#and the clouds trying to cover it looked like grey blue velvet

[sotiriabellou]

the moon has been so outrageously beautiful these past few days

[leezlelatch]

Petrichor - Part I

Papa Emeritus III x F!Reader - fluff, rainy days, burgeoning friendship Terzo is feeling introspective on a rainy day. Perhaps he doesn’t have to spend it alone?

“What do you think Terzino, eh? Should Papa play tonight?” Terzo watches with a lazy smile as the tuxedoed cat jumps from his perch on the window to settle into his lap. Long fingers stroke delicately through plush fur as he heaves a sigh. “You will be getting hair on my pants, you rascal.”

Terzino blinks slowly, a rumble starting deep in his throat the more Terzo gives him attention. The cat’s nails dig into Terzo’s leg as the little thing gets more comfortable, the man giving a small grimace but making no move to push the cat off. “You know, I am thinking I am getting old.” Terzo glances down at the cat and scoffs. “Ah, do not try to argue. I have more grey hair than I can keep up with.“ He lifts a hand to his neck, his fingers brushing the soft, loose skin. “And may have to consider turtle necks.”

Terzino stands and stretches, his little body shivering, before turning and lying toward Terzo’s knee, facing away from him. “Ah, Terzino, if you turn from me too, I will not know what to do,” Terzo sighs, lifting a hand to drag his fingers through his wavy, black hair. “The Siblings, they like the power. What little I have of it, ha. But one can close their eyes and think of someone else. Do they think of someone else?” His brow furrows, and he glances out the arched window, eyes scanning the manicured lawn. “Perhaps I should take up gardening like il mio fratello.”

He glances down amusedly. “Sì, you are right, amico. I am far too much of a masochist to change my ways now.”

Terzo carefully picks the cat up and places him down, standing from his desk and swatting at his pant leg until most, but not all, of the cat hair is gone. The tinkle of Terzino’s bell sings through the room as he trots away, perhaps to play with one of Copia’s little companions. Terzo places his hands on his hips, looking out the window once more. “I think it is going to rain.”

ᰔᩚ

It was luck, finding this place. The way his shoes clack against old stone, the gilded candle holders on the corridor walls covered in wax from wicks long burnt. Stained glass of varying shades of purple, red, blue, and green. There were some renovations made when the Clergy first purchased the building half a century ago. Cracks filled in the walls, ceilings reinforced, foundation repaired, but they ultimately chose to maintain its old warm charm. This place may have a Catholic history, but Terzo did not view that as bad, or something needing to be cleansed. There was an energy in these old walls, full of the stories of residents long passed who prayed, and hoped, and dreamed for a better tomorrow. It would not do, he thinks, to forget that. No matter if their god was above or below.

The corridor leading from his office transitioned into a breezeway, four pillars covered in the delicate drawings of one of their more artistic Siblings opened into one of the inner courtyards. A perfect place to watch the rain. A crack of thunder rolls across the sky, and Terzo glances up at the swirling clouds, leaning his shoulder against painted vines. It seems, however, that he would not be alone with his thoughts this storm.

You sit on a stone bench just under the roof, your legs pulled up, arms resting on your knees as you hold a cup of tea in your hands. There’s an open book at your feet, and Terzo catches a glimpse of a few words which makes him arch a brow. “Hello,” he says, his accent curling around the words. “You know, I have heard it be called very dirty words, but never ‘velvet wrapped steel.’ That is a new one.”

You glance up, your lips quirking in a half smile. You cross your legs and lean forward, setting your bookmark between the pages and closing your book. “Sort of makes you feel like you’re grabbing a stick shift in an old car.”

Terzo pauses for a moment, just looking at you, before he tilts his head back and laughs. A deep, belly laugh, dragging out the final note with a shake of his head as he leans forward. He crosses his arms and clicks his tongue. “That is very funny. Yes. Well, sometimes it is like handling a stick shift. Satan forbid you stall.”

“Pfft,” you snort and shake your head, your smile growing. You glance up at the sky as another rumble of thunder echoes overhead. Pinpricks of rain dot the ground, ever so slowly increasing. “Come to watch the rain, Papa?”

“It appears we had the same idea,” he nods, watching intently as the rain flicks the leaf of a plant growing in the little garden some of the Siblings tend to. “Perhaps you intended to watch the rain alone?”

“I intended,” you say, tilting your head a little as you regard him with a curious air. “But this is better.” Terzo glances back at you, his heavy brow slanting down. He takes a few steps toward you, slow and deliberate. You take a moment to glance over him, appreciating the slacks, loose black button up, and the brocade evening jacket draped over his shoulders.

“Better how?” He asks, his voice genuinely curious. “And what is that look for, eh? Admiring Papa?” It wasn’t just a superficial question. She could see his face, a rare sight without the paint, the lines deepening around his mouth. His strangely beautiful eyes burn into yours and you understand that he’s serious. It isn’t playful banter.

“I don’t get to talk to you,” you answer truthfully, sincere in the small smile you give him. “Your attention is usually taken, and I understand that there are more Siblings in this building than clergy. You can only get to so many people.” His frown deepens, and you continue. “So it’s nice. It’s nice to talk to you. I want to watch the rain with you.”

“Cara mia, you can request time, you know this, sì? I have office hours. Please do not be thinking you cannot come to me,” Terzo talks with his hands, his fingers waving in the air, punctuating his words. He looks so concerned, his body angled toward you, features twisted in worry.

You huff a laugh, shaking your head as you adjust on the bench. “I’m okay, Papa, really. I just mean I can’t come by to say hello, or make an appointment only to chat.”

“Why not?” Terzo shoulders rise and fall and he stands with one foot forward, hands on his hips. “You are more than welcome to come and say hello. Antichristus, and here I was thinking I come on too strong. Unless, that is the problem?” He looks at you, and you have to smile from the sheer befuddlement on his face. But you can tell, also, that he’s hurt. And that doesn’t make you feel good either.

“No. Papa-“

“Terzo,” he corrects you, sitting down at the end of the bench next to your feet. He rests his hands on his legs and gives you his full attention, and it’s altogether exhilarating and nerve-wracking. You’ve never spoken to a Papa like this, for this long, outside of anything that really has to do with your duties or other Ministry matters. It makes you blush, and Terzo takes notice, leaning a little closer to watch the pink pass over your cheeks with great interest. “Am I making you uncomfortable?”

“I would explain if you let me get a word in,” you say, not unkindly, your lips pulled into a gentle smile. Terzo chuckles to himself and nods, waving a hand in your direction, and then he pinches his fingers and pulls them across his lips in a zipping motion. “Thank you,” you continue lightly, laughing. “What I mean to say is, yes, I’m nervous. And it’s not for reasons you think. I don’t think you’re unapproachable. I don’t think you would show me any unkindness or give me reason to believe you aren’t totally invested in what I have to say.”

Your eyes pass over his face, taking in his dark features, and you briefly wonder why he doesn’t wear his paints less. His face is aging to be sure. Pocked and marked and wrinkled, but he is so expressive. So soft in the curve of his mouth. The way his lashes brush his cheeks when he blinks. His white eye, meant to be intimidating, reminds you of freshly fallen snow. The warmth of a cup of hot chocolate on a winter’s day near Yule. It was truly beautiful, and you realize you’ve stopped talking.

But Terzo doesn’t move. He doesn’t prompt you to continue, he just stares back. The rain falls around you in heavy drops, a steady stream that wets the ground and mists your faces as it bounces off the stonework.

“I think I would fool myself into thinking that we could be friends,” you finish, your voice soft, caught in some kind of new understanding, a breath of realization. Terzo tilts his head very slightly, and he pulls in a sigh.

“Friends,” he murmurs, as if the word is foreign to him. His eyes fall away from yours and he focuses on nothing as he processes your words. And then he’s looking back at you and smiling, and it only occurs to you then that you’ve never quite seen his smile reach his eyes the way it does now. “Not many peoples wish to be my friend, dolcezza.”

“You are very frequently surrounded by people.”

“Yes, but what is that saying, eh? You can be in a room of people and still be alone. I am an old man, as much as I cover this face,” he gestures to himself. “Or dye my hair. I have my brothers, sì, but they are not so understanding at times. It has been many years since I have had someone who I can talk to as Terzo and not as Papa.”

“Someone your own age?” You ask quietly, expecting rejection.

His lips soften. “Not necessarily.”

You smile, and look out over the courtyard as thunder once more cracks overhead. The scent of rain and wet soil fills your nostrils, and you feel very at peace. For a moment your heart is full sitting next to this man. “I’m a Sibling, and I know I’m supposed to act a certain way around my authority figures. But sometimes when you’re giving a sermon, or I see you at events, or feast days, I just want to know if you think the potato salad is as delicious as I do, or if you wished whoever was in charge of the playlist would stop, for the love of all that’s unholy, playing Cruel Summer.” You laugh, and Terzo laughs with you. “I want to know who you are, and I don’t know if that’s okay.”

Terzo taps your shoe with an amused smile, and he looks happy. He looks like you just told him he won the lottery, his eyes sparkling with a kind of glee. “You know, just this morning I was talking to Terzino about this very thing. He said I should be more open. Open to change, which I scoffed at. Papa cannot change, not now. Not so late in his life, yeah? But…” He reaches a hand out into the pouring rain, watching the water cascade over his skin. “Rain renews. And I think I am ready for something new.”

He brings his hand back in, and grasps yours, a few droplets falling between you onto your closed book. “It is more than okay, amica. Now, tell me about this smut.”

You squeeze his hand, your fingers sliding over his slick skin. You smile. “Your cat talks to you?”

Terzo pinches the top of your hand and you gasp, swatting at him. He laughs, low in his throat, a wild brow arching. “Shush.”

[seraphdreams]

butterfly

opening day

tooru oikawa; butterfly (located on the collarbone) - you’re his first customer of the day but somehow you just seem so innocent, so easy to manipulate

contains - manipulation/breeding, oblivious!reader

word count - 1.8k

whistling is heard from inside the dark shop. you can’t quite make out the body, other than your own standing in front of the reflective windows, black curtains draped from the interior. you check the time on your phone. 12pm, just like you scheduled but maybe they weren’t open yet. “i guess i’ll sit in my car and wait” you think to yourself. you could barely turn 90° before you hear the latch of the door unlock. a hue of dark brown swiftly treading past you.

you stare in silence as you watch the tall man shake the pack of cigarettes in his hand before lighting it with the small black lighter in his pocket. he takes a drag, a cloud of smoke dissolving in the air. he must’ve now noticed your presence, the way you gazed at him in awe. “are you my 12:00?” he asks, peering from the corner of his chestnut brown eyes.

his voice came out sweet despite the cig in his mouth, and warmed up your insides. you shuffled a bit, straightening out the hem of the tiny skirt you’re wearing. “yeah” you answer in a meek tone.

he rests his hand, holding the lighter and cigarette box, into his pocket. he walks to the glass door of the shop, opening it. you take notice of his lean built arms, muscles flexing as he pulls the door open.

“have a seat, there’s a catalog on the table. i’ll be in there shortly” the pretty boy said, flashing a quick smile as you head inside. the name tag on his shirt flashing from the light of the sun. “tooru oikawa”

a whiff of cologne hits you as you step into the small yet spacious parlor. beautiful framed renaissance drawings hung on the light grey/blue walls. you then look down at the shiny wood floor, not a spec of dust in sight. you directed yourself to the comfy looking couch, decorated in turquoise pillows. a black book catches your eye, labeled in white new times roman font, “ideas”. you flip through the pages, looking at multiple upon multiple various tattoos.

this was your first time getting a tattoo and you said to yourself that you wouldn’t get anything too big and something easy to cover up. “hmm?” you hum to yourself as you found a particular photo that caught your attention.

“found anything yet?” you hear oikawa call out as he walks through the door, the diminutive wind blowing his wavy tresses off his face.

he ambles to lean behind the couch you were sitting at, looking down at the book in your hands, a disregard for personal space. you feel his breath ghost against your neck causing you to shudder inconspicuously. you raise the catalog higher and point at the picture so he could see. a breathy chuckle escapes from his throat, you feel the way his eyes trail up your neck and back down.

“you want a butterfly?” he purrs against your skin. you tense up at the sudden intimacy, languidly nodding your head in response. “hmm? on your collarbone too?” he murmurs quietly, trailing his fingers against the skin. there’s a whoosh of cold air as the man shifts from behind you to sitting on the loveseat in front of you. he tilts his head sideways, brows furrowed.

“have you ever gotten a tattoo before?”. you watch his eyes linger on your bare skin, from your neck to your stomach, down to your thighs. you squirm in your seat. “no”. his face lights up in a smirk, a soft chuckle following suit. he gets up from the seat and stands between your slightly parted legs. you meet eyes with the form towering over you. his previous grin now more mischievous than before.

“maybe i should tell you about the procedure, hmm? just so you’re a bit more comfortable” he leans into your ear with that last word. you feel your heart beat fast, afraid that it might be too loud and he’ll hear. “oh, don’t be so nervous. i’ll take good care of you, cutie” he teases in a cocky tone. you watch as he kneels down slowly, keeping his stern eye contact with you. somehow the rock music playing in the background began to sound quieter, softer and the air you’re breathing felt thicker, holding tension.

his soft hand pressed against your thigh, pushing it away from the other, eyes widening at the sight before him. with his nimble fingers, he drew light patterns on the flesh. “i-i don’t think this is supposed to happen” you mutter to him, cheeks hot from embarrassment and confusion. his devious expression turned serious as your words swirled through his head.

“oh, so you don’t think i know what i’m doing?” his now anger filled eyes, glare up at you.

your breath hitched and you could feel nothing but a sense of danger close up your throat. time felt slow and your surroundings had vanished from your optic perspective. just you and tooru at that moment. “no, no, i-“ he got impatient at your babbling nonsense, adding on “i’m the best in the city. do you want the tattoo or not?”

“yes—yes, i do” you gulp. his expression turns calm, him lifting up your skirt. embarrassment floods even harder through your body but tooru doesn’t notice. he’s to caught up in how pretty your pussy looks, in those white lacy underwear; almost like a present wrapped just for him. he hooks his finger on the lace and pulls it down, revealing glistening folds and plump lips. you gasp at the cold air hitting your cunt. it doesn’t take long for tooru’s fingers to dance their way to your clit, tapping rhythmically.

you huff at the sensation, throwing your head back. you could hear him lowly chuckle in response. “tell me what you want me to do”. he pulls away his fingers and looks up at you with seductive eyes, watching you look down at him, bottom lip tucked between your teeth. “please—make me feel good” you whimper timidly. the words sounded like music to his ears.

using his tongue, he glides down your slit, lapping up the slick. you grab his shoulder, digging crescent moon shapes into the flesh. warmth floods your core as he slips the muscle into your hole, exploring your walls. “nnghh..” you shudder as you clench around his tongue, the grip you have on him definitely leaving a bruise later. he keeps pumping using the sharp tip to curl against your velvet core. your shaky legs try to close around him but the iron force of his arm doesn’t let it happen.

your vision becomes blurry and tear filled as he thrashes his tongue on your sweet spot. loud pants and cries fill the nearly empty room. you use your free hand to rub circles on your neglected clit, begging for release. his ruthless speed doesn’t stop, tipping you further and further off the edge. you feel your heart pound harder when he reaches deeper in your walls, sloppily using his tongue and lips to satisfy you. the familiar feeling in your core begins to overpower you. in seconds, you’re gripping onto the couch for leverage as you gush and cream all over his tongue.

he licks his lips, lifting off one knee to stand over your trembling body, face to face with the swelling of his cock in his jeans. “did that feel good?” he coos, wiping the tears from your eyes. “yeah” you try to say but it comes out as more of a whisper. he settles back down in the loveseat across from you, staring at how your messy cunt drips. you pant even more but stop briefly at the sound of unzipping.

you turn your head to see veiny, pale hands wrapped around the girth that is his dick. beads of precum leaked from the top down to his fingers as he pumped himself a few times. noticing how you stare at him, he pats his thigh, calling you over.

