfriend who had his hand tucked under his cheek and gazing at you lovingly. He says, "I knew you’d like it."

KOZUME KENMA: He knows how much of a cinephile you are. Whenever the two of you are watching movies over at his apartment, you never fail to share one random fact about the film that was currently playing. He adores how you are updated with the latest movies in production or those that are soon to be released. That's why he's developed a habit to always check the movie times in the nearest theater, monitoring it to see if the film you have been raving about is finally showing. The boys often extend an invitation to him for movie nights but they're aware that there's no else he'd rather watch together with than you.

It was the third time this week that you stayed behind at work for overtime. Any other day would be fine, but Kenma thought that you deserved an early time off on a weekend. Seeing that he had free time, he decides to surprise you with a trip to the movies. It so happened that earlier in the morning, he chanced upon the movie releases and saw that a sequel to your favorite movie was showing.

When he shows up at your office, he sees your worn out figure hunched over the desk. He had to stop himself from physically dragging you out of the building, opting to wake you and drop the tickets he bought in your lap.

"What is this," you question him. The knobs in your head were turning and soon, it finally clicks that this was the movie that you've been waiting for. "Oh god, is it premiering tonight? How did you know?" He answers you by throwing your coat to your table, and telling you to hurry before you miss the movie.

He was helping you wrap the scarf around your neck, his hands finding its way to cup your cheeks. "I figured you'd forget since you had a busy week. So, I wanted to reward you." He presses a kiss to your forehead, "I'm proud of you. Let's go."

AKAASHI KEIJI: Since you started having sleepovers together, his apartment feels emptier without you. Like how you've etched your way in his life, you've managed to leave a mark in his home. It's in the way that your scent lingers in his pillowcases, the way you've positioned your toothbrush next to his. He's even started looking forward to mornings because you always make him coffee in the way he likes it. He's starting to think that you seem to know you way around his own house better than he does -- but he's not complaining. It's only got him imagining what the future would like, living with you.

You discard the grocery bags you were holding atop the kitchen counter of Keiji's apartment. Over a phone call earlier, he mentioned that he would be going home late and you thought it would be nice to cook him some dinner that he can enjoy when he returns. You thought about what you were going to prepare and decided that a good bowl of katsudon would lift his spirits after a tiring day at work.

When Keiji arrives home, he catches a whiff of something good coming from the kitchen. It wasn't unusual for him to return and see you at his place - in fact, he'd love it more if he could always come home to you. When he spots you working your magic in the kitchen, he feels himself fall for you over again. He couldn't help himself as he was now walking over to you and wraps his arms around you. You jump at the sudden contact, but relax when you feel him hum, "You're a wonderful sight to come home too. Move in with me already, please."  

KITA SHINSUKE: The moment you walked into his life, it's like a garden of flowers bloomed inside his heart. He discovers that there's a certain beauty in the different kinds of flora, especially with how they each carry a special meaning. And since falling in love with you, he can't help but have his thoughts drift to you when he's passing by a flower shop. He can't stop the way his feet carry him inside, allowing him to browse and leaving with a bouquet in hand. It doesn't matter whether you're celebrating an anniversary or not -- he'll manage to have you fall head over heels for him again when he surprises you with flowers. 

Like any other day, you found Shinsuke waiting for you at the lobby of your office building. He was seating with his legs crossed, his eyes focused on the video that was playing on his phone. Your heart soars with how he looked exceptionally handsome tonight and you find yourself wondering how lucky you were to be with him.

He notices you from afar and waves toward your way, standing and waiting for you to come to his open arms. You smile and almost run to him, falling to his embrace and immediately getting the comfort you've been craving since the morning. He gently kisses the top of your head and declares, "Good work today."

"Thank you, Shinsuke," you break away and return his loving gaze with one of yours. He turns his back for a moment, and when he faces you once more, you see a bouquet of beautiful flowers in his hands. You take them in your hands, feeling your heart beating fast, "Oh, babe. You didn't have to."

"I know, but I want to. They're gerberas, and do you know what they mean?" When you shake your head to say no, he chuckles and brings one hand to cup your cheek as he says his next words. "Beauty. And loyal love. So you know I'll always be here waiting for you."

[heartfulofsighs]

Nice Things…

Hello All! Coming back with little writings here and there as my inspiration comes along. A little episode inside of the Something to do with Jackson sphere (1, 2) 

Let me know what you think! @negrowhat you know I gotta tag you in everything lol

Jackson decides you both are in need of a little rest and relaxation. Nothing is better then a nice beach house complete with a gigantic bath tub. 

About 4k words; Warnings: Very light smut like its super light, but I’m obligated to say it includes fingering a praise kink and a bathtub. 

Laundry shouldn’t be difficult. Well in retrospect it wasn’t difficult at your old apartment. The laundry room there was stocked with 5 very old very worn washing and drying machines. They were faithful and predictable. They only had about 3 options and 2 dials. Simplicity at its best. You missed them every time you had a load to wash and dry. You had been living in Jackson’s apartment for months and you still couldn’t figure out his machines. For one thing they were sleek and black, very modern, apparently super efficient. They worked via a touch screen and the breath of options that appeared every time you fired them up made you nervous. Twice you had shrunk a favorite article of clothing. You had also ruined your running shoes, the washing machine seemed incredibly aggressive to you. But today was going to be different. This was your only task. You could do this. The touch screen lit up, you took a breath, the beeping started and an array of options appeared. Water temperatures, agitation speeds, your finger hovered over the first option- “BABY, THIS IS WHERE YOU WERE!?” Jackson’s voice boomed in the laundry room. You turned, frantic that all his noise would upset whatever fragile understanding you had. “Jackson!” You hissed, “shush!”

  His hands snapped to cover his mouth. He looked around his brows knitted, “what’s going on?” He whispered. “I’ just,” you turned back to the machine but you didn’t feel the same confidence, “I’m trying to figure out your stupid space aged washing machine.” You confessed, “everytime I put something in here I ruin it.” “Maybe you’re thinking about it too hard.” He walked up behind you and looked down at the same screen. “Baby?” He began slowly, he touched the screen flicking left twice until he got to a place that said ‘presets’.  “Why don’t you just use these instead of trying to pick through all those other settings? This is what I use.” “You’ve got to be kidding me.” You muttered softly. There were easy to understand presets displayed proudly.   “You didn’t know about these?” He asked, “I could have sworn I showed you the last time you shrunk your sweater?” You rubbed your face in continued disbelief. All this time. “The dryer has presets too, did I show you those?” He kept talking because of course to him this wasn’t a big deal. You had made it one, once again, something tiny had become huge to you.   “You want me to help you with your laundry? Since I’m home today I wanna spend it with you ok?” When you took your hands away from your face he was beaming like the sun at you. You wondered how he could look so worry free. His job was so stressful, he barely got time for himself or you yet he was always beaming. You wanted to be a bit more like him. Just enough so that inanimate objects stopped irritating you for no reason.            “If you want to help sure, but this stuff is kinda boring. You sure you don’t want to nap? Or I could make you something to eat?” You offered.          “We can do that after, this won’t take long.” He pointed out. He wasn’t wrong. You selected the ‘delicates’ option since you wanted to wash your undies and bras first.          “Ok, delicates first then.” You looked in his direction expectantly. The two baskets of laundry were already separated.            “Just pass me the stuff in the blue basket.”  You instructed, “I’ll do them first.”   He dutifully began to hand you clothes. Some things he stopped to look at. “When did you get this bra?” He asked holding up a flowery bra that you had bought a few weeks ago.   “Like two weeks ago?” You guessed, maybe three. Your hand was outstretched waiting for it. “Oh,” was all he said before he handed it over, “I haven’t see you wear it.” He said softer. “Well, it’s a bra Jackson…” You tried. He handed you a few pairs of underwear which you put in. He was a touch less cheerful as you finished loading. He helped with the detergent and softner before he got the machine started. “I feel so dumb,” when you turned to him he frowned. “I really wish I had remembered about the presets. I’ve been having a battle with this machine since I got here.” You confessed. “Baby...I really don’t think it’s a big deal.” He leaned down and pecked you. “You can ask me questions you know? Before you make a mountain out of a molehill.” “But I’m so good at that.”  You pointed out. He kissed you again. His hands trailing down your arms. When you pulled away he pouted. “Let me at least finish the chores, I have a few things more I wanna clean.” You complained. He accepted this and let you go, “I’m gonna have two weeks off...do you have a lot of work?” He asked. It took you a moment to think about what you had to do, some things could wait and really only one required you to finish immediately. “I just have to finish one job then I think I can take some time off.” You stretched and looked at him with curiosity. “What did you want to do?” He pushed some of your hair behind your ear, “can we go on vacation?” “Where did you want to go?” You spoke as you tied your hair up. “Someplace warm?” You asked. He nodded, “an island!” It seemed like a solid idea. You thought it over, Jackson in his usual fashion grew impatient. He tapped his feet and poked out his lip, “we can have a private beach house…” He edged closer. “That sounds...isn’t that a little extravagant?” You often wondered when you would be able to accept Jackson’s penchant for spending on you. There was something that always made you cringe. “I don’t want you to spend too much-” He frowned and you snapped your mouth closed, “you deserve…” He began. You sighed, “nice things.” He accepted you finishing his sentence quietly before he went back to trying to convince you. “It’ll be private...no cameras...just you and me.” He had basically backed you against the machine. He leaned forward and set his hands on it, caging you in. You couldn’t look away. “We live together but I always miss you,” he kissed you and it was mostly soft. “I’m gone a lot and I feel horrible about it,” he kissed you again nibbling on your bottom lip. “Do you miss me when I’m not here?” “Like crazy.” You whispered. His eyes were on yours, pupils wide. His breathing picked up as you snaked your arms around his neck. “So let me take you to the beach, let’s spend a week....please.” His kiss was less soft more insistent. He pushed until your back was pressed to the machine, the hum seemed to burn through your blood. You kissed him back, hands gripping the hair on the nap of his neck. The time apart always made the time together feel like a single point in the universe. There wasn’t a whole apartment, a whole city, there was just you and Jackson. Starved for each other, hungry to touch and feel. He was so good at making you melt, so good at making you desperate for him. You tasted him and whimpered. The beach was suddenly a fantastic idea, more time alone for more of this. He ground against you and his moan made your knees weak. “Ok,” you managed to say against his lips. He pulled away and beamed at you. The unmistakable look of getting his way. “So we’ll go the day after tomorrow...I actually may have set it up already.” “Jackson.”

You had never been swept away before. In past relationships you had lacked the time and your partners seemed to lack the motivation. It hadn’t bothered you truly because how can you miss something you didn’t have to begin with? You thought about it as you packed and he buzzed around the room with excitement. “Don’t forget bathing suites!” He warned, “and sunscreen!” “I have both.” You answered slowly, “and something nice for dinner...right?” When you looked up he was zipping his bag up. “Yes, and then...not much else…” He raised his eyebrows quickly suggestively and you giggled. He stopped to touch his hand to your leg, “I love you in anything.”   “If it was up to you, I’d just walk around naked all the time.” You said slowly. He considered this then said, “only if you want.” Then he was moving again, his energy nervous all throughout the room. “Are you almost done?” He asked. “The car will be here soon.” You just needed to decide on your one nice outfit. It had been a while since you had really gone out. He had seen you in just about everything you owned...except.... At the back of your closet you had hung a tropical print skirt and top set. It was out of your comfort zone but the print would really work. “Hurry hurry baby.” He chided. You had just enough time to grab it from the closet and stuff it into your bag. He took your hand and led you. The smile on his face relaxed yet you could feel the excitement bubbling out of him. He kissed you in the elevator before the doors opened, then led you to the long black car idling at the apartment building’s entrance. He opened the door for you and waited till you were settled before he put the bags in the trunk and got in next to you. Then his hand was back in yours like it belonged there. “Do you think you’ll get recognized at the airport?” You tried your best not to sound nervous but the thought of screaming fans made your stomach heavy. “I don’t think so, we’ll be in then out.” He brought your linked hands up for a kiss. “Don’t be nervous, it’ll be fine.” You settled into the seat and tried your best not to worry. The media in a way wasn’t very interested in you and Jackson’s story anymore. When they did happen to catch photos of you two together it wasn’t big news but most of the comments were still pretty awful. It was better for your mental health to not read them but every so often you saw yourself online and couldn’t stop yourself from looking. The general take was that you were literally a weight dragging him down. It never seemed like a good idea to comment back, better to just read it all in silence, and really it wasn’t all bad. There was a spattering of people who liked you. Who said nice things and said they were cheering on the relationship. People who pointed out that Jackson was happier with you in his life. You weren’t sure if you would give yourself that much credit but you hoped that he felt how you did. He leaned over, “what are you thinking about so hard?” He planted a kiss on your cheek startling you out of your own head. He had a way of knowing when you were thinking yourself down a rabbit hole. He redirected you gently and patiently. His hand squeezed yours again.   “Nothing, just the work I left...hopefully I did enough.” You said. He knew it wasn’t that, but he didn’t push.. He kissed you on the cheek again, “don’t worry about it, just try your best to relax.”  He whispered. It took you a moment of second guessing, but there was no real use in fighting with Jackson. Especially since you actually did need a relaxing vacation. There would be no worries on the beach, that’s all you had to tell yourself over and over and over again.  

There weren’t any cameras, no reporters, no mobs of fans. He had his mask pulled up and dark sunglasses on. You were wearing one of his caps and your own mask pulled up. The two of you looked like any couple on their way to a romantic trip. He only let go of you to pass through security. Once his hand was out of yours there were new worries. An airplane. The last time you had flown you were forced between a grumpy office worker and a woman who seemed to have bathed in perfume. You remember distinctly how the office worker had complained about her perfume and how she called him lonely and sad. It had been for the most part very unpleasant. Suddenly all you could think about were all your worse flights.  You fumbled through security, including the awkward second search. Taking his hand on the other side calmed you down a little bit. “You’re making a mountain again.” He said into your ear. “I can’t remember ever having a good flight,” you squeezed his hand and almost missed a step. “Every flight that lands safely is a good flight baby.” He chimed happily and just like that you relaxed a bit. He was right of course. Bad seatmates didn’t make a bad flight. Small things didn’t have to be big. Once again you tried to calm yourself, to convince yourself that you were on vacation. You were being swept away and it would be great if all your extra thoughts could be swept away too.