“help me finish, yeah?”

you walk over, legs quivering from the previous action, and straddle his waist. he takes a second to examine you, eyes locked on that sacred spot of your collarbone. “that butterfly s’gonna look real nice on you..”.

he lines his cock up with your drenched opening, teasing the tip in and out. “tooru, please” you mutter. for you to be impaled on his cock, you still had that innocent glow to you, still very pliable. you rock your hips adjusting to his length as he slowly pushes you down further. a shaky moan leaves his lips once he bottoms out. you hum in impatience as he watches your body, moving up and down slightly.

“you must want to get off as well, hmm?” he whispers into your ear. you clench around his shaft, nodding your head. he reaches his hands below your skirt to wrap around your waist, encouraging you to move. you lift your weight up to slam back down, the tip of his cock ever so gently kissing your cervix. “ah!” you gasp. his fingers come up to lay flat on your tongue, reaching deeper down your throat. you continue the bouncing motions on his cock. his eyes narrow as he gazes at you with lust filled eyes, nothing but evil intent behind it.

a wanton whine slips from you as you drag your tight cunny on his length. he was big enough to have you gasping for air every time he hit that spot of yours and brings the both of you closer to reaching that high. skin slapping and squelching was all that filled your little ears. the way he grunted each time you slammed down on him, had you clenching tighter and tighter.

his dick twitched as he let out a choked out “fuuuckk”. you can tell he was close, closer than you were as he reached the digits from his mouth to down where you two connected, harsh circles causing friction on your clit. “no, no..too much!” you cry out in overstimulated pain. but he doesn’t care, those words not meaningful enough to create a barrier. you rest your head against his chest, panting as you lax. he ruts up into your cunt, angered by the fact you got lazy with him.

tears flow down your face, his cock bruising your cervix with each thrust and you can feel the way your body seizes in orgasm. “please! ah, please!” you cry, gushing around his shaft. it doesn’t take long for him to crumble with you, flooding his seed into your greedy cunt.

after you’ve both caught your breaths, he lifts you up. “ah ah ahh, don’t fall asleep on me now. we’ve still got a tattoo to do. and you got knocked up as a present, remember me” he winks conceitedly.

[goldilockswrites]

Unspoken

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Pairing: Thomas Raggi x Reader (she/her)

Requested: No 

Summary: The reader and Thomas have been best friends for a while. Recently they’ve started catching feelings for each other, but will they be brave enough to face reality and admit their fancy?

Warnings: smut, nothing else really, (just fingering and sadness overall, because that is what happens when ‘I WANNA BE YOUR SLAVE’ plays right after ‘Torna a casa’)

A/N: Hey, everybody! This is Axe! First of all I’d like to thank everybody for the positive feedback, it is highly appreciated! Second, I again apologize in advance if there is any mistakes, English isn’t my first language and though I try hard to make sure everything is correct, I still might have missed something. :)  

© 2021-2022 @idyllicbutterfly​ on Tumblr All Rights Reserved

Add yourself to my taglist - Check out my other stories

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Y/N sat on the edge of the mattress, the shiny, red satin sheets, slipping off the bed. The mist-like rain was burbling into the drains, dripping from the flowers and chinking off the windows. Cool air nibbling at her delicate skin, as her naked frame rose from the comfortable material, getting closer to the window, pulling on a discarded T-shirt from the floor. Her head pressed up against the aperture, lilac blue eyes observed the lit-up Rome, people, cars and street lights blurring together due to the raindrops on the glass, or maybe due to the unnoticed by her tears, that were running down her cheeks like warm, salty waterfalls. 

Sporadic thoughts amplifying the dull ache in her cracked heart, idle fantasies attacking her like crows with fine silver beaks. Her mind wished that she could stay like this forever - that she can freeze this moment and frame it on her wall; Thomas was laying in her bed, only lower half covered by the sheet, snoring soundly, mouth slightly agape, streaks of golden hair spilled on the pillow like an ocean, chest moving up and down as he took silent breaths. 

Y/N faced the window again. She thought he looked like art, like a man from one of those Gustave Courbet paintings, she just wished he’d sick around in the morning, that his arms would still be wrapped around her when she woke up, that it would be his lips planting butterfly light kisses in her hair and his raspy whispers waking her up. 

- Hey, cucciola! Why aren’t you in bed? - Thomas’ groggy voice rang in her ears like the chirps of a nightingale. Strong arms pulling her back into his warm chest made the shavings of ghost-grey mist clouding her thoughts disappear. 

Y/N turned around swiftly, red eyes staring into his, she wanted to be cruel, she wanted to yell, to stick a finger in his face and tell him how much she hated him, but instead she pulled him down roughly, knuckles turning white from the grip she had on the blonde’s neck. Their lips met, light pink flesh rubbing against each other roughly, the girl’s fingers slid down his collarbones gently tapping his skin as his hands found their place on her waist. 

Soon they parted, airways burning for oxygen. Thomas rose his hand to Y/N’s face, tanned, slender fingers tracing the paths of the salty tears shed earlier. The girl, on the other hand, observed the way the moon made the beads of sweat on his forehead glisten, brightening his whiskey smash eyes, small, purple hickeys on his neck reminding her of their earlier rendezvous. 

Velvet met once again, Y/N’s mouth opening as Thomas licked her lower lip, begging for entry. With a light tap on her hip, the girl wrapped her legs around the guitarist’s middle, only unwrapping them once her back hit the cloud-like bed, throwing the black T-shirt on the floor. Thomas’ tongue slid down her body, leaving a hot, wet trail leading from her neck to her belly. Head nestled in between her thighs, a hand slowly followed the path he outlined himself, a single finger ghosting over her heat.

- Well, somebody is excited. - The guitarist taunted the girl, as her hands buried themselves in his hair, biting her lip to hold back a whimper.  

- Please! - The word uttered silently and repeatedly like a chant. 

- What do you want, bunny? Can’t you use your words? - The man leaned back, pointer and middle finger drumming right above where she needed his touch most. 

- Touch me, please! - What was supposed to be a simple ask, turned into a whisper, by the desperation she felt. 

- But, I am. - Thomas let his hand fall down to her groin, the drumming continuing by her folds, fingertips, just barely grazing her opening.

- I want your fingers. - Y/N’s body itched closer to the guitarist in an attempt to get more friction, which only made his hand ghost over her once again. 

- Well, I suppose, I gotta listen to my good girl, then. Huh? - Without a warning, Thomas pushed two of his fingers inside her heat, skillfully stretching her and quickly pulling them out, bringing them up to his lips, as his tongue tasted her arousal. His hand dropped down, eyes rolling back and a ‘hm’ leaving his mouth, putting on a show for the flustered girl, beneath him. 

She was turning into putty, melting onto the sheet, small moans escaping her chapped lips, that only seemed to motivate the guitarist, skillful fingers working her out quicker, thumb pressing to her clit, rubbing the sensitive bud in circles. Raising his head, eyes concentrated on her orbs, Thomas noticed that Y/N was biting on her lower lip. 

- C’mon, baby, let me hear you. - The guitarist searched for the girl's hand, snaking his fingers, between hers. 

The girl only got louder, sounds making him intensify the touches to her clit, fingers grinding into her g-spot. As he noticed her whole body was shaking, tights having a hard time staying open, he squeezed her hand tighter, making her gaze land on him. 

- Are you close, amore? - Y/N nodded rapidly, chest heaving up and down, eyes fogging up from pleasure, as Thomas’ tongue replaced his thumb, sucking on her clit. - Let go for me, love, will you let go for me? - With one last loud moan, she let go of the edge, eyes rolling back into her skull as cum dripped down Thomas’ fingers once he eased her out of her ecstasy. He cleaned her up, tongue licking long stripes up and down her entrance. - You did so good for me, amore, so good. - The guitarist held the girl close, nestling her head in the crook of his neck as he hugged her. - Let me just go to the bathroom to get cleaned up real quick, okay? Then, I’ll be right back. - With one last kiss to her lips, allowing her to taste herself on his tongue, he slid off the bed, feet padding against the wooden floor as he walked to the bathroom. 

The sound of the water in the sink, made Thomas’ gaze freeze upon the stream of cold liquid, hitting his chest, as it ricocheted off the white porcelain and onto his skin. Thoughts around his mind were going wild like a coalition of cheetahs. He couldn’t bring himself to face the reality that he was developing a soft spot for the girl on the other side of the door. His body leaned over, elbows propping themselves on the counter as he rubbed his face with his hands, flashbacks cruising in front of his shut eyes, the way she was laughing in front of the gelato parlor yesterday while sitting next to Ethan, who seemed to be telling her quite the entertaining story, based on her posture and giggles that were only interrupted by the kitty licks she applied to the ball of ice-cream on her waffle cone; looking down at his notebook after that occasion he noticed he had scribbled down countless of lines all about her. A quick investigation amongst the scattered pieces of paper in his living room and on his kitchen table later that night proved his point - he indeed was deeply in love with his best friend, in whose eyes he was just interested in having sex with. A groan left his lips as he knew he had to find a way to fix this. He shut the faucet, opening the door and coming back to bed with Y/N. 

- Hey, darling. Are you awake? - His hand laid upon her shoulder, shaking her slightly. 

- Yup, baby, I am. - The girl turned around to face him as a small smile appeared on her face. As they held each other, Thomas allowing Y/N to melt in his embrace, drawing soothing squares on her back. - How is everything going with Bella? - The blonde’s heart clenched as the girl spat out the name of his newest date, that he was in fact set up with by Victoria. 

- Not really well, we haven’t spoken in a few weeks. - He told the truth and the news made the zoo in Y/N’s heart go crazy, cobras tightening around her chest, as colibris flittered their wings, lemurs doing a happy dance, under the beats of turtle shells. 

- That’s too bad. - She tried to seem sad.

- Eh, I am not too broken up about it, I’ve had someone else on my mind lately. - The zoo disappeared, now there was a volcano bubbling inside her, a tornado was storming through Thomas’ mind, wondering how to play off what he said. 

- Oh? That’s great news! Who is it? - Y/N sounded doubtful, unstable, on the verge of tears or laughter, he couldn’t tell. 

- It’s… Well, it’s Sofia. - The guitarist swallowed dryly, tornado going even wilder inside his stomach, destroying every ounce of strength he felt. Why did he have to say the name of…

- Sofia, as in my best friend Sofia!? - The girl suppressed the lava pouring all over her heart, burning it. 

- Yeah. - The boy continued, another lie, to hide the fact he actually loved Y/N.

- That’s great! - She exclaimed, though on the inside she just wanted to cry. She wanted Thomas to leave; this was the first time she did. 

- I don’t know if you could say that. I mean she has a boyfriend after all. - Sandpaper dragged through the throat of the guitarist; only if he told the truth, maybe this would have gone much smoother or maybe it would have been a disaster. 

- Yup. - Silence. The lava had burned all of Y/N’s heart, all that was left now were scars - some were thick and jagged, as if she’d been stabbed with the edge of a broken wine bottle, others were frightful and deep - still spilling red blood from them. - Thom, can I ask you something? 

- Of course, cucciola. What is it?

- Can you tell me you love me? - The girl knew this would hurt her, that it would make her wounds even more painful and deep, but she wanted to hear the words she longed to; she wanted to lie to herself one last time. 

- I love you, Y/N. I love you more than I love life itself. - The man planted a kiss to the crown of her head after he said that, knowing darn well she thought he was lying. 

- I love you, too. More than you’d ever know. - Y/N answered, making Thomas’ heart swell. A few more meaningless words and learnt by hard phrases later, the guitarist left. 

***

“My fingers traced the constellation of light-brown freckles, only to have them fade away, hands got shaky as my fingertips tried to ghost over his lips, only to have them disappear as well. Frantic breaths left my mouth as I searched for something to remind me of him only to discover I have forgotten his scent and his taste too. Now I was surrounded by his pictures, colorful eyes observing me from the cover of every magazine and billboard, but it wasn’t the same. He wasn’t the same boy who kissed me goodbye, without knowing he was kissing me goodbye that summer in Rome.” Y/N laid the pen down, looking out the window. She left that night. Y/N became a memory. And the only thing she longed for was to be one of those memories that made people smile one of those stupid smiles that lit-up your whole face and made your cheeks redden, as you stared off into the sun rising over the lake, that you just nearly ran your car into, or one of those genuinely happy ones that appeared when you were strumming your guitar at home remembering, about that one time you stumbled into your best friends house, yelling “marry me”, before passing out on her doorstep, but the last thing she wanted was to be one of those sad smiles, that appeared on your face, when tears prickled your eyes, as Dami sang “Che mi è rimasto un foglio in mano e mezza sigaretta/ Restiamo un po’ di tempo ancora tanto non c’è fretta/ Che c’ho una frase scritta in testa ma non l’ho mai detta/ Perchè la vita, senza te, non può essere perfetta.”

[mellointheory]

inhaling smoke, i just awoke

Red wakes up because he’s cold.

It’s winter in Hypixel City, and even the amount of toxins the city puts into the air doesn’t keep the weather from getting cold. Red used to live near a factory that, despite its other drawbacks, kept the air around it warm. He moved away from the factory after he lost his job at the pharmacy. Of course, at that point there wasn’t much of a factory to move away from.

He fights the urge to stay in bed, even though his blankets are thin. It’s only when a glance at his alarm clock tells him it’s 10:46 AM that he gains the motivation to get up. His hands are numb and he blows on them periodically as he gets dressed. There are stains on his palms and fingertips; skin spotted in dark purple and blue. He was working on something new before he went to bed: a recipe of his own that should give the user enhanced eyesight. He tried it last night and all it did was give everything he looked at an edge of bright orange or cyan. He still has the residual headache from it behind his eyes.

Red and white hoodie. Headphones. Bag full of enhancements--the kind that people will actually buy. A baseball bat painted with candy-cane stripes, just in case. Then it’s time for him to go to work.

He ended up in the dockyards of the city after the pharmacy incident, partially because no one would come looking for him here and partially because it was full of exactly the type of degenerates he could sell to. This was where the unwanted of the city ended up; hybrids and cyborgs who’d gone to the wrong place for their surgeries, stray creatures trying to scrape through living in alleyways. One of them ducks into a gutter as he passes; a kind of modified creature with fur and wings. It’s probably been commissioned by some rich person in the upper quarter of the city, then tossed out as soon as they got bored with their living artwork.

Red turns up the music in his headphones and shoves his hands in his hoodie pockets, trying to keep them warm. It’s snowing out here; flakes of grey slush raining down. He could almost mistake it for ash if it didn’t melt when it touched his skin.