“This is the house?” After a flight you slept through, and an ok trip through the airport that involved a car rental associate who was star struck, here the two of you were. The house was directly on the beach. From the outside it didn’t look like much which made you feel a bit better. If he had rented a beach mansion or something along those lines you would have worried the whole trip about how much all of it had cost and...and if you were really worth all the trouble. But this,...this was so quaint and so cozy. “This is it.” He pulled into the driveway and then put the car into park. You got out admiring the house’s slightly cracked white paint, the green ivy underneath the two small windows on either side of the weathered wooden door. The waves sounded incredibly close and you guessed the beach was literally right in your backyard. Jackson was behind you with your bags. “Here,” when you turned he was holding the key towards you all smiles, “open her up.” He instructed. The key got stuck for a moment in the lock. You panicked per usual but it gave when you pushed your shoulder against the heavy wood. “Be careful,” he clucked his tongue at you but you ignored him. You were stuck looking at the inside. Everything was so bright. You sucked in a breath because of all the light. There were huge skylights all throughout. The entryway was neat, a small blue weathered table held a bowl where Jackson dropped the car keys. He pressed his hand to the small of your back and your feet automatically started to shuffle step forward. The entryway opened into a small kitchen with white tile and teal cabinets. The appliances didn’t look new aged or terrifying like Jackson’s. The big white well loved looking stove was comforting. Through the kitchen There was an open airy dinning room and living room. The living room ended in two gigantic glass doors that opened onto a hedge enclosed patio. The bricks were weathered but still a good red. There was a round picnic table with a few shelves, a rack with two surfboards, and what looked like a hot tub. He wrapped his arms around your waist and kissed your cheek, “let’s look at the bedroom.” It was through a doorway off the kitchen, past a half bathroom. The bedroom suite seemed to be all windows. There were three huge windows with breezy white curtains. The bed was gigantic four poster deal, piled high with pillows at the head. The comforter was white like everything else. “There’s one of those clawfoot tubs,” He led you a little further in, towards the doorway of the bathroom. The tub was huge. There was a shower head on the wall above it. Another two windows, more light. “This place is beautiful.” You finally got out. He squeezed your hand, “I know you like simple things and I thought this place would be nice. The beach is right down a back path and-” You tipped your chin up lips pursed asking for him to dip and kiss you. “Thank you so much for bringing me,” you spoke against his lips. He wrapped his arms around your waist. “You’re welcome.” His smile was triumphant. He only let you go to help unpack but beamed the entire time like a happy child. You knew this look, his eyes were centered on yours. He licked his lips before he kissed you. “I picked this house because it’s cozy and…” He trailed off to kiss you again. “And?” “And you never wanna have fun in my bathtub so I made sure that this house had one that was so big you couldn’t argue with me about soaking together.”  He explained. “Jackson.” He beamed again his face back to innocence, “don’t you want to soak with me?” He asked. “You don’t just want to soak,” you pointed out. He shrugged, “humor me.”  In truth he had begged to soak with you plenty of times but the tub in his apartment made you nervous. You had this vision of the two of you settling in and getting stuck or getting in and overflowing the tub in an embarrassing splash. Well maybe it wouldn’t be embarrassing to him but in your mind it was motifying.  You bit your bottom lip and considered the big claw foot tub in the house again. “I guess there’s no harm in a nice soak.” You said softly.  He could barely contain his excitement, he moved deliberately trailing his hands down your waist then squeezing. He searched your face before he broke out into a grin that made you laugh.   “Jackson,” it was hard not to laugh at him. “Jackson right now? You don’t want to eat first?” He cocked his head, “I do, but let’s do that later, my back hurts from the flight.” You made a ‘sure’ face but didn’t argue. It was better to humor him, he gave your bottom another not so gentle squeeze before kissing the top of your head. “So a nice bath, then I’ll make you food,...” he trailed off and took your hand.

The fragrance from the bubble bath he found was making your head feel dreamy and relaxed. His back was against one side of the tub and yours was on the other. He insisted on massaging your feet and there really wasn’t any huge point to arguing. He rubbed away while you sighed slowly to yourself. “You have the cutest little feet.” He murmured. “They’re so gross.” Your response was automatic, years of having being told they were flawed in some way meant that you were use to parroting back the words when you were complimented. “They’re perfect on you.” He dug deep into the sole of your foot and you couldn’t help but groan. “Always say nice things about yourself.” He murmured. “Yeah I know.” You sunk lower into the water and he took the invitation to work his hands up your leg. It was hard for you to say nice things about yourself all the time. You were use to your self deprecating jokes. But he was quick to redirect them, he always told you to make it nice instead. His hands were steady on your body focusing your mind back into the moment.  It was never gonna be just a soak, but you didn’t do anything to stop him. He felt the back of your knee and a shiver ran up your body. His eyes were focused on your skin, “you’ll let me do this at home now right?” He pulled himself a little closer so his hands could go further up, “a nice hot bath, foot massages.” “You’re very good at them,” your voice was barely above a whisper. His eyes seemed to darken. He leaned farther forward, upsetting the water and bubbles so he could kiss your forehead. Under the water his hand had made it all the way up which meant his fingers were in a prime position to rub you where you were most sensitive. He kept the pressure light, teasing you. A whine broke past your lips. He ducked his head and kissed you. “I want you to relax,” he said softly against your lips, he dipped his fingers inside of you. It was so hard not to squirm, he pulled them back and forth slowly before he stopped. You gripped the sides of the the tub and tried to urge him to move. His eyes were mischievous. “Jackson,” You tried to roll your hips to get him to do anything but tease you. He cocked his head, “say something nice about yourself.” The command confused you. Your brow furrowed and for a moment you were confused, “what?” He pulled his hand completely away and touched your face instead. “I read that it’s nice to hear compliments from others but reinforcing it with words you say to yourself is even better.” His voice was earnest his hand dipped into the water again and found your breast. “Something nice…” He played with your nipple and you whimpered. Your mind was reaching for something, any sort of compliment that would make sense. “I like my thighs.”   He beamed, triumphant, then pinched your nipple lightly, “what else baby? You’re so beautiful there’s a million things to compliment.” You were so use to his praise that it was hard to give yourself the same attention. He switched to your other nipple and kissed your forehead again. “One more.” He encouraged. You swallowed, his hands sending pleasure and want all throughout your body. You willed your brain and your mouth to talk, to say something so he would give you what you needed. “I have nice skin...the cream you gave me makes it so soft.” You admitted. He liked that, he kissed you harder. He had both hands involved now, tickling the sides of your tummy. The giggle that escaped your mouth made his smile even wider. “The most perfect skin.” He spent the rest of the bath praising you. Cooing all his favorite compliments while he played with your body. It didn’t take long before your hands gripped the side of the tub and you called his name. Your body locked and then the pleasure ripped through your limbs in what felt like a blaze. Dimly you knew you had splashed water and maybe that would have embarrassed you, but there were more important things. Like the way you still shook while he kissed you everywhere he could reach. If you felt dreamy before your mind was downright foggy now. “You liked that baby?” He asked, finally pulling away to look at you. Your bones felt like jelly, thank god the tub wasn’t too deep. There was no doubt in your mind you would have melted further into the water. It took you what felt like hours to barely nod your head and indicate that yes you had indeed liked it. “It’s so cute when you say my name like that.” he went back to sitting across the tub from you, a smug smile on his face. You didn’t know what face you were making but hopefully it was satisfied. “Let’s just spend the rest of the time here.” You finally got out. He didn’t argue with you, just rested his head on the rim of the tub, “as long as you’re happy that’s all I care about.” You sat up a little, “I’m the happiest I’ve been in forever.” “Perfect.” He spoke softly and maybe it was more to himself than you but he was right. The feeling was perfect.        

[kirishimaswife2819]

 Wrong || Katsuki Bakugou x Reader (Birthday fic)

Masterlist 1 || Masterlist 2

↠Author’s Note: Hi! I hope you guys like this, I feel like it didn’t turn out how I wanted it to but I still think that it’s okay. Hope you guys like it! -Danielle <3

↠Characters: Katsuki Bakugou x Reader

↠Summary: After accidentally distancing yourself from Bakugou to avoid accidentally revealing the secret party you’re planning for him, he assumes the worst and stays late at work because of it, but what happens when he comes home and realizes he was completely wrong?