A neon sign, its glow still noticeable despite the late morning due to the dark clouds hanging in the sky, catches his attention.

Munchy, it reads in cursive yellow text. Below it are the glass doors of what appears to be a small bar. It’s a little early for one to be open, and there’s far more patrons than he would guess from a place like this. They must serve breakfast or something. He’s not dumb enough to sell in someone else’s establishment without talking to the owner first; but this has more potential customers than anywhere else he’s passed and he’s loathe to let the chance go.

Red pushes one of the doors open with his forearm and walks inside, exhaling as warm air swirls around him. He walks up to the counter and sits down, resting his elbows on it and sliding his headphones down around his neck.

“Can I get you anything?” A blonde man in an apron turns towards him, sliding a cup of coffee across the counter to someone sitting a few seats down.

“Um, yes.” Red straightens his back, smacking his palms down on the counter. “Could I talk to the owner?”

The man squints at him through green eyes, vaguely suspiciously, then shrugs. “Sure. He’s through those doors,” a finger points at a pair of double doors at the other end of the bar.

Red spins his bar stool in the direction the blonde man directed and gets up, walking over the strip of linoleum floor between squeaky-clean booths. He pushes the indicated doors open and find what appears to be a small casino. His gaze passes over the poker and pool tables and catches on a figure behind a desk all the way at the other end of the room. He takes a step forward.

“Excuse me,” a voice at his elbow says, and he turns to see a cat.

A catboy.

The man is standing behind a counter to Red’s right, soft fur and pointed ears and huge eyes. He’s patterned like toast, is Red’s first thought. Soft, cream colored fur that shades to tan on his face and almost black on the backs of his ears. His hands that rest on the counter are delicate and covered in short fur as well, except for soft pads on his palms and fingertips. Red wonders if he has claws. His blue eyes are mostly pupil at the moment, dilated in the low lights of the empty casino.

“You need to leave your weapon here.” The cat hybrid says apologetically. He has little fangs that glint against the pink inside of his mouth when he speaks.

Red reaches up and pulls his basketball bat from where it’s strapped to his back, extending his arm full length to hand it to the other man. The cat hybrid leans forward to grab it as close to the handle as possible and Red glimpses his tail curling up behind the counter to help him keep his balance.

Coming here was a very good idea.

The thought stays even when he walks up to the desk at the other end of the casino and sees a demon sitting there.

The demon’s name is Bad and despite his initial disappointment that Red was not in fact a traveling muffin salesman, he gives Red permission to sell his enhancements in that area. Red may have glossed over all of the benefits of the various concoctions he creates, but he receives the go-ahead that he needs.

If anyone bothers you, feel free to let me or Antfrost know! The demon said cheerily as Red was on his way out. The catboy nodded in agreement, eyes staying downcast when he handed Red back his baseball bat.

Red half hopes that someone will mess with him. He waves a goodbye to the blonde man working behind the bar and hooks his headphones up over his ears again as he strides out into the cold of the street.

He sells half of the supply he packed, and only one person tries to rob him. That’s a downright phenomenal day of business, honestly. He starts to head home when he gets hungry in the late afternoon. The sun is low in the sky at this point, and that combined with the heavy cloud cover of winter has it dark enough for the street lights to be on. Its not night, but there’s a grey gloom over everything that’s only faintly dispelled by the blue-white street lamps every once in a while.

Red hums along to the music in his headphones as he walks. It’s finally stopped snowing. There’s about an inch of snow on the ground, trampled to grey slush on the street and sidewalk, and in the gutter stained various colors by whatever toxic muck runs through there. He spies a patch of untouched snow near the base of a building and squats down, pressing his forefinger into it.

The snow stains red, chemicals bleeding off of Red’s skin into the pristine whiteness. A trail of crimson trails after his finger as he drags it through the snow.

He draws a penis.

“Excuse me?” A voice asks hesitantly, and Red looks up. The catboy from earlier today is standing above him, huddled in a dark green coat. Like an angel from above, back in Red’s life already. Antfrost, the demon had said his name was.

“Hi, Antfrost.” Red beams, standing up and shoving his headphones down around his neck so he can hear the man properly.

“Hi, I—didn’t catch your name.” Antfrost glances down at the penis Red drew in the snow.

“I’m Velvet, but most people call me Red.” Red sticks out a hand.

“I can see why.” Antfrost stares at the red stains on his skin, hesitates, then reaches out and clasps Red’s hand. He shakes it once, then pulls his back. His fur is like soft silk and the pads on his palms are warm enough to leave the faint ghost of his touch on Red’s skin.

“Do you sell sedatives?” Antfrost asks abruptly, shoving both his hands into his coat’s pockets. Red notices that his tail is nowhere in sight, which means it’s probably tucked away into his pants to stay warm. The thought is unbearably endearing to him.

“What kind of sedatives do you want?” Red asks, swinging his shoulder bag around in front of him and unzipping it to look through it.

“A mist or something?” Antfrost tries to peer inside the bag, although odds are that he doesn’t know what any of the potions’ colors and appearance actually mean.

“How wide of a range do you need?” Red zips his bag shut again and folds his arms.

“Big.” Antfrost’s pupils tighten to little slits, and he frowns. And now he looks dangerous, a fanged man with narrowed eyes and some goal not yet revealed to Red. It’s fascinating.

“I don’t have anything like that with me,” Red starts, and before Antfrost can open his mouth he continues, “but I can make some for you within an hour. When do you need it?”

“Tonight.” Antfrost says resolutely. “How much will it cost?”

“For you? Free.” Red turns and starts down the street again. Antfrost follows a few feet behind.

“Are you sure?” The cat hybrid asks.

“Of course I am. Your boss did me a favor, so I’ll pay it forward.” Red glances back at him. “I can make that in half an hour, if you don’t mind waiting at my place till it’s done.”

“That’s not a problem.” Ant puts his hood up. His ears make little points in the top of the fabric.

Red’s apartment is only a few minutes away, but it’s long enough for his hands to get numb. His headphones double as earmuffs, so he puts them back on as they walk to keep his ears from getting cold. He’s thankful for when they finally make it up the stairs to the small, three room apartment that he calls home.

Damn, not even the first date and Antfrost has already come home with him.

Red fumbles with his keys and unlocks the door with cold fingers, kicking it open and nodding at Antfrost to go inside. He pries the keys out of the lock and closes the door behind them, exhaling. He doesn’t have heating, but the walls and insulation make it at least a little bit warmer than outside, and as soon as he starts cooking what Antfrost has asked for, it’ll heat up in here.

The front door opens directly to the small tiled kitchen that Red uses almost exclusively for manufacturing. The counters are occupied by synthesis stands and bunsen burners, and the open cupboards are full of jars of multicolored chemicals. Red sets his bag on the ground and rolls up his hoodie sleeves, nudging his chin at Antfrost. “Can you pull the pots out of that and put them in the fridge?”

Antfrost nods, turning around from where he was ogling the liquid-filled glass on Red’s shelves. Red slips past him and reaches up, pulling down four different bottles and putting them on the counter. This is a simple recipe, it shouldn’t take him long. He starts the blue flame of the burner and holds his hands over it, letting his numbed fingers warm up.

“How large of a radius do you need this to cover?” Red swirls a vial of zolazepam hydrochloride, then checks the temperature of the flame and turns it down slightly.

“I don’t know, big?” Antfrost rests his elbows on the counter, staring at the swirls of bubbles in the depths of the liquid. “Like, small stadium sized.”

Red whistles, sloshing tiletamine into one of the vials in the synthesis stand. Some of it splashes on his fingers, adding to the stains on his skin. He doesn’t mind. Antfrost is definitely planning something very, very interesting tonight. Hopefully no one can trace the origins of the sedative back to Red. He adds a few more chemicals to another vial, caps them both, and presses a button to start the process. He puts a few pumps of nitrous oxide into the mixing chamber.

“It’s like a cock-fighting ring,” Antfrost bursts out.

“You mean a strip club?” Red raises an eyebrow.

“Wh--no.” Antfrost blinks. Pauses. Gathers his words again. He’s cute when he’s flustered. “It’s like a pit where they get genetically modded animals to fight and bet on it. They have a bunch of chimeras trapped in there.”

“So you want to get them out, huh?” Red turns a valve and watches as the two vials mix, emerald green and golden liquid swirling together.

Antfrost nods.

“Why tonight?”

“They keep them all locked up except for the fights.” Antfrost explains. His ears flatten back against his head as he speaks. “But they’ll all be out in their cages tonight. So if I can knock the entire place unconscious…”

“You can get them out.” Red finishes. “What are you gonna do with them after? Keep them in your basement?”

“Drive them to the edge of the city and let them out.” Ant’s tail has slipped free from wherever he was hiding it, and Red is so distracted by its back-and-forth swishing that he almost forgets to turn down the flame exactly when the mixture is boiling at 211° Fahrenheit.

Antfrost wants to be a hero.

Red grew up in the bowels of Hypixel City, pinching pennies like his parents taught him to. He only stayed off the streets due to an unusually high tolerance for chemicals that landed him a job at a pharmacy, mixing drugs for addicts trying to get their fix through the guise of medicine. He’s experienced with cynicism, with people busy deciding something wasn’t their problem simply because they didn’t have the strength to care. And here was this hybrid man, planning an optimistic rescue mission just because he knew animals were being hurt and it made him sad.

Kindness. Red wonders when it became something unfamiliar to him.

The liquid he’s mixed evaporates into a faint yellow mist that he splits into three different vials. He caps them and lines them up on the counter. Antfrost reaches for the one still under Red’s hand and, impulsively, he slides it farther away from the hybrid’s grasp.

“I’m coming.” Red declares. Antfrost looks up, pupils dilating and expanding to make his blue eyes suddenly seem three times bigger. Fuck, that’s cute.

“Are you sure?” He asks, screwing up his face.

“Absolutely.” Red nods.

“Can you fight at all?” Antfrost steps back and gives Red a once-over.

“I don’t carry a baseball bat around just because it makes me look sexy.” Red reminds him.

“Okay, sure,” Antfrost says doubtfully.

“When do we leave?”

Antfrost looks around for a clock on the walls, turning in a slow circle and finding none. Red shakes his sleeve back from his wrist and holds his arm out to let the hybrid read the time. It’s 5:43 in the afternoon.

“I have to get back to Bad’s bar and work.” Antfrost yanks his hood back up over his head. “But I’ll come get you around midnight, if you’re still up for it.”

Red leans against the wall to let him pass. “I will be.”

Antfrost casts a glance over his shoulder, eyes glowing faint blue from the inside of his hood. “Are you sure? You really, actually want to help?”

“Don’t have a reason not to.” Red shrugs.

There’s a long silence, then Antfrost finally says a soft thank you and leaves.

[dingdongitsbees]

BLACK-EYED SUSAN | LEVI X READER HUNGER GAMES AU

Chapter 2: The Trip

Previous - Next

TW: mild panic attack

Work Count: 5.1k Ao3 link Ask to be added to the taglist

First person pov can be found here

Master List

"We were inside the train car when I started to cry. You were crying too, smiling and crying in a way that made me even more hysterical."

― Richard Siken; Crush

.

.

.

You two were sent inside the mayor’s house, each guided into a small living room meant for goodbyes even though you two wouldn’t be receiving any visitors, giving each other a quick glance as you were separated. You peered around the luxurious space; it was spotless. Oil paintings adorned the walls, the couches were covered in plush velvet and they didn’t even seem to have a dent disturbing them. The ginormous windows were covered in thick curtains, blocking anyone seeing in or out, and likely with guards on the other side in case anyone wanted to make a run for it.

You slinked back up to the door and hesitantly opened the door a crack. You looked out, seeing the grey back of a guard inches away. You looked closely and realised you recognised the blond hair that snuck out of the helmet.

“Hannes?” you whispered.

He glanced behind to you before facing forward again. He hummed quietly under his breath.

“Where’s Levi’s room?”

He stayed silent but looked around to see if anyone was watching. “Next one over, why?”

“Can you bring me over to him? Please.”

His foot beat anxiously against the floor, his looks becoming quicker.

“Please Hannes. I just want to be with him before it all goes to shit.”

He looked down at you with his mouth pursed into a firm line. He poked his tongue into his cheek and looked over his shoulder. “I’ll see what you can do, just wait.”

You paced around the room for the next minute and a half, glancing to the door every two seconds. Soon the sound of footsteps greeted you, and Hannes beckoned you over. He guided you out with a hand hovering at the small of your back down the corridor, stopping at a door whose assigned guard opened it for you. You thanked Hannes quickly and stepped into the room.

Levi looked up, sitting on the couch, his eyes going wide when he saw you. As soon as the heavy wooden door closed behind you, you ran up, him meeting you halfway, and swung your arms around his neck. He held your waist and leant his chin on your shoulder, swaying you two side to side.

“You’re a fucking idiot,” you managed out.

He hummed.

You two stayed there for a few minutes, hearing muffled conversations from the guards outside.

“I guess we should have stayed on the hill, huh?” you joked half-heartedly.

He drew himself back and held you at arm’s length, his face remained emotionless. His jaw locked, looking at you, his silver eyes analysing every part of your face. You gulped. A decision was made by both of you two in that moment, of how you wanted the games to end, and you both knew they clashed horribly.

Silently you guided him down onto the plush rug, getting him to lay down on his back next to you. You looked up to the glass chandelier spreading light on the rest of ceiling from the ray of light that had snuck in past the curtains, it casted technicolour over the light blue paint. Your eyes raked over the shapes made, like you two were cloud gazing, trying to find shapes and creatures hidden within the chaos. If you closed your eyes, you could even pretend you two weren’t here, the rug threads almost felt like the grass on the hill. Almost.

But in those threads, your hands crawled to meet each other, interlocking at contact. You could feel your hand shaking within his. You kept staring at the ceiling, studying the colours as the door opened.

You glanced over to Hannes whose heart seemed to shatter at the scene before him.

It was time to go.

Levi stood and slowly lifted you to your feet. You gave a silent plead. He squeezed your hand tight.

You two walked out hand in hand to the train station, ignoring the cameras that followed either side of you. The train door slid shut behind you.

.

The train’s interior matched, if not topped, the luxurious rooms of the mayor’s house. All of the chosen furniture and décor must have been in tune with the latest season, likely ahead of the waves of Capitol trends. You and Levi could have worked your whole lives and still not have had enough money to buy even one thing that was in the room. It disgusted you; Levi felt no different.

Nick came out from a door ahead and gestured to the small table that held drinks and a tray of bite sized meals that probably had more nutrition than an entire week’s worth of what you two could get. He looked down his nose haughtily at you two, no doubt displeased with the smell of poverty that reeked off of you two. You were once again very thankful for the fact that Hanji had stepped up to be the representative of Twelve. He glanced down to your linked hands and raised his eyebrows in mild surprise. You felt Levi hold you tighter. You didn’t need to look at him to know he was glaring holes into the older man’s head. Nick with a quiet scoff, gave a dismissive wave and left you two alone.

You quietly made your way over to the table, your hands slipping out from each other’s as you went to grab something.

Levi frowned as he looked at the tiny pavlova in his hand, eyebrows furrowed.