↠Genre: Angst to fluff

↠Word Count: 2.1k

↠Warnings: None

↠Notes: None

You yawned and rolled over, reaching over to grab onto your husband, but when he wasn’t there, you opened your eyes. His side of the bed was empty, so you looked at the clock and saw the time. You frowned, he should still be in bed, he never left bed that early.

Normally in the mornings, he woke up early for the pure purpose of cuddling you, not that he would admit that out loud though. Plus, he always shook you awake to let you know that he was going to go get ready for work, so you found it even more odd that he didn’t do that either.

“Katsuki!?” You called, and soon enough he entered the bedroom.

“What?” He asked, crossing his arms, dressed in his work clothes.

“Why are you leaving so early?” You asked, sitting up and wiping some sleep from your eyes.

“I have to get to work early,” he replied, “I gotta go, bye.”

“Oh, wait-” you tried, but he already walked out of the bedroom door. You frowned, and considered going after him, but he clearly wasn’t in the mood right then, so you decided to just leave him go. You could tell him happy birthday when he got home from work. Besides, if he went in early, that meant he could come home early and get to come home to the party earlier. In your head, you did the math and concluded that Katsuki should be home around four or five, so you still had plenty of time to get everything set up.

You went back to sleep for a few hours, before finally finding the energy to get up out of bed and continue on with your day.

Bakugou sat at his desk, his pile of paperwork sitting in front of him. He was planning on getting some done since he went in earlier than he was supposed to but he was pissed and didn't want to accidentally burn any of it.

He knew that you had to be cheating on him and he was pissed off. You must not have noticed that he noticed, but you changed your password and took his finger print out of his phone. He also saw you delete a call, he just didn't see who it was.

Little did he know, you were planning a huge party for his thirtieth birthday, and you were just covering your tracks so that he didn't find out about it before it actually happened.

But that wasn't an option in his mind as he sat there, refraining from burning some hand prints into his desk. Eventually he got sick of trying to do paperwork and just went to go let some steam off.

"Okay, everything's set up, now we just need Katsuki," you announced, pressing the last corner of a banner that said "Happy Birthday Katsuki!!" to make it stick to the wall better.

The party was big, but you only invited a few of his close friends, knowing he wouldn't want to see a ton of people on his birthday. So, you just had a lot of stuff to do and his favorite foods there.

"When's he get off work?" Kirishima asked, sitting at your kitchen table.

"Any minute now," you said, glancing at the clock and seeing it was a little past five so he should be home soon. And so you waited.

And waited.

And waited

And then waited some more. Everybody tried calling Katsuki multiple times and every time he either ignored them or picked up and told them he was busy before hanging up the phone again. And to top it all off, he wouldn't even answer your calls, or texts, he either rejected them or straight up ignored them before finally you gave up.

"Are you alright?" Kirishima asked, watching as you messed with the food on your plate. Mina and Sero had to leave since they had work the next day and Denki passed out on the couch. And anybody else that was there also went home.

"I'm fine," you replied, sighed and sitting straight up from your previous position of resting your head on your hand, "You can get Denki and go home."

"Are you sure?" Kirishima asked, frowning, "I can help you clean up if you want. Or I can go see Bakugou and talk to him."

"No, it's fine. Just get Denki and go," you said, "Thanks for helping me set all this up."

"Yeah, you're welcome," Kirishima said, "Are you sure that you're fine?"

"I told you that I was fine, just go!" You snapped and Kirishima looked at you, concerned, but he still got up and went into your living room to go wake Denki up. They left after saying goodbye.

And as soon as you heard the front door slam shut, you broke down, crying into your hands, asking yourself a million questions.

Why hadn't Bakugou come home? Why was he ignoring you? Did he not want to spend his birthday with you?

You didn't know the answer to any of them and that just made you sob harder. You were crying so much, that you didn't even hear your husband enter the house around eleven that night.

As soon as he stepped in, he had to pause to process what was in front of him. And when he did, everything made a whole lot more sense, everything pieced together in his mind.

The deleted calls, password change, you being a bit distant, everything made complete and total sense. He sighed and brought a hand to his forehead, mentally beating himself up for even thinking that you’d do that to him. Of course you wouldn’t, you’ve been married to him for four years, and in those four years you had been the absolute best to him.

He was also mad at himself for forgetting it was his birthday, why didn’t anyone say anything to him at work? Was it because he looked like he was about to explode everything the whole day? Or did they all forget too? Either way, he was pissed off at everybody he worked with for not saying anything all day.

He sighed, eventually bringing his hand away from his forehead and deciding to go get ready for bed. He could apologize to you tomorrow, since he figured you were already asleep, and he would take the day off to spend with you. Just as he was about to make his way down the hall and to the room that you two shared, he heard quiet sobs, coming from the kitchen. 

He furrowed his brows at this and opened the door that led to the kitchen, and he was a bit shocked to find you at the table, sobbing into your hands. His heart was hurting at the fact that you were so upset that you hadn’t even heard him enter the home, or the kitchen for that matter.

Bakugou sighed, before approaching you and gently placing a hand on your shoulder, startling you. You jumped at the sudden contact and immediately turned. You could make out Katsuki’s form through your blurry eyes, but you couldn’t read his expression very well, so you started frantically wiping at your eyes.

“Where the hell have you been?” You questioned, attempting to sound loud and mad but instead you let out a choked sob half way through.

“Y/n, I am so sorry,” Bakugou apologized, which is a pretty rare occurrence but Bakugou knew he fucked up this time, “I totally forgot it was my fucking birthday, and I thought you were cheating on me, and-”

“You...” you interrupted, your voice a bit small and quiet but it still shut Katsuki up, “You what?”

“I thought you were cheating on me,” Bakugou said, and he watched your heart break all over again. He wanted nothing more than to reach out for you and pull you into his arms, but you were pissed and he knew it would probably be better to let you speak your mind before he tried to make it all better.

“You really-” you sniffled, “think that I would do that to you?”

“No, of course not! You’ve just been so secretive, and I guess I assumed the worst. I’m sorry,” Bakugou apologized but you didn’t want to hear any of it. You just walked past him and out of the kitchen without saying a word. Bakugou almost went after you, but he was getting more pissed off every minute, and he didn’t want to accidentally hurt your feelings again, so he settled for slamming his hands down on the counter and yelling out, “God dammit!”

You returned to your room and changed out of your outfit. It was Katsuki’s favorite outfit of yours, so you had worn it for his birthday. You didn’t even bother putting it in the laundry basket and instead just threw it on the floor, before pulling on a t-shirt and some sleeping shorts, and then getting ready for bed. Bakugou remained in the kitchen, thinking about what he should do at this point.

Finally, you were all curled up under your comforter, in your bed, and you let out a few sobs and sniffles before falling asleep, since you were pretty tired out from the day. Eventually Bakugou returned, being careful not to wake you as he entered the bathroom and showered, before getting dressed into his pajamas, which consisted of his t-shirt and his boxers. 

He glanced over at you, and the empty spot beside you. As much as he wanted to cuddle up beside you, he knew he couldn’t. One, you were pissed, and two, he knew he didn’t deserve to sleep with you after what an ass he was. So, he settled for the couch, it wasn’t like it was uncomfy, he could afford a pretty comfortable couch and you guys often napped on it, but it was the fact that you were upset with him that made it so hard for him to sleep that night. 

You opened your eyes, the next morning, to be met with your ceiling, and surprisingly, no sun in your eyes. Normally Katsuki opened the blinds as a way of telling you it was time to get up, but this time they were still closed. But you knew it wasn’t night, since the room was still pretty lit from the light that traveled through the blinds.