“It’s not gonna kill you,” you laughed, plopping yours in your mouth. “It’s too soon for that.”

He gave you a playful glare before taking a hesitant bite.

You two quickly filled up on a few of the offered delicacies and drinks after deciding you needed as much as you could stuff into you to build up as much muscle and body fat possible in the time you had left, and food has always worked well for comfort anyway. Before you two knew it, you were full, which came out of left field for both of you after not feeling it for many years. Everything felt so off.

You two soon found yourselves wandering aimlessly around the room, feeling too awkward and unsure to leave until you were told you allowed to. The likely hood that you would be punished for doing so before going into the games was low, but it had definitely happened before. You peered at the abstract paintings that dotted the walls, understanding absolutely none of it, Levi looked at the diamond chandeliers no doubt thinking that it was a tasteless waste. You two soon gathered by the window next to each other and looked out as the world sped past you. Everything was a blur no matter if you tried to follow something with your eyes.

“Didn’t even realise we had left,” Levi said lowly. You nodded in agreement; it was unnerving that you two hadn’t even noticed the weird metal tube even leave the station, let alone going a fuckton of miles an hour.

Behind you, the door slid open. You two spun around and came face to face with Hanji Zoe. You both analysed her as she whistled under her breath and promptly poured herself a glass of some pungent drink that made you woozy with just the smell. She gulped half of it down immediately and gave you two a quick wink and a smile before walking past and making herself at home on one of the armchairs.

Levi looked to you and you just shrugged. You followed after her and sat on the small couch that faced her, Levi on your heels. She had already pulled out a book that she was dissecting as she took occasional sips. You coughed quietly and she looked up, mild surprise painting her face.

“Can I help you or…?” she asked slowly.

“Well,” you began, “Since you’re our-”

“Are you going to help us or what?” Levi butted in.

“Oh shit, you guys are actually serious?” Hanji spoke, putting down her book and proceeding to down the rest of her drink. “Haven’t had that in while, most just accept death at this point.”

That certainly wasn’t the most comforting news to hear but it wasn’t anything unexpected. Most reaped kids from Twelve, knowing they had next to no chance of getting home, would just spend their last days enjoying the gifts that the Capitol offered them. Might as well go out on a full stomach. Most never made it past the blood bath anyway. But not getting out of the bloodbath alive, let alone the final few, was not an option either of you two had.

You both nodded and she sighed quietly, shifting in her chair and discarding her book on a coffee table.

“First things first I suppose,” Hanji said, scratching the back of her neck, “How much experience do you two have in fighting?”

“A bit,” Levi grunted. You didn’t need to say anything for Hanji to know immediately that that was a lie or at the very least a grand understatement.

“He gets into fights at school sometimes,” you answered honestly, “We both get into back-alley stuff when people and peacekeepers are giving us shit. Hunt a bit here and there too, but we don’t- didn’t really have the tools to do more impressive stuff like archery or anything like that.”

She held eye contact with you as you spoke, occasionally looking over to Levi to try and spot any holes in your story. She sat back and let out a breath. “Well, I then can say you two are already in the top half of tributes which is pretty good. Most don’t know how to make a fire let alone sock someone’s jaw, so you have an advantage there.”

You already felt yourself buzzing at her words and gave Levi a quick smile which he softened at. You two had a chance.

“Do you guys use weapons at all?”

“Just knives usually, or whatever’s lying around,” Levi said as he cracked his neck side to side before crossing his arms, “She can throw them though, I go in closer usually.”

Hanji’s eyebrows rose and she looked over to you to hear confirmation. You nodded.

She stood up suddenly and you two watched, puzzled, as she shuffled through some draws and finally picked something out. Before you knew what was happening a steak knife was being thrown to you. You quickly caught it by the handle and looked up waiting for instruction.

She pointed to the opposite wall. “Try and stick it in.”

You stood up nervously, peering to Levi who just shrugged. You tossed it in your hand, feeling its weight. Most of its mass was delegated to its wooden handle so you had to make sure to throw it well. You drew your elbow up and threw it, spinning and cutting the air with a faint whistle, sticking itself cleanly into the dead centre of one of the oval mandalas in the patterned wallpaper, making you look way better than you actually were.

“What is going on here?!” You three each spun to see Nick who had emerged from the door, the knife only half a metre from his now very pale face. “You don’t pay for the upkeep you know! Just because you’re getting a free trip to the Capitol it doesn’t mean you can do what you want!” He reached out, and with a bit of trouble, pulled the knife out and carefully placed it on the half-eaten food tray. “Outrageous,” he muttered under his breath as he walked out of the room.

As soon as the door slid behind him, Hanji snorted and broke into full out laughter. “Oh my god his face. That was actually amazing I wish I got a picture of it.” She wiped tears from her eyes as she walked back to you two and fell back onto the chair. “Well, I know you’re good now at least.”

You scratched your head sheepishly. Levi bumped his shoulder into yours.

“How about you then huh?” Hanji cocked her head to him, “Can’t exactly challenge you to a knife fight on a deluxe Persian rug, now can I?”

“He’s good,” you grinned, “He’s never lost a single fight and he cuts up people like they’re paper, not going in for the kill though obviously. He’s pretty notorious for it at this point.”

“I’m not that good,” he grunted.

“Oh, are you saying you’ve lost a fight then?” you shot at him.

“Well no, but-”

“Then where’s my lie then Levi?” A mischievous glint shone bright in your eyes.

“God you’re such a brat.” He rammed his shoulder into yours only making you laugh.

Hanji had watched you two as you two squabbled, a soft and sad smile on her face. You could have sworn when you glanced to her, a flame of familiarity flickered behind her eyes for a moment, but it was soon gone. She coughed, getting your two’s attention back to her.

“So, you’re both competent enough at fighting it seems,” she said, “But fighting only gets you so far when you’re freezing your ass off in a cave in the middle of the snow. A lot of the tributes will get offed just by environmental stuff and lack of water and food, of course let alone the messed-up traps they’ll leave for you.”

Levi locked his jaw. “Get to the point.”

She threw up her arms in mock surrender. “I’m getting there I’m getting there, sheesh. What it means is that you two need sponsors.”

Levi audibly cursed.

“Precisely the problem dear Levi,” Hanji said, “They need to actually like you.”

“Why would we even need that shit-”

“Because when you’re close to starving to death, or you need medicine for an infected open wound that goes to the bone, or even just a blanket so you don’t die of hypothermia, you need someone to help you when you don’t have the resources or skill or knowledge to do it yourself.”

He looked away from you two and clicked his tongue a moment before connecting with her eyes again.

“Sometimes, when they’re really liked, the fan favourite, then they’ll even drop-down weapons that they weren’t able to grab at the start.” Her voice gradually became quieter. “And you don’t want to give up any possible opportunities that help get you closer to your goal.”

You two both noticed her choice of words. Not a win. Your goal. She read both of you far too quickly, particularly for Levi’s liking. He looked down; arms still crossed. His arms tensed and his grip on his biceps tightened. After a moment he looked back up to her, his eyes barely visible through his hair.

“How do we get sponsors then? How do you get people to like you?” he spoke softly.

She exhaled and looked between you two, her eyes moved up to the flower you still had behind your ear, and to the matching one in his pocket. “You show your likability through your relationships and interactions with others,” she said finally. “Which might mean you’ll be saved by the girl next to you.”

Your eyes widened as they both looked to you.

“The Capitol audience is already likely infatuated with the way you volunteered so you could go in with her, so they already see you as a caring person and have dubbed you two a duo.” You gulped nervously and side eyed Levi who was poking his tongue in his cheek, but he glanced over to you and his face softened. “How long have you two been together?”

“Huh?” you sputtered, your face going red. Levi looked into his hands, suddenly very interested in his nails, ignoring all possible eye contact.

“Ah,” she said softly, staring at you two in mild amusement. “My bad, I meant known each other?”

“We-” you two started in accidental synchronicity, making you two stop talking immediately.

“You talk,” Levi said quickly with a wave of his hand, still refusing to look at you. He must be embarrassed. It tore your heart just a little bit.

“Um well,” you began, “We’ve known each other like six-ish years or so? We’ve lived together for about four-five years. We met in school, but we got to know each other properly when we met up outside the fence.”

Hanji nodded, taking it all in. “Your relationship and the fact that you two seem to have almost opposite demeanours will help you two a lot you reckon. Levi can take the gruff, bad-boy type with a heart of gold, who will also likely get interest as he looks quite physically capable. You’ll be able to take the funny and kind and more approachable type of personality who still looks quite independent and reliable. If you two play those personalities up and show the duality you two hold as a pair, break their hearts with the fact that you’re going in together and don’t want to lose the other, then you’ll have a large pool of viewers, and especially sponsors, in your palm.”

“Playing a caricature sounds fucking stupid.” Levi had finally sat up and slouched his body and arm onto the couch.

“It’s a TV show,” she said simply, “They’re watching for easy to digest and easy to understand entertainment, it’s easy to promote characters that are already known and loved.”

He ran his fingers through his hair with a click of his tongue. He rolled his head over to you. “Would that shit be alright for you to do?”

You sighed. “I mean if it works then yeah, we don’t exactly have many options to pick and choose from.”

He nodded and faced Hanji once again. “We’ll do it then.”

She nodded thankfully, and pushed herself out of her chair, empty glass in hand. She rolled her wrist in circles habitually as she brought out another bottle, not even bothering to check the label and pouring her glass up to the brim again. She looked down into it, almost disassociating as she created little whirlpools in it. She swallowed and looked back up with a hollow smile on her face. “You guys should get some rest, it’s been a long day.”

You glanced up to the window and saw it was almost night-time. Before you turned back and to give a thanks, she had left the room, with a waving hand as the door slid closed behind her.

.

The day soon came to a close; you two had dinner provided by some servers you had no idea were even there and were shown to your individual rooms.

You laid in the big bed unable to get to sleep. It was too large, too far off the ground, too soft, too quiet, too empty. You hadn’t slept in a room by yourself for… for your whole life. Sleeping where you couldn’t hear the quiet breaths of someone a metre away from you, the rustling of sheets of twisting and turning in their sleep, mumbled words from sleep talking, or even just the sounds of the birds outside, the idea was so foreign to you. It was entirely silent, even the rocking of the train, or it’s connection on the rails didn’t make a noise, or not loud enough to penetrate the invincible walls and windows. It was so goddamn unnerving. You could almost hear your heartbeat.

And the fact that Levi wasn’t next to you, just to touch if you needed to, to make sure if he was still there. It was so scary, especially after today. You genuinely thought of just going to check in his room to make sure he was still there, still breathing.

You quietly cursed and tried to burrow yourself into the sheets as best you could, blocking out the moonlight that came from the window. Not soon enough, you finally drifted off.

.

Where is he? Where is he? Where is he? You lurched up, drenched in sweat. Where is he? Where is he? Where is he? Where is Levi? You looked frantically around the room, your hand instinctually reaching out to your left to only to be met with cotton sheets. Your hands were shaking, your breath rough and uneven. You struggled to get a full breath before another anxious shudder went through you.

Nothing here was right. None of it. None of the familiarity of home. No Levi.

You held your head in your hands as you tried to get yourself together, your mind running off to routes that didn’t even make sense. Is he hurt? Is he already in the games? Is he already dead? Is he already dead after volunteering to stick with you? Your fault, your fault, your fault.

Slowly you got your breathing under control. Inhale; one, two, three. Exhale; one, two, three. Repeat.

Gradually your heartbeat went back to a more acceptable speed, but the nervousness never left you. You looked over to the clock that read in large white letters “3:14”.

He was probably asleep, even with his bouts of insomnia that he got. But it wouldn’t hurt to check on him, you reasoned. To just calm down your brain and materialise him in front of you without bothering him. Quietly you got out of bed, your toes hesitantly reaching the carpet to quieten your descendance. You were momentarily thankful that you two weren’t at home, so you didn’t have to worry about creaking floorboards. You tiptoed out of the door, cringing as the slight whistle of it sliding. You made your way down the corridor, following the floor lights that lit the way. Finally, after a slow and quiet minute, you arrived at his door.

You were frozen stock-still as you just stared at his sleeping form. He looked so peaceful; his usual frown gone, sprawled out, reaching to the left side of his bed. It was rare that you got to see him asleep, him always falling sleeping after you and waking up before you. But when it did happen, you couldn’t help but just stare.

He looked so much at peace when he was asleep. Even on the happiest of days tension still ran through his body and face unnoticeable to most people, but it was there. The slight defence and wall that he kept up subconsciously so no one could hurt him or would dare to. It was there sometimes when he was younger when you saw him in school and just in the streets, but it stayed a permanent feature ever since Farlan and Isabel left. To be honest, you probably had something similar that you didn’t even realise you kept up. Pain and trauma just do that to you.

It added to his intimidating aura that he always had, a part that undoubtably made him quite popular with the girls (a fact he was yet to accept). He may have been physically on the smaller side, even with his pretty well-built muscles, but the atmosphere he created when he walked in the room was unparalleled by any size.

So, when that is what you live with every day, it’s really a treat when you see it completely dissipated. You just stared at him with a soft smile, the moonlight bouncing off his cheekbones and caressing his eyelashes. He was beautiful.

You took a step forward, and then another, getting closer and closer until you could hear his light breathing. A voice in the back of your head was telling you to stop but you were far too sleep deprived, stressed, and drunk off beauty that you pushed away without a second thought. You slowly lifted the corner of his sheet and slid your leg in, the rest of your body following. You tensed as the mattress dipped to accommodate to the new weight, terrified he would wake up. But he just appeared as if he was fast asleep. You eventually set yourself in, and with one more look at the sleeping face in front of you, you closed your eyes.

As you started to drift off, you heard shuffling and soon an arm was pushed under the arc of your neck, its attached hand pulling you a bit closer, hand in your hair.

“Sorry for waking you,” you whispered, keeping your eyes closed.

“Don’t worry about it,” he mumbled.

He played with your hair gently, his fingers weaving between the strands, and quicker than you thought possible, you were out like a light.

.

You felt the sunrays through the window warming your cheek to bring the grave news of the day’s arrival, but you kept your eyes closed, desperate to get some more sleep. You heard some groans of waking next to you, his arm tensing and untensing beneath you, no doubt trying to alleviate some of the numbness. He continued the rustle the sheets with his small stretches but kept his arm where it was. He suddenly went quiet and you desperately focused on making your breathing slow and rhythmic.

You felt a tingle of contact touch your cheek before quickly disappearing. Then after a very long minute, two fingers met your skin and gently caressed your face, scared to add too much pressure. He did it for a while, how you managed to keep up the act you weren’t sure, but you weren’t about to “wake up” for both of your two’s sakes.

Rivalling the volume of a heartbeat, a murmur was let out. “I’m sorry.”

His hand drew away from you and all you were left with was the feeling of dread.

After counting to ten minutes in your head you cracked open an eyelid lazily. Levi was turning his head away from you before you even had the time to make eye contact.

“Were you admiring my good looks Levi?” you managed through a yawn, offering a tired smile. “That hard to look away from huh?”

He just rolled his eyes, not bothering to send you an empty threat.

You laughed to hide the beating heart that was going crazy in your rib cage, sure to reach to his arm that he was still yet to move.