And then a smell hit your nose, the smell of your favorite breakfast food. Your brows furrowed at this, shouldn’t Katsuki be at work? And why the hell was he making you food? And then it hit you, the fight, he was doing it to apologize for what he did.

You knew that maybe you were being a little over dramatic but it hurt to spend all day doing something nice for somebody and then have them completely ignore it/not even notice it until later. You heard the bedroom door creak open and you glanced over to see your husband, still dressed in his pajamas, his hair an absolute mess, carrying a tray containing all your favorite breakfast foods.

“Morning, Y/n,” Katsuki greeted you, setting the tray on your nightstand, since you were still laying down, “Can we talk now?”

“Look, I’m sorry,” you apologized.

“Huh?” He replied, confused as to why you were apologizing to him.

“I shouldn’t of been so secretive. I just wanted to surprise you on your birthday, I’m also sorry I just walked away last night and-”

“No, no, no!” Bakugou quickly shut you up, “Don’t you dare fucking apologize to me. I’m the one who fucked up by not talking to you and assuming the worst. And then I forgot about my birthday and ended up hurting your feelings. This is my fault.”

“No, Katsuki, it’s-”

“No, stop it!” Bakugou interrupted again, “Shut up.”

“Fine, how about we both fucked up?” You questioned, and Bakugou grumbled.

“Sure, whatever, will shut you up,” Bakugou replied, and you smiled, sitting up and giving him a quick kiss on the lips.

“Thank you for breakfast, but get over here!” You said, and Katsuki quickly sat down beside you, before letting you position yourself in his lap. Then you reached over and got the tray, setting in your own lap. Soon, the two of you were cuddling and eating. You occasionally reached over your shoulder and offered a bite to your husband, which he took each time. 

After finishing eating, you two ended up cuddled up next to each, and you sighed, happy to finally be alright with Bakugou again.

“Hey, Katsuki,” you asked.

“Hm?”

“Happy late birthday, sorry I didn’t say it yesterday,” you said.

“Thank you, babe. But don’t apologize, it’s my fault you didn’t get too. I love you,” he said, kissing your cheek before your lips.

“Love you too, Katsu.”

Thank you to these two anons for the idea!!! <3

[danielxricciardo]

Can you do one with Max, with 46 and 55 from angst list?

Summary: You are suffering from depression and Max tries to be by your side

Warnings: angst, swearing, mentions of suicide, depression

Word count: 3.6k+

46. “I’ll leave, and the world will move on. I just wish I could see it. See how much better everything is when I’m gone.”

55. “You’re good at finding things. Find me a reason to stay.”

Depression feels like a lot of things.

It feels like sadness, which is what everyone will tell you. It's a pretty common thread.

"I'm worthless."

"Everyone thinks I'm a horrible burden."

So on and so forth.

Everyone in the world is happy but you, and in the end, you are a worthless piece of shit that doesn't belong in this otherwise glorious and happy place. The sun is shining, the birds are chirping, and you are lying there on your bed in the same unlaundered pair of pajamas, wondering why you are even allowed to keep living any longer. Some meteor strikes or lightning bolts should be reserved for people like you because you are taking up space and oxygen and food and other resources that real, happy, productive people need.

It feels like emptiness. You have all these possibilities and none of them seem interesting. You could do some art, or play some music, but that just doesn't feel right. There's no joy in it. You could have sex with your significant other, but you can't muster up the desire. You could play video games, or read a book. But what's the point? There's no real benefit to all of it but passing the time. You could get up and make lunch. But no, you're not that hungry, and if you close your eyes, time will pass a little faster. You can lie there. That works. It doesn't require active effort to do something fruitless. Everything is as empty and fruitless as lying and staring out your window at the clouds and the shifting shadows of tree branches, and so why do anything else?

It feels like fatigue. Standing up out of your bed requires the same amount of bodily effort as climbing several flights of stairs. Managing to get dressed and walk outside is like running a race. Heaven helps you if you try to go to the store or a friend's house -- that may as well be on the other side of the continent. Every step is heavy. Every muscle motion requires ten times the work it used to. Exercise becomes difficult, and control over your body expires quickly. You become clumsier, so heavy lifting is right out. You daze out randomly, daydreaming, even dozing, so biking or running is hard. You feel most at home when you are entirely relaxed, so you lie down...and don't get up again until something like your bladder compels you.

It feels like a loss of control. You have no idea why your brain and body are doing this. You don't want to feel sad. Nobody wants to feel shitty and tired and empty all the time. People will look at you and say, "It's like you don't want to get better." Those people are idiots. You truly, deeply, from the bottom of your soul, have no idea why this has happened or what to do. It's not logical. It makes no sense. You woke up like this, or it crept in overtime or something like that. It's like a fog, a force of nature that sweeps in, occludes everything, and there's not one thing you can do about it from where you stand. Trying feels like taking a paper fan outside and trying to blow away the morning mist. Someone has tied puppet strings to your brain and is playing this hideous dance with it, and you don't have the scissors to cut them away. The dance doesn't make sense; it's arbitrary and rhythmless. If you had any sort of reasoning behind it, you could take control. But you don't.

It feels like desperation. You can't find a way out. You lie there at night, keening into your pillow like a wounded animal, making all sorts of noises that no human being should be able to make. You claw and scratch at the sheets, or at yourself, as the pain wrings itself out through bodily expression. The tears won't stop. You don't know why. All you know is that it hurts, it really and truly hurts, and you think if it goes on any longer, you're going to die. Right there. Bleed out on the floor. So you grab up your phone, and you call someone at 4 AM, and you beg them to please just make it stop. You bury yourself in books and movies because at least then you can imagine something else than yourself. You read nonstop. You have to have your fix. It's like an addiction, no, more like a life support machine. Otherworlds, fantasies of happiness, and real experiences that aren't your horrible existence become the iron lung keeping air flowing in and out. You are alive because you can stop thinking for a while. Your friends come over to comfort you. Their stories keep you sane and well, like dialysis for all the toxins in you. Your mind has failed at being independent, and now it relies on a thousand little machines to keep itself running. You rely on one machine until another comes to save you. You read books until your friends come by. You stretch out your time with friends until you have to bury yourself in a movie again just to keep the thought of real-life away.

It feels like untamed anger. Your friends can't keep this up forever. You fall further and further, and you eventually start dropping commitments. You have become That Person, the flake that everyone knows will back out. People start getting annoyed at you, annoyed at how they have to spend so much time just keeping you afloat, annoyed at how often you're causing them trouble by constantly disappearing and backing out of appointments, and so on. Your workplace gets annoyed at your lack of productivity. And then you can't take it anymore, and you want to scream at them, grab them by the throat and shake them because IT'S NOT YOUR FAULT! You start having twisted fantasies, the ones where you walk up to that person who keeps telling you he can't do this anymore, you're just too unreliable, putting a gun to your head and pulling the trigger. Just to make him know, for once, that FUCK HIM, your problems are REAL, DAMMIT, REAL, and he better FUCKING RESPECT that. And when you're gone, he'll fall to his knees and cry, and he'll say, he wishes he had understood, that he didn't mean to be so unkind, and the scar on his heart from his own failure will remain fresh and knotted for eternity. And then you shake yourself out of the daydream, and you wonder why you have turned into such a horrible person, someone who even considers ending their own life just to spite another human being. Then it creeps back in, the knowledge that the world is getting fed up with you...and the cycle begins again. You start thriving off these daydreams, because at the very least if you can't be happy, you can throw caution to the wind and get the petty, oddly satisfying revenge buried under all those layers of morality that are becoming worn and flaking away. It's just a fantasy, right? And it helps pass the time...

It feels like forever. You have forgotten what it's like to truly be joyful. You can imagine it, but it's not really you in those thoughts. This is who you are. This is your life. This is you.

It feels like you have only one thing truly under your power: your existence. You cannot choose what life throws at you. Your brain and body have betrayed you. Your friends have worn away, and you've fled from your job and any commitments you have.

It feels empowering. You can jump whenever you want.

But he accepted you the way you are. He never reproached you for negatively influencing his mentality or life, even though you knew he felt it too. He always listened to you, he was with you even at 2 in the morning when you were crying on the bathroom floor with your knees to your chest, and you knew it wasn't right. It wasn't right for him to go through, basically, what you were going through. But no matter how much you told him you could do it without his help, Max was coming back more insistently than ever.

He came up with the idea to start therapy. "You have to find out why you feel this way. Go at least once, see how it is, if you don't like it or feel that it doesn't help you, you will give up, okay?" That was a year and a half ago.

The psychologist gave you a diagnosis from the first session: Major Depressive Disorder. Sure you knew what the three words meant, but you didn't know what it meant to have a label on your condition.

"A major depressive disorder is characterized by one or more of these depressive episodes. the diagnosis of major depressive disorder requires depressed mood or anhedonia which is the loss of interest in pleasure and five or more signs or symptoms for the SIGECAPS mnemonic for a 2-week period. (SIGECAPS) Sleep Disturbance, loss of Interest, feeling Guilty, feeling fatigued and low in Energy, having decreased Concentration, decreased or increased Appetite and been agitated and slow and having Suicidal ideation."

It sounds incredible to you. Suicidal thoughts? Not everyone has a thought, somewhere, behind their mind 'What if I disappeared?'

You were prescribed Prozac and Zoloft and it helped. You weren't always sad anymore, you could go to the races with Max and support him as a normal girlfriend does. You apologized to my friends who tried to help me and whose lives you made impossible and you managed to get back to work, from home anyway. Sure, you still had moments when you felt like you weren't 100% yourself but not like before. You did therapy twice a week and the psychologist was happy with your evolution.

But being the stupid ass that you are, you stopped taking the medication. You took the last pill on Friday. Because you were fine. You felt ok, everyone around you told you you were better, you were doing amazing, so you were cured, right? Or so you thought. Saturday was normal. Sunday was not. Your mood and energy were very low. You woke up at like 2 in the afternoon. That is not unusual for you. You’re used to it. You were sad. You were exhausted. You knew that feeling like this was “no excuse” so you tried to force yourself to do it anyway. Typical of your life. You feel like you had already taken so much off work because of the triple-header, you were for three weeks attached to the hips with Max.

The only thing you thought of was dying. And that terrified you. And Max senses something was wrong. But he didn't want to tell something and ending up being wrong and you being upset by his misinterpretation. But, yes, he sensed that you were becoming your old self.

"Hey, babe," he snapped you out of your daydreaming. A tragic one, where you were finally at peace and Max was crying for you. You were on the verge of crying yourself at the mere image of Max in your head. But you pushed it far from your mind, somewhere in a dark corner for you to find it at an appropriate time to fantasize about your dying. "How about we go to a picnic? It's sunny outside."

Yes, the wheater was amazing. It was finally summer and you could go outside and spend some time with Max. But your brain literally is tricking you into thinking you don't deserve to enjoy the sunny day. Why? You don't have an answer.

"I'm not really in the mood, Max. Sorry."

You are not in the mood. That was his affirmation. You are not ok.

"You feeling good?"

"Yeah. Just tired I guess."

"But you just woke up."

You shrugged. He was right. You just woke up, so why do you feel like you were carrying a ton of bricks on your shoulders? You couldn't walk. You almost felt like 18 months ago. And that is when it hit you. And Max, at the same time.

"Still taking your meds, I hope."

Silence. Your mind was like overcrowded and you couldn’t take it anymore. You grabbed your head and pulled your hair because you wanted it to stop. You were thinking that you didn’t know what to think. You didn’t know how to think. You didn’t know how you felt. You were like anxious-depressed-angry-miserable-irritable all in one. Your head was spinning with thoughts. Thoughts were talking over thoughts. So fast that you couldn’t even make out one complete sentence. It was just too much for you to handle. You just wanted someone to kill you.

Max came to you and he hugged you so hard you thought he could crush your bones right there and then. You calmed down eventually. But now you were embarrassed. Because Max saw you, again, at your lowest. Because you promised you'll get better, and for a while, you were better, but now you are fucked and back into square one. All those money on therapy and your pills, for what? For you to stop taking them because you thought you were feeling better? Well, you definitely were not ok, nor you'll be. So, yeah, being fucked sounded good.

Max brought you the medicine and a glass of water. Taking the pills again? For what? The pills only fuel the feeling that everything is fine and that you are a normal person. Nothing was good and you were not a normal person.

But you took the pills. And you looked Max in the eyes and you wanted to die. He seemed crushed. He was sad, devastated, maybe angry but definitely disappointed. In you. Because maybe you don't realize this, but while you were doing good, he was doing great. He knew you could be on your own so he stopped worrying that much, and that could also be seen in his driving. He was winning more races, he was at his best and now he was at his lowest. Because you were at your lowest; co-dependency and shit.

"I'm sorry, baby. I thought I was doing well enough to stop taking the meds," you say in a broken voice but the tears are yet to appear. He stroked your hair and kissed you on your forehead.

"You should have told me. You don't have to go thru this alone. I am here."

"Yeah, you are here. But you don't have to be!" you snapped. Irritability, one thing your depression came with. "I am just a burden for you. And no, this does not come from the fact I stopped taking my pills. You took care of me like I was a child, and, fuck it, you don't deserve this."

"Stop talking like this, alright? If I would suffer from depression you would have done the same thing. You would have taken care of me. Or am I wrong?"

"You are not wrong. To be honest, I don't think I would be here if it wasn't for you, but I don't want you to be. It's obvious that I would never get better. This is me. I am fucked in the head, half wishing I was dead and I am just bringing you down."

"Don't tell me this is a fucking break up, Y/N." he narrows his brows and looks at your features to make sure you were being serious.

“I’ll leave, and the world will move on. I just wish I could see it. See how much better everything is when I’m gone.”

"What the fuck are you talking about? Is this a break-up or a suicidal vocal note?"

You broke down. Crying can be cathartic and healthy, but if it goes on too long it can lock your body in a feeling of despair. Even if your mind works through the problem that caused the crying, because your body is still feeling the physical effects it will cause your mind to revert to the negative state. It's not sadness. It's dread and paralysis. You had a certain feeling of emptiness and purposelessness.

“You’re good at finding things. Find me a reason to stay,” you say between sobs.

"You want me to find you a reason to stay alive or to stay in this relationship? To be frank, I can name a thousand reasons, but it all depends on you."

Max hugs you from behind and you lay your head on his chest, listening to his heartbeat that was stronger than ever. You allowed yourself to inhale Max's scent, a soothing scent you could get drunk on.

"I want to believe you love me. I mean, I love you and I consider you the love of my life, you know? We are so young and I know it doesn't feel like it, but I promise you, I'm gonna marry you someday, even if right now you don't think you're gonna make it till tomorrow. So, yeah, this is reason number one," he said and pressed a kiss to your cheek. "This is not the worst you have been through in life. Remember where you were 18 months ago; you had no idea what was wrong with you. Now you know and you know you can be better. I know you get sick of those pills, but maybe, in the future, you won't need them. Isn't that exciting? This was reason number two," he said and pressed another kiss to your cheek. He was going to do that every time he would give you a reason. "Have you been to all the beautiful places around the world? Sure, you came to a few Grand Prix, but you never saw Great Ocean Road in Australia, you know Daniel promised he would take us there someday. You never saw Pamukkale in Turkey or Japan in Cherry Blossom season or the Blue Lagoon in Iceland. There are many places you need to visit, baby. So, yeah, this was reason number three. I don't know if you want me to continue but I can give you one more reason. Reason number four. Do it for you, baby. You deserve to live and be happy. I know you can be happy and I promise you I will do my best to help you. You just have to take it one step at a time. You just have to let me in. Let me help you, baby."