“I’ll leave you alone for a bit, sorry I snuck in last night.” You rose and jumped off the bed. He opened his mouth a sliver before closing it. He gave a wave of the hand and you were out the door.

As soon as his door slid shut behind you your face dropped and you did a mini repeat of the night before, trying to calm your breathing.

What the hell was that about?

Still in your pyjamas, you wandered out to the dining carriage, wiping the sleep out of your eyes. Hanji gave you an equally matched wave and went back to buttering her toast. As you were eating a pastry of some sort, a groggy Levi found his way in as well.

“Morning sunshine,” Hanji greeted.

You were sure you heard a mumbled “Shut the fuck up” making you laugh. He looked at you with a soft smile and slid in a chair across from you.

Hanji talked most of breakfast, going over the basics of finding and creating shelter, getting water, when to make fires, etc. You two listened with your eyes half open but your brains stayed locked on to every piece of information you two could get.

“You guys are more likely to get a dryer arena I reckon because we haven’t had one in a while,” Hanji spoke, playing with her cold soup, “So you’ll have to be ready for that, I mean you should be prepared for-”

She cut herself off looking out the window and you two followed her gaze. The Capitol’s skyscrapers had dug their way into view, only the dam outside of the city separating you now.

“You guys want to seem likeable yeah?” She changed topic quickly and you both nodded hesitantly. “This is your first opportunity then. We’ll be arriving at the station and hundreds of people would have come to get a glimpse of everyone that arrived, no doubt some looking for you two in particular. So just, give them some waves or something, interact a bit.”

You two nodded and wiped your mouths with the serviettes, situating yourselves on the couch by the window. Soon the train went underground, cement walls being your only view before colour suddenly burst in front of you two. Wigs of all colours of the rainbows, clothes big and small, tight and bulky, glittery and mesh. It was a goddamn eyesore. But matched with the alien clothing was smiling faces with energetic waves, reaching over to the train to get a glimpse. You two were zoo animals.

You plastered on a smile and waved down into them, getting excited ones in return. A rose was lifted to you by a young boy, and you touched your heart dramatically, mouthing a “thank you”. Levi next to you stayed with his arms crossed looking at you, slightly clicking his tongue at your reaction to the rose but said nothing. You kicked his foot lightly and gave him an eyebrow raise. With a grumble he turned to them too, nodding at their greetings. He waved at a few small children that had been lifted up by parents, who with little fists gave waves back. You saw a few girls unsurprisingly wave frantically to get his attention, he waved back weakly, you two watched them go into giggles and blushes still somehow not blocked by the copious amount of makeup. You locked your jaw slightly and looked away, trying to ignore it. A pretty girl, one that even the over-the-top Capitol look couldn’t hide the beauty of, waved up to Levi who gave her a soft smile in return.

You distracted yourself quickly with the camera crew you had managed to notice, following you two from behind the crowd along with the moving train. You quickly nudged Levi and pointed out to the camera. Levi scowled melodramatically and you gave the most charming smile you could muster. You elbowed him as a show and he started waving apathetically at the crew.

Show your duality together, echoed in your brain. You turned to him.

“You think they would all get robbed immediately as soon as they stepped foot into Twelve?” you asked, glad to have insulated walls.

He chuckled, “We would have been the ones to rob them.” You tried to purse your lips to not laugh but you broke into a grin and cackled.

When you glanced back to the window it was now cement again, the bustling station now far behind you two. You let a breath fall out of you and got up to get dressed, ready to finally leave into the death trap city.

.

.

.

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[ficsnroses]

To Be His - John Wick x Reader

summary : you’ve noticed your boyfriend John doesn’t treat himself, forgets to care for himself, and often wears solely muted colours. You want to change that; so you pick out a few special pieces of clothing for him. 

warnings : mega fluff, slight angst. john being incredibly wholesome:)

words : 2.6k. 

notes : this was requested by a lovely anon. i’m so sorry I just released it now, 2 months later. I got busy with those prompt fics, I apologize. regardless, I really hope you like it, I really adore how this turned out! as always, please do leave a comment, anon or not, it means a lot. >flashback indicated in italics<

“John, honey?” You call out, peeking out the sliding glass backdoor of your shared home. Between crisp white walls and fresh fragrant flowers revitalized to the kitchen table, John had recently been working on cleaning up your back yard; trimming large green bushes and getting to work plowing a home garden for you.

A few evenings prior, as John and you laid in bed together during a nightly snuggle session, you’d expressed your fondness for gardening and planting flowers; the beauty of them, the simplicity, the colour. Of course, being the most wonderful boyfriend, John had been certain, headstrong that he’d build you one as soon as he could.

“John, baby, it’s alright.” You’d giggled, feeling his full, abrasive beard brush a nuzzle into the satin dip of your neck. Velvet and suave, his voice rings a deep buzz to your skin, bulky arms drawing your body closer into his warm chest. “No, I’ll make you a space in the garden, one of those raised bed ones you like.” He beams, warm, contagious.

John’s smile was your favourite delight in the entire world; his sincerity, his dark mahogany gaze and the way it’d earl into your soul, as if searching for nothing but you, always.

There’s something special in him; a soft water that runs through his veins. Even behind the raging forest fire of his past,

       your John,

is as smooth,

       as soft, fresh running water.

He mimics a rose, surrounded by speckled, bristly thorns of what he’d been forced into former to meeting you; prior to falling hopelessly in love with you. Although John still hurts, still bleeds dark wounds of gauging memories; he has you. He now has you, to hold his hand, to be there.

And though you understand certain scares never heal, you will always,

hold his hand.

And although you love flowers, the simplicity, the beauty, the colours; you love him more. And flowers, he deserves.

Colours, he deserves.

“I’m gonna make you a garden, sweetheart.” He whispers, soothing small, mild kisses to your fingers. “Hell, I’ll build you a castle to go with it.” Chuckling, his stockier fingers lace with yours, a delicate kiss daubed to your palm, afore it rests to his chest. “Because you, sweetheart, deserve it. You deserve to see colour every morning out our window.” He’d finished, holding you close.

“Hi baby,” John waves a glove draped hand your way, genuine smile full on his rosy lips. To his left, Dog sits, matted gray head rested to his tiny opaque paws in a drowsy snooze. Dog loves John immense, he’d always find his way to be near his favourite friend. With a thin coat of afternoon blaze sweat stippled to his forehead, John’s white Henley shirt hosts selective patches of brown smeared dirt, and you roll your eyes to a stippled grin coating your cheeks.

Of all the shirt he could’ve worn, John had opted for his one white shirt to fix yard work in.

Trudging along the evergreen grass, he peels a dirty glove off his left hand; chocolate eyes a beautiful dew in the afternoon sun. The clouds behind him paint in gorgeous cotton pillows, flowed along the ocean blue sky with a calm, nirvanic breeze.

In moments as these, you remember how simple happiness really is;

being with your dream, on a dreamy day. “How was shopping?” He wonders, finding your lips in a sweet kiss, climbing the porch steps to where you’re stood. Discarded to the floor below, his gloves fall with a gentle pat on the porch, John’s heavy palms proximately finding the refuge of your waist. “Did you find anything you like?” Pondered, his question finds a smile crippled to your lips, your own orbs glossing over the soft dips of his brazen features. With your arms finding shelter loomed to his neck, you twirl the lonesome ends of his dark brunette locks in your petite fingers, smiling, leaning closer into him, as much as space would allow.

“I did.” You chortle, crimples of his white shirt grazed to your index as you point a lone finger to his chest. “You’ve ruined this shirt.” You frown, leaving a soft kiss dotted to his chest, just above his broad pec. John waivers off, covering the silky skin of your hand on his chest, with his own relaxed over it. “That’s alright, I have more.” Assuring, his lips dot a small kiss to your forehead. “What did you get for yourself?”

“Actually…” Your smile twists into something a little more playful, pink stained lips rouged to a simper when his brows knit in quiet, warm confusion. “I want you to come with me.” Cupped to his cheek, you smile tenderly. “I want to show you something.” The highlights of your cheekbones glow in the daylight, and John’s heartstrings sing to the sight; seeing you happy, was all he’d ever wanted.

“Lead the way.” John chuckles, allowing your frame to go first when you take his hand, guiding his larger, towering figure inside the transparent sliding glass door, Dog trotting not far along behind on his dainty paws, with a goofy smile plastered to his lovable mutt face.

“Alright…” You voice, a stray piece of hair tucked behind the curve of your ear. “I actually didn’t get much for myself…” Shuffling around a plethora of bags, you grin when the one in question finds your eye. Steady, you place the bag to the edge your shared bed, sincerely gazing John’s way as your hands clasp affront you. “Baby before I start, I just want to say that this isn’t me trying to say anything other than I love you, okay?”

With his toned armed crossed and features twisting to a ponder, John’s eyebrows raise ever so slight, a spec of his mocha strands dwindling just near his eye in an attentive mien. Pausing quick for a gather of thoughts, slow, your hands move, gestures explanatory to his wonder. “John, I’ve known you for a while now. And I know that you, are the greatest man I know.” You explain, confidence thick on your honey tone. “Baby, you’re a miracle, to be what you are, coming from where you did.” Eyes locked to his, you stand sure he perceives just how genuine; sincere you’re truly being. Not a word off your lips falls false, not a syllable falls untrue.

“Which is why it hurts me when you treat yourself less than.” Frowned, your lips turn crisp to a soft gloom, moving forward to take his hand, tugging him down to a seat on the silk duvet. “Baby, you paint me red everyday. You make me believe the world is yellow, and the sky is pink.” You babble, awestruck in love drunk blush to the way John makes every day feel as if a wonder; paints each day as a mural on a crisp new canvas, solely for your eyes to drink.

Finally, taking hold of his heavier hand in yours, you lock eyes with him, sighing in content gratification. “When I look into our wardrobe, I see your side covered in simple greys, blacks and whites. You have your everyday shirts, like this Henley.” Giggling, you scratch gently to his bicep, offering a kiss to his broad shoulder. “And you have your suits, which are all just black and white, and plain. Plain blue jeans, and a leather jacket or two.” You explain, sure not to come off as if you don’t like his style, or the way he dresses.

You adore the way John presents himself. You only wish he’d open up a little more, treat himself once in a while.

“John, you’ve never treated yourself. You never ask for more, or splurge. And I just….” You bite your lip, sighing. “To me, you deserve it. You deserve so much, baby. I want to see you have colour, I want you to have nice things and allow yourself to enjoy new, good things.” You enlighten, reaching into the bag to pull out the first piece.

“I saw some stuff today and I thought maybe you’d like it. Just a couple of pieces, because you deserve it, John.” Cupping his cheek, your spare hand squeezes a softer firm to his. “You treat me like I’m the only girl in the world. And I want you to feel the same.”

John’s expression stills unreadable, lips taut in a thin line as he watches you pull out the first piece of navy blue fabric. To the material, small, tiny white polka dots speckle the fine fabric in a subtle, yet fashionable splendour. A white dress shirt, with tiny black dots pairs with it as well.

“These are the first two,” You begin, displaying. “I’ve noticed your dress shirts are always plain white. I thought these would look really cute on you.” You smile, fingers brushed over the fabric as you perceive his expression. John’s features still prove illegible; stoic. Squeezing his palm with a heaviness to your chest, you swallow tight before asking aloud. “John? Honey? If you don’t like them, it’s alright. I love you in your plain white dress shirts, I really do.” You offer, thumb softly stroking the skin of his upper hand. “I won’t be upset if you don’t want to wear them, okay love? I just thought-” Sudden, John’s shallow baritone interjects your reason, tone soft, heavy.

“You…you got things, for me?” He asks, eyes locked to the chic textile below.

“Yeah.” You smile, head nodding to a gentle move, gaze love drunk to his gentleness. “Are these alright?” You wonder, cautious. Still for a moment, John ultimately nods, swallowing a thick lump fixed inside his gravelly throat. His heart warms; his heart yelps.

In decades of life, no one, not a single entity, had ever got him something.

No one had ever brought him anything remotely resembling good; remotely resembling anything other than ghastly, dreadful sin. Sin forced off his reluctant hands.

Before you, no one had shown him care, admiration, love; no one had shown him

colour.

Voice thick with warmth, John offers a gentle smile your way. “I love them. Thank you.” He appreciates, gaze downcast as he sulks the moment in. Without much practice in saying thank you, John feels a wave of awkwardness cast to his sore limbs.

Before you, he’d never been given the opportunity to say thank you.

“I have two more things!” You chuckle, biting your lip as you set aside the previous drapery. Carefully, your hands draw out a dusty pink blazer; a piece full of colour, yet beautifully masculine. “Alright, this one’s a bit risky,” You giggle, holding the material out in front for both your eyes to see. “But I think you’d look incredibly handsome in it. What do you think?”

“Very cool.” John chuckles, hand brushing to the sleeve. “Looks perfect for a brunch.” He smiles, heartfelt your way. “Thank you, sweetheart.” He allows off his lips again, getting used to the way it sounded off his tongue. John’s nerves tingle with gratitude, so much so, he has trouble expressing it. Not a soul had touched him this way before; no one had ever shown John they care.

You introduced something to John that he feared he’d never receive.

       human connection,

someone to truly care. A lifetime spent looking out for himself alone, a lonesome John sinks in the feeling of true, complete, warmth. The warmth of having someone to look out for him. Someone who wants to look out for him.

As he gazes you, beside him, ecstatic to the brim to offer him something good; he wonders. He muses, he reminisces.

~That perhaps, your heart, and his, are old friends. Long lost soul searchers; that perhaps in a lifetime before, some part of him loved you, and you him.

It couldn’t be sweeter than this,

It wouldn’t get sweeter than you.

      Here he is, living, despite it all. Happy, despite it all. You make him

so

happy.

So happy, he falls in love with you each day. Over and over, remembering the semblance of hope he’d received; the woman who makes the stars fall to their knees each night, warms him in her love everyday. And he looks at her with the same love, his heart whispers to hers; there is no home like you.

To a smooth daisy tone, flowers fall from your lips, love laces each word. “Alright, the last piece is this.” You giggle, hands fishing a floral tie from the bag, hopeful orbs wishful he’d like it. “It’s a bit bold, but you know I love flowers.” You smile, holding the fabric to your lover’s chest. He stares into your eyes, his own grown softer; two smooth pools of delicate honey. And he smiles, and smiles, and smiles some more. To the mere sight of his entire world, so smitten. To the thought of someone so beautiful, so pure, existing in the same time as him, someone so precious, being given to him.

And he thinks back to a time younger, when the ghost of him longed for something more; longed to be liberated. He wishes he may tell the shell of a man back then, that it would turn out alright in the end.

that rain, will make the flowers grow.

“I think it’s beautiful.” John replies, deep voice gentle, laced with care. “You love it, so I do too.” Tie placed to the side, you sigh in relief, chuckling with a phew to your forehead. John’s eyes droop, fallen cast to the space between your bodies below. His muscles tense, before a relax of ease washes over his wordless features, mind thick with words fallen short of the honey you’d made, dripping from his soul. When words fall short, he hopes, he prays you’ll understand, just what you mean to him.

How much you mean to him.