You turn around, facing him now. You loved him, with all of your heart. You love him for who he is. You love him because he literally came into your life as your lifeline. You love him because he helped you crawl up the deep bottomless abyss of depression. You love him because he had the patience and the audacity to bear with your depression, anxiety, and panic attacks, your phobias, your mood swings, your temperamental and short-tempered nature, your overthinking, your being overprotectiveness, and possessiveness. You love him because never once he thought of giving up on you in your hard times. You love him because he stands by you like a rock of unwavering support and he’s someone you can fall back on. You love him because he listens to you talking non-stop about your past, your pains, your fears, and your losses without complaining even once. You love him because he rediscovered you and helped you find yourself again when you were lost in darkness. You love him because he filled you with confidence and hope and strength and belief and determination. You love him because he believes you are the best when you set your mind on something and no one can stop you from achieving your goals. You love him because he is protective, caring, understanding, loving, and easy to be with while never being too suffocating or taking up your space. You love him because sooner or later he does everything you ask of him and does with his whole attention. You love him because whatever endeavor he engages in, he likes to give his 100% and hates doing half-hearted things. You love him because he can decode the nuances in your voice and judge your mood just perfectly. You love him because he read you like an open book and he can hear your silence. You love him because he never doubts your loyalty, your intentions, your hard work, and your million issues. You love him because no matter how busy he might get he never forgets that you are waiting for his message or his call. You love him because he keeps you in his priorities. You love him because he gave you a passion you never knew you had. You love him because he very strongly believes that you deserve the best of everything. You love him because he is empathic, kind, magnanimous, thoughtful, and down to Earth. You love him because he has eyes for no one but you. You love him because he wants to see you healthy, wealthy, prosperous, famous and he wants you to hold back at nothing, for no one, he wants you to be a Go-Getter. And most importantly you love him because no one ever loved you like he did.

"I will let you in," you say and you kiss him hard. "I'm sorry for the scene I caused."

"Don't be. It happens."

[heliads]

How to Move On

Based on this request: “A ghost!Luke Patterson x alive!reader but she is older. Like in the 90s they were but then he died and she got older. An angst story please :)”

masterlist

When he was alive, Luke Patterson lived five houses down from one of the cutest girls he’d ever seen. It still surprises him that he has to tack on that first part to describe anything that happened in his life before, like if he shuts his eyes hard enough he’ll find himself back in the 90s, when he had a pulse and a heartbeat and people could see him if he walked out onto the street.

However, an unseen blade cuts a little too deep whenever he thinks about his current situation, so Luke allows himself to fall deeper into the memory instead of returning back to reality. She’d lived five houses down, right? Or was it four? Luke has hardly been brought back as a ghost for a few weeks before he’s started losing his grasp on the details that bound his life. They’re all slipping through his fingertips, gone now in recollection as well as his ability to return to them in person.

Yes, five houses down- he’s certain of it now. Whenever he wanted to sneak out of his house to go visit her, Luke had to climb out of his window and weave through two backyards before he could risk returning to the sidewalk for another three houses. Five houses down, that’s right. Luke curses himself mentally, not wanting to forget another detail. He’s already lost the girl, he doesn’t want to lose the few figments of her in his memory. A ghost of her for the ghost he already is.

If he managed to sneak out of his house and make it down five houses, as he so often did, Luke could then toss small pebbles at one moonlit window. It usually only took two or three of these interactions before the window would be hurriedly unlatched, a beaming face peering out at him. Luke would allow himself a second of staring, admiring the way the moonlight cast the girl in a bone-white halo, then haul himself up into the room.

From the second his feet touched down on the bedroom floor, Luke would be in safe territory. He still took precautions, of course, keeping his voice down and his movements quiet. However, Y/N L/N always seemed to have a secret oasis in the form of her room, and he was never once caught. They both made sure of it, and if he and Y/N worked together, they could achieve any goal so long as it was worth it.

Y/N L/N. She was the one he’d left behind, one of the aches that hurt the most. He’d been lucky enough to win her love, either through some complete misunderstanding or maybe the fact that he’d finally done something right in his life, but he had her nonetheless. Or, he’d had her until the day he’d died, leaving behind nothing in his wake but grieving parents and the girl he’d sworn to stay with for the rest of his life. Well, his promise had come true in one sense, although Luke can’t help but wish there was another way around it.

To be completely honest, even as Luke dreads forgetting any detail of his past girl, he might fear thinking about her even more. It’s not that he wants to lose the picture of her smile in his head, or the way she’d reach for him when she was cold, it’s just that to think of her in any sense is like a knife stabbing him through the ribs, reminding him that he’ll never get her back. If he tries to push her from his mind, he won’t remember the way she���ll never be with him again. Isn’t that better?

Luke already knows the answer: no, not at all. Even this one slip in his memory, the faltering knowledge of how far apart their houses were, sends a jolt of worry spiking through him. Luke wouldn’t consider himself forgetful, maybe just a little absentminded, but the fact that he’s already starting to forget his past life worries him. However, to keep Y/N’s picture cherished in his mind means reminding himself of everything that he’d lost, of finally confronting all the memories he’s been holding back for so long.

Eventually, Luke finds himself in the studio, searching through the boxes and crates of stuff that had eventually made its way into dusty corners and spiderwebbed cracks of the room. Julie’s mom had been kind enough to keep at least some of Sunset Curve’s possessions, and so Luke ransacks these sparse belongings now. At last, his hand emerges triumphant, carrying with it an old photo album. It’s thin, spine scarcely thicker than a small paperback, but for the way he looks at it its pages could be lined with gold.

Luke pauses a second, steeling himself before flipping open the front cover. Instantly, he’s hit with a wave of memories. These first few photos had been taken a year or so before he died, when he had first started dating Y/N and everything seemed like he was living a dream. There are Polaroids from their first few dates, snapshots of festivals and boardwalks and everything a couple of teenagers could afford when they were young and stupidly in love.

Luke studies these, then the next couple of pages, and then the next. He must have been more distracted than he’d first thought, because he doesn’t notice Julie Molina enter the studio until she’s practically standing on top of him. Julie clears his throat, and he startles, doing his best to quickly close the album. For some reason, it doesn’t feel quite right to so openly share his memories of Y/N to anyone within eyesight.

“Sorry, didn’t see you there. Are we practicing?” Luke asks. Julie laughs, her smile a tad incredulous. “Not yet, but I’m a little worried as to why you were so quick to hide that book. What, are you trying to keep secrets from me?” Her eyes assure him that this question is purely an excuse to tease him, but Luke can’t find it within himself to smile back. Instead, he sits back down on the floor of the studio, gesturing listlessly to the empty space next to him.

“Not entirely. It’s just- well, I found this old photo album, and it’s kind of hard to not regret leaving everything behind. The current day is good, don’t get me wrong, and I love the band, but-” Julie picks up on his train of thought even as Luke’s voice trails off. “It’s not what you’re used to, and you feel bad about everything you could have had. I get it. I’m surprised you’ve adjusted so well, to be honest. It can’t be easy to leave your entire life behind.”

Luke lets out a quiet sigh. “Exactly.” After a moment’s consideration, he picks up the photo album again, opening the cover and passing it to Julie. She accepts it, glancing at him one last time to make sure he’s alright with baring his soul to her. A soft smile traces its way onto her face as she sees the photos of him and Y/N, grins so bright they could practically light up the world. “Who is this?”

Her finger lingers over a photo Luke had taken of Y/N. She had been wearing a Sunset Curve shirt, one of their first attempts at a logo. They’d long since changed the design, but she had said something about how her boys were so official and taken the first draft t-shirt nonetheless. Y/N had worn it to many shows since then, until the design faded into nothingness and she’d been forced to get a new one. Luke’s voice softens. “That’s Y/N. She is- she was my girlfriend. Back in the 90s, at least.”

Luke hates the way he has to say that, like she’s died instead of him. She was his girlfriend, they had known each other, they are each utterly different now and there is no getting back what they’d once had. Julie glances over at him, sympathy radiating from her gaze, but then she turns back to the photo, frowning over it in something that almost looks like recognition. “Wait, you said her name was Y/N? Like Y/N L/N?”

Luke sits bolt upright, melancholy thoughts completely forgotten. “Yes! How did you know that? Do you know her?” Julie’s excitement starts to bleed away from her, as if she knows something that ruins the dream she had been so thrilled to share. “Well, yes, but she’s not Y/N L/N anymore. She has a different last name now.” Luke picks up on what Julie is unwilling to say, and his stomach sinks a little. She has a different last name because she’s married, because she’s moved on.

Even as he thinks this, Luke feels annoyed at himself. Of course she’s moved on- he died 25 years ago. There’s no reason she would never love again, and even if she did, Luke would never want that for her. She was so bright, so happy, that the thought of herself locked away in mournful grief like his parents seems so utterly wrong that if that happened she might as well have died with him. Still, Luke doesn’t like thinking that there’s someone else out there receiving her smiles, hearing her hopes and dreams late at night the way he had once listened to her.

Luke must have gone silent for too long, because Julie is looking over at him again, pity written in every line of her face. She thinks for a second longer, then stands up, holding out her hand to him. “She still lives near here, actually. A few streets down. Do you want to go see her?” Luke stares at her, then rushes to his feet. “You mean it? You know where she is?” Julie nods. “Only if you’re willing to see her.” She’s right to worry- seeing Y/N again will mean finally coming to terms with everything Luke had left behind when he’d died, a final piece of proof that Y/N will never be his again. Still, if he hides away from her again, Luke will spend the rest of his ghosthood wondering what she might have been like and who she may have become. So, he nods, and allows Julie to lead him from the studio and down the blocks to Y/N’s house.

Even without Julie’s directions, Luke would know their destination even before she points out Y/N’s front door. He sees her in every corner of the building, every flower and tree planted in the yard. She’d always wanted a brightly painted front door, tall trees in the backyard so she could have a little shade on the summer days. They’d once planned what their future houses would look like, always choosing one for the two of them. If Luke sees traces of his ideas in her house now, does that mean Y/N still thinks of him? Or that she’s already forgotten that it was his voice suggesting those changes and not her own, that he’s already faded into the last few corners of her memory?

His feet stall in the driveway, but at an encouraging look from Julie, Luke forces himself to walk up the final few feet to stop in front of the front door. He reaches forward and rings the doorbell himself, although he can do no more once the door swings open. This will be Julie’s part- Luke can do no more than watch the woman in front of him with wide eyes.

She still looks like her. Is that a strange thing to say? She’s taller now, her face more lined and weary as if she’s had a lifetime of problems to deal with ever since Luke left her days. It makes sense that she looks older- the last time Luke saw her was 25 years ago, so she’s probably in her forties now. Still, there are traces of the girl he’d known in every movement, every step. When she looks questioningly at Julie, Luke can see the way she’d looked at him to ask when and where Sunset Curve would be performing so she could make sure to arrive on time. The gesture is so truthfully her that it practically hurts to see.

Julie’s eyes dart to Luke, as if trying to gauge his reaction, then she focuses her gaze firmly on Y/N. “I, uh, was cleaning out my mom’s old studio. I found something from the band who used to practice there- they went by the name of Sunset Curve? Your name was on one of the photos.” It’s a duplicate photo strip from a photo booth on a long-since demolished boardwalk, an excuse for the visit. Still, it’s enough to make Y/N’s eyes widen, and she looks at Julie as if she’s punched a hole right through her chest.

She gestures for Julie to follow her inside. Luke drifts in after them, staring at the photos lining the walls, the backpacks flung in a corner of the room. So she has children, a family. How long had it taken her to move on from him? She smiles in every family portrait he sees, but did she ever think about the boy she’d left behind? Would it matter that much to him if she did?

Julie hands Y/N the photo strip now, and tears glisten in the woman’s eyes as she looks at herself and Luke, decades younger and what feels like centuries happier. Julie, thank everything, is unwilling to let Y/N leave without asking her about the boy she’d left behind. “Did you know him well? The boy in the photos?” Y/N glances up sharply at Julie, startling as if she’d forgotten there was a girl in front of her, too drowned in the memories of the past to remember reality. It’s a familiar feeling to Luke, and it stings to see it on this older Y/N too.

“Yes, I did. Very well, in fact. I loved him with all of my heart until he died along with his bandmates.” She laughs quietly, the sound broken through with utter misery. It twists Luke’s heart like a blade. “I almost didn’t make it through the funeral. I was sitting next to his parents, and we were sobbing like we’d never smile again. He was everything to me, and I had no idea what to do when he was gone. I wish you could have met him- he was always so quick to a smile or a laugh. I never told him how much I liked his smile. I wish I had.”

Luke stumbles as if he’s been punched. Tears are pricking at his eyes, and he swipes at them angrily with his shirt sleeve. Why should he have to cry now, mourn everything he’d lost? Hasn’t he been through enough? Y/N swallows harshly. “It’s easy to get lost in the past. I graduated high school without him, went to college without him. I didn’t think I’d ever have to live a day without him, and suddenly I had an entire future completely empty of anyone like him. There are days when I almost think I see him in a crowd, and days when it gets easier. In the end, I think he’d want me to move forward, even as hard as that may be.”

Julie glances over at Luke once more, scarcely a second away from tears herself. “Yeah, I think he’d want you to be happy. That above all else.” Y/N sighs, the sound cutting through Luke and almost sending him to the floor. “Thank you for the photos, Julie. You take care of yourself.” Julie smiles. “I will. Thank you too.” Luke, sensing the imminent goodbye, takes one last furtive glance around the house. What if he had been there, present in every family photo and every line in her journals? He wishes nothing more than to have that option, to be able to go back, but he can’t.

So, he allows himself to follow Julie back out into the sunshine of the afternoon, and when the door closes softly behind him, he doesn’t look back. Julie is silent on the walk back, as is he. Luke heads for the studio, and he stops before the photo album before glancing up at the walls around him. If he tries hard enough, Luke thinks he can see her in every corner of the studio. There she is on the couch, laughing as she pretends to smack him with a pillow. There she is next to him on the piano, listening to his latest song. There are hundreds of her in the studio, hundreds of memories. That’s all he has left of her. Just memories and nothing more.

Julie returns to find him later, and it doesn’t take long for her eyes to cut across the room, landing on the photo newly pinned to the wall. There are two figures in it, a boy and a girl grinning madly as they reach for each other in a dusky night. Both of them are long gone now, dead and aged even as their photo-selves smile on. If Luke looks back at the photo now, keeping that image burned into his mind, he never speaks of it again.

requested by @charliegillespiewife​

jatp tag list: someone who i would not leave behind if i died in the 90s @underc0vercryptid​