“Y/N,” He whispers, calm to a quiet low, the silken skin of your hand taken in his rougher, callous ones. He holds tight, he holds tender. His fingers lace, and his heart pours. His heart embeds, embroiders a beautiful haze to channel to his love. “Thank you, so much.” Sincerely, he voices. “It might not seem like much to you, but to me, it’s more than I’ve ever had.” Out the window, he shakes his head, smiling. “It was always you, everything I went through,” John seldom opens up about his past, rarely references the grey that paints his former. “It was all meant to lead me to you.”

Cupping his cheek with your spare hand, you smile. You offer him a sincere, adoring gaze. “I love you, Y/N. I love you a lot.” He speaks, bundling your smaller hands, softer in his. You grip tighter, feel harder. You feel the pain coursing in his veins when you hold him, you feel the hope that runs in his blood.

“I love you too, Jonathan. And I’ll never forget.

       And…” Your tone lingers, a suggestive, nervous bite to your rosy stained lip bitten tense. “I bought another thing for you, actually…” You whisper, trialing, gaze locked to his lips. With one hand looming around his neck, your other draws into the bag below, pulling out a glimpse of a beautifully lace embroidered piece, of sultry, expensive lingerie; a black, skimpy luxery you knew John would adore to see on you. His eyes gaze to the lace, and he grins a cheeky smile, knowing whiskey orbs drunk to the thought of seeing you in something so beautiful, soon.

“How about, I show it to you later tonight?” You whisper against his lips, to the feel of his hands smoothing over your hips. “I’d like that,” John replies, a delicate kiss pecked to your neck. “I’d like that a lot.”

Time moves slower when you’re this close to him, love envelopes.

You could do anything,

be anything in the world; yet all you dream; all you want;

        is to be his.

➶ ➴➶ ➴➶ ➴➶ ➴➶ ➴➶ ➴➶ ➴➶ ➴➶ ➴➶ ➴➶ ➴➶ ➴

The things you picked out for Johnny boy:)

➶ ➴➶ ➴➶ ➴➶ ➴➶ ➴➶ ➴➶ ➴➶ ➴➶ ➴➶ ➴➶ ➴➶ ➴

Taglist posted separately, ask to be added or removed!

[fallingfor-fics]

Teachers Pet- chapter 28: Draco

All chapters 

Chapter 27

a/n: Don't click the links unless you want an idea of the dresses the girls pick out!!!

"Why are we going to the astronomy tower?" Draco laughed as I dragged him down the hall. "It's secluded, and free from interruptions." I said smiling. We made our way quietly down the dark halls. I looked at him and smirked and held a finger to my mouth to let him know to be quiet.

 He nodded and we made our way to the tower. We finally let out our breaths as we got to the top, it was fairly cold, but we huddled in Draco's robes sitting together. "So how do you feel?" He asked as we sat in silence, "What do you mean?" I said looking out at the sky. "About me?" he continued. I pondered on his question, trying to form the right words. "Oh well I know we have fun together, and I think I could be happy with you." I said quietly, still not looking at him. He nodded along, "That's good, I would say the same about you." he said, smiling at me, and  I laid my head on his shoulder and smiled. We sat in comfortable silence for a moment. "Have you ever...ya know" he said, turning his head the other way. "Um n-no I mean I've done stuff, but never i-it." I said also looking the other way, my face getting red. "You?" I asked quietly. "Oh um yeah I have done stuff too, and i've done it like three times maybe.." he whispered. I just laughed and shook my head. "Why do you ask?" I said looking up at him, he looked down shyly "oh well night of the Yule ball is kinda like the night everyone like hooks up..." he said scratching the back of his neck awkwardly. My eyes went wide and I let out a small laugh "Oh well i'll think about it." I said looking away again. "Y-yeah no of course it's up to you." I smirked and looked around at the sky, I felt a slight tug in my head, like someone was trying to read my thoughts. I paused for a moment and felt it again looking over to the stairs. "Draco we need to get outta here I think someones coming." I said tugging his arm. He looked in the same direction as me ,"Dont worry love, I've got this" he said smiling and sticking his hand out. I focused on protecting my thoughts, Draco summoned his broom and I smiled at him, he grabbed my hand and put me on the back of it, wrapping my arms around his waist. "Hang on," he said, smirking and took us up fast into the night sky, flying above the dark clouds. It was cold but I was fine, nose slightly red and my hair blowing in the wind. We sat still in the clouds above the tower, and looked down, I was right, It was Snape. He was standing there looking around. I zoned out watching him as he stopped to try and search for any nearby sounds or loud thoughts , I stopped and looked at Draco confused "Draco can you protect your thoughts from him?" I whispered making eye contact. "Yeah, I'm pretty good at occlumency." he said, smiling at me. "You?" he said as we kept our eyes on the dark professor, "I'm good enough at it." I said with a small smile.

I looked down at the tall man as he stood looking out over the school, I let him in my head for a second, he read my thoughts almost immediately, he looked up to the sky and began looking for us. I closed it back up and kicked him out and looked at Draco. "Let's get out of here shall we?" He said smiling and smoothly flying us down and into the shadows, I looked back as we flew by  the man I was so bewitched by, We made eye contact and It was like everything was in slow motion. We both had looks of sadness and numbness but I just turned forward again and we flew away. Draco took us directly to my dormitory window. I shhed him as we crawled in not wanting to alert my roommates I had a boy here. We smiled at each other as we left into the common room. We began to giggle quietly sitting on the couch and poking at each other. We slowly stopped and looked at each other. "Thanks for the save Draco." I said smirking up at him and pushing some of his hair out of his face, he closed his eyes and kissed me quickly, but sweetly, and I opened mine, I instinctively closed, as we pulled back. His face reddened and I just smiled. "Um I'm gonna go to bed I'll see you tomorrow." I said backing away and running to my room quickly. I layed down in bed and thought about Draco and I's kiss. It was sweet and special, but still my mind would wander to the all of the sudden cold brooding Professor that out of nowhere began to ignore me. I got up and decided to write to my mother to fill her in. I hadn't talked to her since I left.

Dear mother,

I hope you're well, I'm going to the Yule ball and I have a date. His name is Draco Malfoy, and he's real nice, I just wanted to let you know.

Love Y/n

I folded it up and handed it to Hera opening my window. She flew out and I went to the bathroom to get ready for bed. Trying to distract from all the thoughts. I layed in bed and Immediately drifted off into sleep.

time jump

I woke up early on Saturday morning because Hermione, Ginny and I were going to Hogsmeade to shop for our dresses. "Can you believe the Yule ball is Thursday? That's in like six days Y/n!" Hermione whined as I got ready in the bathroom, doing my hair and makeup. "Yeah crazy! I feel bad for Draco. I hope he's got someone to shop for tuxedos with." I said slipping on my black sheer tights and a plaid dark green pencil skirt. With a black turtleneck neck on top and my robes. Wearing a fancy pair of boots Draco had bought me. He wasn't joking about the boyfriend buying gifts thing. "I'll be right back." I said walking quickly outside the common room, there waiting was Harry and Ron, "Hey I need you guys to invite Draco tuxedo shopping with you." I said smiling. "What? No!" Ron said. Harry just looked down and cleared his throat, "I don't know." Harry said not looking at me. I rolled my eyes and took a deep breath, "Stay here." I said walking back in the common room. I walked over to Draco's dorm and let myself in, "Draco?" I said walking in. "Yes?" he said walking out of the bathroom in black slacks, and a black sweater with a dark green coat and grey scarf. He did know how to dress, which was no surprise. "Can you tuxedo shop with Harry and Ron?" I said with puppy dog eyes. He looked up at me quickly, thinking of what to say. "I-I um.." he looked over grabbing his wand. "Please for me!" I said batting my lashes up at him.

It had been awhile since our kiss, and we have only grown more, well Draco has, I'm feeling something for him, but not what I still feel for the Professor, that's basically cut me off aside from class and our lessons, he's just Professor Snape now. So I've just tried to be a good girlfriend to Draco, he deserved it. "Fine I'll do it." he sighed and I hugged him, "great i'll catch you later!" I skipped out back to the other two boys to let them know. "He's gonna go with yall. We can all meet up at the Three Broomsticks at 4 o'clock ok? And cover your outfits for the ball!" I said as I walked back to my dormitory. "I got the boys to go shop with Draco!" I said out of breath to Hermione. "Well that's going to be interesting." she smiled as she slipped on her coat and held her arm out to me, I linked mine with hers and we walked out of my room and met Draco and the boys outside. "Ok we will catch up with you gentlemen later, we are going to go get Ginny!" Hermione said as they boys went ahead with other groups of students to Hogsmeade and we headed to the Gryffindor room. "Oh hey guys perfect timing!" Ginny said running into us on our way to her room. "Hey are you all ready?" I asked, smiling. "Yup!" We all linked arms and headed to town. I felt a little silly linking my arms with them, but I surprisingly only went to Hogsmeade a few times, and we don't wanna lose each other in the crowd. There were quite a few people out shopping so we made our way through heading into Gladrag's. We all gossiped and looked around in the shop, not having any luck with dresses. "Ok moving on." Hermione said as we all followed out of the shop. "Everything looked picked over in there." I said as we walked to a different shop, "Yeah hopefully we don't have to have my mom make them." Ginny said laughing. "This store looks promising." Hermione said as we all stood looking up at the dingy little store. "Lethal Thread" Ginny read the sign, "Is that supposed to be a pun?" she said looking at Hermione. "Are they open?" I said looking inside, "I don't see anyone in there." I said looking over at the other two girls. "Come on let's find out." Hermione said leading the way to the door, it opened and we all walked in slowly. "Hello?" she said boldly as we looked around at what looked like a tiny store, but was rather large inside. "Hello there dears, can I help you with something!?" A tall giddy woman said, scaring us a bit and walking over to us smiling a little too hard. "We just needed some Yule ball dresses!" Ginny said smiling as Hermione nodded along. I admired the two girls, sometimes I wish I could be more like them, nice and outgoing, not rude and an asshole like myself. "Oh perfect over here are your fancy gowns." she said leading us to a back corner, there was a dusty sheet which she pulled off an old brown wooden wardrobe, she cracked it open to reveal a good selection of gowns. "Wow perfect thank you!" Ginny smiled as the lady walked off with a smile and nod. "So what do we do?" I said looking at them and back to the dresses. "We look!" Hermione sighed and we began flipping through each one. I pulled out a cute blue dress, it was a royal blue that was off the shoulder and half sleeved and the top was velvet, and the bottom was an ankle length princess poof. I held it up to the other two girls that were rummaging through. "Anyone like this one?" I said looking at Ginny, her face lit up and she snatched it fast from my hands. "Oh my Merlin I found the perfect one! It's exactly what I was going for!" She took it and ran into the dressing room, which was just a curtain and a mirror. "I know that's why I showed it to you!" I said laughing as Hermione and I kept looking. "I just really need to find the perfect one that I know Ron will like too." Hermione said as we kept looking. "Like this?" I said , holding up an ugly orange one "Merlin no!" we laughed and Ginny stepped out of the curtain. Hand on her hips with a smile. "Oh Ginny! It's perfect!" I said playing with the skirt of it. "Yes you look amazing!" Hermione responded as Ginny went back in to change out. "I'm definitely getting this one" she said as we continued searching. "What about this one?" Hermione said as Ginny stepped out, her dress in hand. I looked up at her and smiled as I looked over the dress in hand. "Hermione, it's amazing" Ginny and I said smiling at it. It was a floor length silk wine red dress that clung to the top and waist and flowed down. It had skinny straps, and a v cut neckline. "It's very Carrie post blood." I said teasing "She rolled her eyes and went to try it on.

"Are you sure you didn't like anything in there?" Ginny asked me as we exited the shop. "Yeah but don't worry about it i'll find one ok?" I said reassuring her. "Well where do you wanna go next? We have to meet the boys in two hours" Hermione said looking down at her watch. "You know what you guys go ahead and shop for shoes and accessories, and I'll go look for a dress and we can just meet back up with the boys.' I said smiling at them, "Are you sure? You won't get lost?" Hermione questioned. "Yeah i'm sure go, go!" I said shooing them off and walking down the small streets. I let out a breath as I walked down a street alone. I loved my friends, but the introvert in me would need to have some time alone every now and then. I walked down looking for dress shops, I approached a skinny brick shop called the "Crown Village Boutique" I said walking up the small steps and into the shop, the door ringing a little bell as I walked in. I nodded with an awkward smile to the small little girl that sat behind the counter of the register. She had big brown eyes and curly caramel brown hair with golden skin. She smiled. She looked to be about five or six maybe and I just smiled back walking to what appeared to be the dress section. I shifted through the dresses, awkwardly sneaking looks to the little girl, she was a little freaky, alone, watching me like that. My sister showed me Pet Semetary. I looked over the dresses not finding anything special, and was watching the little girl draw on a piece of parchment, I heard a side door open and quickly turned my attention to the random accessories they had on a shelf. "Pleasure doing business with you Sir." A high pitched man's voice said, "Mhm yes thank you." an all to familiar voice said sarcastically snatching the bag from the man.

Taglist; @lovelyhoneylemon​

[mariamermaid]

You should see me in a crown

(young) Han Solo x Fem Reader

Summary: Han meets his ex-girlfriend and comes to realize, that she might have lied about her actual descent…

Words: 2.3k

A/N; inspired by the song from billie eilish

Halloween Masterlist

 The situation was as always unfortunate for Han and Chewbacca, they just always found trouble when they truly didn´t need it. The planet Arrran was fairly known within the higher circles of the Republic, mostly due to their high resources of special metals used for weapons. It also led back to the factor, that the royal family was rich, popular and enjoyed a high impact in political acts. Han Solo was hired to get a certain type of stone metal and since he neither could afford to buy it the legal way, nor was able to steal it, he found himself locked up in a cell in the royal prison in the capital city. The palace, a dark grey, almost black building with many high towers and golden embellishments was decorated with white tiles in the interior room. Long red curtains hung from windows as big as the millennium falcon, dropping like blood on the floor and the flags with the kingdom’s sigils hung from the ceiling. Han was kneeling at the ground of his prison cell, trying to figure out the mechanism to unlock the door. Chewie roared, but Han ignored him, too focused on the small mechanism in front of him. “Chewie, shut up! I´m trying to concentrate”, he hushed his tall friend. Chewie opened his mouth again, but a different voice interrupted him.

“You should listen to your Wookiee when he tries to warn you.”

Hans head snapped up, his dark blonde hair falling back and his eyes widened, recognizing the voice. “Y/N”, he breathed. He couldn´t believe his eyes when you starred down at him. You wore your hair neatly put together and a uniform of the Arran kingdom out of red and black fabric, the symbol and details embroidered in gold. He remembered the night where he met you in a pub in Boonta in the outer rim. He got himself involved in a fight and you helped kicking ass, as a thank you, he helped you getting to the Bormea-Sector. While travelling together you were somewhat involved in a romantic relationship with the famous smuggler. To this day you had thought of your time spend together as a good memory, but finding him the cell in front of your feet, you questioned your judgment. You rose your eyebrow, questioning. “What are you doing here?”

His mouth was slightly opened, his eyes traveling up and down your body. “You never told me you´re from Arran.” “I told you, it didn´t matter, at least back then.”

He leaned back up, brushing dust off his dirty clothes and pulled himself closer with his hands on the bars. His clear blue eyes meeting yours. “Y/n, you need to help me get out.”

“You tried to steal from us, be happy if they don´t behead you with the same metal you´d try to steal. The king will send out guards to get you, he will decide your punishment.” You explained coldly. “Y/n, how-“ “I´m loyal to my kingdom, Han.”

His mouth opened again; eyes full of anger. “You changed”, he pressed out.

“Maybe for better.”

 Bite my tongue bide my time

Wearing a warning sign

Wait till the world is mine

 You left the prison with quick steps and hurried to your rooms, feeling your voice inside your throat shaking and your legs getting weak. Never had you expected to find him in Arran or for him to find out the truth. Throwing yourself on the king-sized satin bed, you starred at the ceiling. Candles enlightened the room, even though the sun was shining, but clouds quickly came closer and soon the sky would be grey and dull. You were loyal to your kingdom, but there was a small part inside of you, that didn´t want him dead. Deep down, Han was a good man. It had been a mission; you were sent undercover. It was never intended for him to find out you were a princess.

Sighing you sat up on your bed. “Kaslia, I need to get ready!” You exclaimed and your personal maid entered the room. She wore the typical grey uniform of maids and nodded. “I need to talk to father”, you added explaining and joined her in front of the collection of dresses. “Is it about the prisoner?” She asked curious. Technically, she wasn´t allowed to, but you had grown up with Kaslia; she was like a big sister. “Yes, I´m going to save him.”

 Visions I vandalize

Cold in my kingdom size

Fell for these ocean eyes

Your father sat in his office, the glass front facing his desk with a view over the city. The desk and shelves were dark auburn wood filled with books, cards and more books. A golden globus of the planet floated on his desk as a decoration and he was currently reading through newly submitted reports from the factories. He didn´t wear his armor, a rather simple garment on his broad body. Even in his older years, he continued to work out and train for fights and with his grey hair tied together and the thick beard, he could look frightening. But his glance softened when you stepped into his office. “Ah, my daughter, a sight for sore eyes! Beautiful as always!”

He greeted you and rose from his chair. You smiled softly at him. “Father.”

He pointed to the chair across from him, gesturing you to sit down. “I see you´re here with purpose.” The velvet dress hugged your body, while golden plates sat on your shoulders and a black cap fell down your back. Your heels clicked on the stone marbled floor as you sat down. Your father leaned back in his chair, arms resting on the table with his hands crossed.

“The prisoner, who tried to steal from us- “

“I heard he can be charming, this Han Solo”, he interrupted your thought-out plan. You nodded a little thrown off. “Do you remember when you sent me to the mission to the Bormea sector? He helped me back then.” “Do you expect that to change something?”

“I expect it to milden your punishment, he saved me and my cover back then.” “By that, I can assume, that he doesn´t know about your identity.”

“He doesn´t.” You sighed. Your father always had been a hard debate partner, he trained you since you could walk. To him, you weren´t just his princess, or his daughter; you were his everything and one day, you´d sit on the same throne. He nodded. “I understand, Y/n. I´ll give a second thought and see you at the meeting then.”

 The time till the meeting for Han went by so slowly, it almost drove you insane. You hated the fact that he was still able to slip back into your mind, even though you hadn´t seen him months before. Kaslia cleared her throat and you flinched, getting pulled back from your thoughts. “The meeting will start, are you ready?” You nodded while standing up again, and she stepped closer to put the crown on to your head. “What if will you do, if he´ll be punished to death?” Kaslia asked you as she was still close enough to you. You rose a little from the bended position, holding your head high again. The gold crown with the bloodstones filling you with strength. “I won´t let it happen.”

 Han was standing at the side of the large room; the middle was filled by the two thrones. There were for the king and queen, but since your mother had died when giving birth to you, it was now yours. Four guards were placed at the entrance, two at the side of the king and two to watch the prisoners. “Princess Y/n of Arran!” The voice of the guard echoed through the hall.

All eyes were on you, but Han´s and Chewbacca´s were the most surprised. You wore the same dress, the cape on the floor being pulled by your steady steps. Lips painted the shade of blood and the crown on your head shinning like the golden sun.

 You should see me in a crown

I'm gonna run this nothing town

Watch me make 'em bow

One by one by one

One by one by

 The guards bowed as you walked past them. For a millisecond, you glanced to Han and Chewie, but they couldn´t read your face. You knew the dress fit you well, but the look on Han´s face? You knew to treasure it. Your father waited in front of his throne until you found your place next to him, to sit down. “The prisoners will now evaluate the situation from their eyes.”

Han and Chewie stepped for, well he needed a little push from one of the guards, as he was still not able to tear his eyes off your shape.

 You should see me in a crown

Your silence is my favorite sound

Watch me make 'em bow

One by one by one

One by one by one

 It was Chewbacca, who gave his friend a rather rough kick against his leg, which brought Han out of his rigidity. “Your highness”, he made an awkward bow. “I was hired for a client to bring the metal.” “Who is this client of yours?” Your father´s voice was hard and the room felt like shaking as he spoke up. Han seemed nervous. “I try to keep the identity of my clients private”, he paused while taking together his courage. “I´m sure you´ll understand as you like to beware the identity of your daughter safe when on mission.” You slightly inclined your head to the side, interested to watch. Han was playing his cards well, better than you had expected. “I reread the report from the mission, where you helped her. She didn´t mention you before.”

“The importance of secret keeping within missions may vary from the side of perspective”, you explained, voice just as steady as your fathers. “Yet, my daughter has found an unexplainable liking in you.” Neither of you looked directly at each other, both focused on Han and Chewie.

“He saved my life.”

“And so, did she”, Han interrupted again, this time looking back at you. “She singlehandedly took out a dozen of men, just to free me.”

“Why didn´t you try to make a deal to win the metal and instead try stealing it?”

“Your highness, no offense, but would´ve you given it to me?”

 Count my cards watch them fall

Blood on a marble wall

I like the way they all

Scream

 Silence flooded the hall; your father was scratching his beard and Han glanced back and forth between the two of you. You swallowed, trying to look as calm as possible.

Suddenly your father placed his hand on yours. The action took you by surprise and you were sure, he was aware of it. “As my daughter explained previously, you apparently saved her life, so I will spare yours and this of your hairy friend.”

“His name is Chewbacca-“, you fell in his word and Chewie roared in agreement.

“Anyway, you´re free to leave the planet. I advise to do to as quickly as possible, before I change my mind.” A small smile started growing on your lips and Han nodded happily.

“Thank you, your highness and if you ever need something, I´ll be more than happy to help out.”

Your father´s jaw was still tightened; you knew he did it because you had asked him to. “I have my own resources”, he explained with his voice low as always.

“I was actually talking to the princess.”

“Have a safe journey, Han Solo.” You returned.

Tell me which one is worse

Living or dying first

Sleeping inside a hearse

I don't dream

 You kept a safe distance while watching Han and Chewie pack their things, to them and to your father. It was an easy guess, that some kind of aftermath would follow after your actions and you were okay with that.

As the sun set and dusk laid thickly, you snuck to the millennium falcon, Kaslia covering for in the mean-time. You wore the uniform again, the dress was impractical, but you let the hair open. “What will your client think if you come home with empty hands?” Han looked up to find you in his ship, smirking like nothing ever happened. “You know, I always manage to get away with it.” He stepped down from the storing space and Chewie watched the situation from the side, acting like repairing something.  “Maybe it´s better if you don´t return with empty hands then.”

You pulled out a small cotton bag and threw it to Han, who caught it while furrowing his brows. He found the metal in it and couldn´t help smiling. “You lied to him for me, I never saved you, not once. It was always you who saved me.” He laid the bag on the table and stepped closer to you.

“One day, I´ll be sitting on that throne and I´d like to do it with a clear mind.”

You paused. “Not all lies are bad.”

“I liked you more in the cargo pants than with the crown on.” He grinned and put a strand of hair behind your ear. “We don´t get to choose.” Sadness laid in your voice and Han pulled you into a hug. “I know.”

 You say

Come over baby

I think you're pretty

I'm okay

I'm not your baby

If you think I'm pretty

 When he left your embrace, you starred up to him. “Maybe I should come and visit you?” He suggested and you let out a chuckle. It was a stupid idea; you both knew it. It lightened the mood though. “You´re going to be good at it, you know? Reigning and all.” You hummed in response and pressed a simple kiss on his warm lips.

 “You should see me in a crown

I'm gonna run this nothing town”

[perseusjackson-jasongrace]

Ma'am- how dares thou leave us off on a cliffhanger for both Empires on the Horizon and Kingdom Collisions V >:L I demand to know whats going to happen next!! (also take your time to write them lol )

Ah my friend you are right I am sorry for being so rude😭👀here's a Kingdom Collisions update. Please forgive me?🥺

Y’all know the drill by now. This is a fic i’m writing to try incorporate more descriptions into my writing. I do not have pre-written chapters so we’re both lost on what comes next or when the next update will be?! Please enjoy!

masterlist

TW: Suicide mention

Kingdom Collisions VI

Once upon a time in a land known for water and jewels there lived a young boy. He had skin the colour of soil and eyes the colour of oceans and were your gaze to ever fall upon this little figure you knew the earth was created just for him. The boy lived in a white-stone castle, surrounded by guards in clanking silver armour and blue-feathered helmets. Swords gleamed with their newness. They are decoration, a rite of passage. They only reflect the water. Children darted between their legs as they swoppeed shifts and if you looked closely the boy was often one of them. The castle stood proud and tranquil in the kingdom and gave the people hope.

If the white walls stand tall the queen will rise above all. 

A piece of poetry long since washed away.That single line ran through the city streets like rain water. Ran into people's homes, and under the wheels of rumbling cars. Generations had forgotten the poem to time but that line for it's power and rhyme had weathered the changing tides. If you listened closely the trees still knew the words. But nobody ever heard. The world was too busy and the day too new to remember what it was like to become one with evergreens.

Percy Jackson wakes up with a gasp, heart beating like conga drums. His fingers curl into his chest, leaving red marks as he winces sleep away. The world is still pitch black; stars hidden behind a blanket of storms. He wonders if they find comfort wrapped in the clouds. If those white puffs feel as soft as they look. Sleep is faraway, a distant friend stuck at a cold airport terminal. So he drifts to the window, ignoring the wind prickling his skin and sits down at the bench. The chiffon curtains rustle softly, talking to him in a language he hasn't quite yet learned. He knows they're saying something important. They must be if they brush against his legs every few minutes. Everyone is always trying to tell him something important. Something life changing and groundbreaking. He wishes he could pause time for a little while. Stroll through the gardens and into the ocean without anybody running after him.

The curtain drifts towards him again and he sighs as if the universe has made him designated driver. An unwanted, unwilling task.

Somewhere a bird caws and he snorts softly, "Okay, okay. I'm handling it."

He let's the sounds of the wind take him through the endless corridors, let's it carry him like a dying flower, like autumn leaves, like bonfire embers. The stone floor is cold under his bare feet and his body is littered with bumps. He misses the warmth of his castle. Misses the warmth of the hearth in every room and the smell of the sea that drifts in through open windows. Mostly, especially, he misses his mom. There is something distinctly missing from the Castle of Caelum. He hasn't quite put his finger on it but it doesn't feel right.

He doesn't have time to delve into that thought because all at once everything goes quiet. A large door looms before him.

"So this is it huh?" His voice is soft, afraid to disrupt the silence.

Taking a deep breath, filling up his lungs with the air of the Kingdom of Wind, he knocks on the wood. It is gentle and solitary and he's almost certain no-one heard it but his ears perk up anyway. He knows you can't pick up footfalls on stone but it doesn't stop his heart from racing in anticipation. The door opens with a soft click and tired eyes look at him.

"Percy," Jason's voice is raspy with crying and his heart shatters.

"Hey, can I come in?"

The blonde looks at him, brows furrowed and tear stains carved into his cheeks. Percy can see the tiredness in the prince's bones, like x-rays of exhaustion. He's about to say nevermind, about to walk away, walk past his own chambers and into the lifeless night. But the Prince nods once and moves aside.

He feels almost disappointed that he couldn't escape. Disappointed he couldn't just go back and never return. His mother's voice flitters into his head.

When your people are suffering you must lie down with them and ask them to tell you their story.

Why mom?

Because little one when the time comes you will know what to do.

How momma?

We are made of stories little one. We are made of all the things people tell us. Our dreams and hopes and memories are just threads in a tapestry and every person is connected to it.

I don't understand momma?

She smiled at him, perfect white teeth and dark blue eyes: When you think of me little one, what comes to mind?

Ten year old Percy frowned, Chocolate chip cookies, and your bedtime tales, and the beach, and hugs.

And what do you think about Grover?

Percy's green eyes had lit up like the sun: Play time and movies and ice-cream!

She laughed: And what about Dad?

His little brows furrowed: Fancy clothes and swords and paper and cuddles.

And Princess Piper?

His nose scrunched up: Cooties! He squealed and then he was running around the room; the world a flowing river, him a little fish learning its current.

You see little one, you didn't think about bones or skin or blood. You thought of memories and stories. Do you understand now?

He nodded as he scrambled into her lap: I think so momma. So if my people tell me who they are I can use their stories to help them when they're sore?

Almost little one. Half of hurt is because nobody listens. If you just listen to what your people are saying they will not hurt so much.

Is that because we have to tell our stories momma?

"Exactly. That is how we live. And live on."

Prince Perseus Jackson takes a deep breath and steps into the room. Immediately he can feel the icy wind, so much colder up here, stinging his bare arms, chest, legs. Save for the small silk boxers covering his most sensitive parts his body is exposed to the brutal temperatures and he cannot hide a shiver as he settles on the couch. The fire has died long ago, maybe not even put on for the night, if the grey ashes and lack of heat are indication enough.

"What are you doing here?" The blonde prince looks at him.

"The curtains told me to come."

"What?" He can hear the confusion, but more than that the weight of a thousand heartaches.

He wonders if every person who has their heartbroken feels like they're the first to ever go through it. If that feeling is so perfectly human it feels unique and special to each one.

"Sometimes the world talks to me and sometimes I listen."

"I don't really know what game you're playing but I'm not in the mood so if it isn't an emergency," Those eyes are ice blue, "And I honestly wouldn't care even if it was, please get out."

"I cannot." He shrugs and pulls a velvet blanket over him.

"I'd appreciate," Jason's teeth grit, "If you respected my boundaries enough to leave. I am not in the mood."

"The window is open, there is paper sitting on the desk and many crumpled pieces on the floor, and I can see you haven't even sat on your bed, never-mind slept in it. What do you plan to do Grace?"

"You know what." That voice is hard, malicious with fear, pain.

"I will not leave. And you will not either. You can sit there on your bed hating me till the sun graces us once more. You can punch me until I am the same colour as the dusk but I am not leaving."

"I hate you. Leave me alone." He can hear the tears hit the cold stone. He doesn't react. A shadow blocks the moonlight finally peaking through the clouds.

"I said leave me the fuck alone!"

"I cannot do that Prince."

"Don’t call me that." He snaps, pushing his face into Percy's, "Go away! I want to be alone."

"I can't Jason,"

"JUST LEAVE!" Golden fists pound at his chest, droplets of salt soaking into his skin, as if trying to wash away the bruising.

He grabs his husband's hands gently and pulls him to the couch.

"I'm not going to leave you."

"They all left." Jason gasps, "They left. HE LEFT!"

The scream draws blood from his ears, pulls oxygen from his veins.

"I'm here. I'm not leaving. I am here."

"Please," Sobs wrack that broken body, and Percy can feel the first cracks in a kingdom. "Please don't leave me. Please, please please."

He rubs his hand over a shaking back and mutters over and over again, "I will not leave you."

Prince Jason Grace cries a new ocean and he names it after the fire that caused it. When the sun peaks over the horizon, fracturing a wall of crystal, and attempting to warm those cold grey stones, Percy Jackson takes his husband to bed and ignores the fissures running under his feet.

Once upon a time in a kingdom known for storms and gold there lived a little boy. He had eyes of lightning and skin the colour of sunlight and if you ever caught a glimpse of him you knew only the darkest nights could ever produce something so beautiful. The guards are bathed in riches, weighed down by diamonds cut from dreams and earrings weighted with the pureness of gold. Swords are varied and prized. Bred for fodder. Used at will. He lived in a castle made of grey stone and it loomed over the kingdom like a black cloud. The people looked at it and shied away. For they too had a poem about their crown but they remembered every line. 

Those who fell under the shadow of stone were sure to be left to ruin by their king and cursed forever alone. A young boy with hair spun from starlight is trapped inside. Who will save him if he cannot hide?

Forgetting was a death warrant.

---------------------------------------------------------------

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@queen-of-demons-and-hell

@leydiangelo

@sparkythunderstorm

@asami-sato-has-never-sinned

[sweet-cynical-writer]

Hi Zai, this is a request for some form of Fyodor content, literally anything, please, thank you and I hope you have a lovely evening 💕

Ratty—

Luckily for you I actually had this angst prompt ready for Fyodor. I am still unsure how well I can perceive this man of mystery but I shall do my best.

Angst Prompt: "Fyodor loves pretty things.. he likes to preserve them in their beauty and wishes to keep them for all eternity. It works fine with creatures, why not try humans as well?"

JUDGEMENT DAY

It all started with a fragile yet light-hearted meeting in a café. He took notice of you like an angel had descended from the heavens above. Long, well-groomed silver hair that trailed along your back to stop at your hips. This was God's work, telling him to snatch you right up into his arms.

How dainty and delicate your fingers looked when you grasped your cup of latté. He watched your every movement, from the sway of your hips to the way you sat in your seat. So elegant yet something lingered around you. The Russian was intrigued and taken by that unknown factor.

He must have you in his arms, he thought to himself possessively. It didn't matter what measures he had to take. Fyodor would see to it himself that you would be retrieved with as little damage to your fragile being as possible. The time went by and the clock in the establishment seemed to tick louder than usual. Of course, it was due to him shutting out all other noises of the outside world while his gaze remained fixated on his eternal beauty.

It couldn't wait longer. No it could. He just didn't want to. He rose from his seat and walked over to his prey. Your gaze broke away from your phone that you were tapping away at feverishly. Who was this dark, foreboding looking man? Some kind of chilling aura surrounded you like being in a blizzard. You covered yourself in your sweater to warm up. That reaction made him give a half smile towards you.

"Lovely café isn't it? Are you doing research on something?"

His question made a cold shiver run down your spine. This man was giving you goosebumps but why couldn't you bring yourself to leave? The curiosity was eating away at you. Why did he come to speak to you?

"I am.. researching treatments for an ailment I have."

"May I ask what ailment? For you see, I am a physician. I could be of assistance if you'll have me, Мой дорогой."

You blinked in shock then chuckled softly. It was faint and gentle like feathers carried by the wind. A sound he found soothing to his ears.

"I unfortunately do not know what I have. Would you be able to see me.. today perhaps? I do not have a lot of money but.."

He reached out and took your soft hand in his. You let out a gasp when his cold touch matched yours. The two of you were cold in temperature but to each other, one was slightly warmer than the other. The man was dressed a bit less like a doctor than what you were used to seeing. But you didn't like to judge a book off of its cover before reading it first.

"For a lovely face such as yours, I do not wish to take your money. If I could assist in preserving your beauty that is payment enough."

Taken by his words, you let him whisk you away. You knew no one. No family. Nor friends. No one would realize you left this world and yet this doctor wanted to keep you alive.

All you could remember was meeting the Russian then blacking out after accepting his invitation to being diagnosed. Your body felt cold and stiff when you came to, a dimly lit room of candlelight. Then a familiar voice sounded nearby.

"You’re awake. I have your results if you want to see them."

It felt difficult to sit up from where you laid on a soft bed. You felt his hand take yours as he brought his other hand behind your head then moved it to your back to assure a comfortable shift.

"Thank you... I didn't get your name, doctor."

"You may call me Fyodor, my lovely."

That name gave you a rich and warm taste from how velvet his voice flowed. You took the papers in your grasp to carefully analyze. Eyes scanning then stopping on the disease name.

"ALS?.."

"Formally called, amyotrophic lateral sclerosis."

You blinked, feeling too stunned to read on after seeing that it was incurable. A fatal disease that would eat away at your lifespan. Although Fyodor had no issue going on about details of the symptoms and what the disease effected in the body.

"What you have is a progressive neurological disease characterized by the destruction of nerve cells that are responsible for controlling voluntary muscle movement. Examples of voluntary muscle movement include chewing, walking, talking and breathing."

Your blood felt like it turned to ice. A lump in your throat making it difficult to speak. There's no cure. Your body was deteriorating from the inside out. Waiting for your expiration date. In a way you felt that you knew it all along. You chose to play blind into not accepting it until now. A faint ghostly smile upon your pale lips as you looked to Fyodor with light blue eyes that were clouded in grey.

"I appreciate the diagnosis. Now, as for payment.. I want to.. offer you my body when I die."

He didn't ask you why nor did he want to deny your offer. It was God's work after all. He truly sent this angel down for him to keep. It perfectly aligned with what was intended.

"How long do I have?"

"A few months. But you knew that didn't you, прекрасный?"

You nodded solemnly in defeat. This disease in particular gave people who had it an average lifespan of two to five years before they died. You already lived out almost two years since diagnosed. Your time was almost gone.

"How will you live out the rest of your days?"

"I want them to be with you. It's strange.. but I feel that you'll see to it that I do not die.. alone."

How sweet and tender you were to him. Those words like silk from your gentle voice. So weak and fragile like an endangered species. He took you into his home and saw to just that.

The days you spent with him were like a lucid dream. He would play the cello and lull you to sleep at night or play with your silver locks, caressing them in between his fingers. Fyodor would take you to ballroom dance in an empty room. His hand delicately hugging your hip while the other hand folded like a puzzle piece into yours.

That evening when you hummed along with his cello playing was the last breath you took. No final words, for you had already said everything that needed to be heard. He paused his playing to bring you into his arms to feel your heart slow to a stop, your body getting colder by each minute your organs failed to work. A sickening smirk revealed his teeth like a ravaging wolf starving for years for a delicacy to drop in front of him.

"Now.. let us get to work on maintaining your beauty. For all eternity. Milaya.."

[seasons-of-ceres]

An April Flurry

A/N: Unsure if I’m going to count this as part of my ever-slowly moving fluff series, but I feel fluffy about it and wanted to share. Technically a sequel to this.

It snows overnight, and when I wake up sometime after ten o’clock, I cannot see the apartment buildings a few streets away or my local supermarket. Wind swings the powerlines from my house to the big post in the back alley, and from my bed I can watch the tips of evergreen trees bob and sway. The only downside is the snow almost entirely disappears after my shower, and I didn’t even take a full thirty minutes. The upside which appears as I am towelling off my hair, peering out my window to watch my dogs chase each other in the backyard, is that a familiar shape is crouching beneath the last evergreen in my yard.

The acidity of the blue spruce’s pine needles has killed the grass around it, leaving nothing but loose dirt for ants and patches of always dead-looking weeds. Our old couch, burnt and thoroughly deconstructed, hidden beneath the puppy pee-stained carpet is a feature we are slowly getting rid of, but the process reminds me of pulling apart a Lego tower, piece by painstaking piece. Dad’s still recovering from his stint in the hospital, and none of us are truly strong enough to heft the couch anywhere, we ditched our truck years ago and part of me will always miss the height and the storage in the back. He is not playing in the dirt or sitting on the couch, thank the gods, but he is leaning against the tree.

Two or three powerlines run through the branches, and in our already modest yard, cutting it down would be difficult, I think. Dad always burns things beneath the tree, killing the lower branches and browning the needles. He had to cut those branches down last summer, and now the squirrels must run a full-on obstacle course to get from our fence to the post, along the wires, to get at the tree. Koda, the elder of our two dogs, is frustrated by this as the squirrels now barely run along the fence for chasing. Axel could care less.

This is the second snowfall of April, and certainly the one with little pomp and circumstance. The sky is a canvas of whipped white clouds, and the fog is still very pretty without flakes falling. Everything outside is wet, then frozen, before finishing faintly cold against my warm skin.

“I know I didn’t send for you,” I sigh, “but it’s good to see you anyway.”

There is pale with death and pale with cold, and Jack Frost is a careful mixture of the two. Kept warm in a cloak of snow-covered moss and pine bark, with newer additions of grey fur, he leaps from the tree and over the orange snow fence. A pair of antlers, fuzzy with velvet and adorned with hanging crystals, pinecones, and red berries, stick out from the shock of thick white hair. It is longer than I remember, pieces have been braided back and the braids themselves look like ice.

“Like. Really good to see you. This year has been…”

“I know.” Jack says, extending a hand. “Thought I’d bring my winterborn kin some glee in these trying times.”

           His hand is cold, very cold; I can only grab his fingers quickly. Jack registers this, and clasps my arm instead, and as I mirror him, I feel my cheeks heat up. His eyebrows are fuzzy too, I didn’t notice before, or see the tiny snowflakes stuck to his lashes. His eyes are impossible, it’s like looking through a snow globe—patches of green for trees, shards of yellow as if from the light of tiny houses, and a blizzard of grey and blue for snow. A winter kaleidoscope.

           “Winterborn kin, huh?” I offer up a half-smile, suddenly bashful. “Shit. I feel pretty special.”

           “You should.” Jack nods, the crystals coming off his antlers twinkle audibly. “Your entire race is pretty special. I’m thankful for it, especially those of you who remember me still.”

           I have nothing to say to that. I could say something, but I think the words would bump against my teeth and come out wrong. I bite the inside of my cheek earlier; a lot of my words are coming out funny because of that.

           “So, uh, you got more snowy plans for the summer?”

           Jack leans back and taps the tip of my nose. “Maybe, maybe not. All depends on the winds and currents and such. Keep an eye out. I’ll deliver something good for Christmas this year.”

           A hint of mischief makes his eyes glow like Christmas lights, and maybe its jumping in the gun to want Christmas even before the general gremlin glee of wanting Halloween, but like, there is a difference between fun spooky times and warm family stuff. Warm family stuff despite the cold. How much warmer one can feel in winter with something or someone.

           “Will do. Looking forward to it.”

           Jack grins. “Excellent. Now, stay safe, little frostling. If I bring snow early in October, I want you to savour it.”

           “Absolutely.” A rush of chilly air leaves my throat, and I shiver. “Go make someone else’s day.”

           Jack Frost bows, waving at the dogs who have been surprisingly quiet the whole time, and he springs into the air, disappearing in a burst of light snow. Where he was previously standing lays a ring of holly branches.

[yourdeepestfathoms]

Fractal Scarring

[Broadway Kids]

FINALLY THIS IS FINISHED. two days to write 12,000 words? that’s so shameful :/ 

also i hate writing in present tense

Word count: 12,029

Prompt: “And just WHERE do you think you’re putting your hands?” “Don’t you hurt a single hair on her head.” “Shh, you’re safe. I won’t let you go.”

Tw: Abuse, waterboarding

--------------

The sound of the doorbell ringing rudely interrupts the heated kiss between Lynn and her girlfriend, Estelle. Lynn pulls back with a growl of frustration, waiting a moment before leaning into Estelle again.

  “You’re not going to get that?” Estelle asks.

  “No need,” Lynn says dismissively. “It’s probably just the Amazon guy.”

  “What did you order this time? More sneakers? Special energy drinks?” Estelle says teasingly.

  “Oh, hush,” Lynn bats at her. “Just because I’m a coach doesn’t mean everything revolves around sports. You, for example.” And then she leans in again, locking her lips with Estelle’s and falling back into the warm, buzzing trance of kissing.

And then the doorbell rings again.

And again.

And again, until it was going off every second in a rapid fire cacophony of chiming.

  “Persistent Amazon guy,” Estelle observes.

  “Oh my god!!” Lynn yells. She rips off the blankets, nearly exposing her girlfriend’s own naked body in the process, snatches her robe from the bathroom door (although she had considered flashing the solicitors to scare them off), and marches to the front door. There was a glass window at the very top, but was too high to see who it was, so she had no idea who was ruining her time with her girlfriend until she yanks open the door with force.

  “Sue?!”

Her student blinks at her from the stoop, trying very hard to not look at the white robe she was swathed in and put the pieces together. The way she clears her throat and then proceeds to say absolutely nothing didn’t help the situation be any less awkward, either. A halo of raindrops from the drizzle falling from the grey-blue sky twinkles on the crown of her head like dozens of silver spider eyes that seemed to stare straight through Lynn’s fluffy covering.

  “What-” Lynn finds her voice, although it came out tight and strangled from embarrassment for a moment. “What are you DOING here?! How do you know where I LIVE?!”

Shrugging nonchalantly, as if this was the most normal thing in the world, Sue says, “Chris knows a guy.”

THAT Lynn didn’t doubt. She wonders if this “guy” was Billy Nolan or her father tracking her or someone else entirely. Feeling like there were several more eyes on her, Lynn shifts uncomfortably and pulls the laces around her stomach even tighter.

  “Why are you here?” She demands with her Coach Voice. It made Sue jump, but then she realized that it wasn’t in fear like she was hoping, but some sort of jolt of remembrance.

  “Oh! Right!” Sue looks over her shoulder. Dismayed, Lynn saw that Tommy was there, too, but he was halfway hunched in his Jeep, fumbling with something. “Miss Gardener, you are the most trusted adult we know. Something happened- something really bad, and we need you.”

Usually, Lynn would instantly mount the problem that one of her students was facing and bring it down, but right now, she really rather be mounting something else and be brought down on a bed, so this was not her top priority at the moment. If none of her loved ones were dead, then she really didn’t want to hear it.

  “What about your PARENTS?” Lynn says, shooing Sue backwards. “Go to them!”

  “No, Miss Gardener, you don’t understand!” Sue cries. “It’s Carrie!”

Lynn froze.

And, at that moment, Tommy pulled out a bloody, beaten Carrie out of the backseat of the Jeep and into sight.

  “Bring her inside.” Lynn says without a shred of resistance. “Sue. Tell me everything.”

------

  “How do I look?” Tommy asked. “Good? Good enough? Christian-like?”

Sue giggled. “You look great, you dork. There’s no need to worry. It’s not that big of a deal.”

  “It absolutely IS a big deal!” Tommy squawked.

It really was, Sue had to admit. It was the first time Carrie White was EVER having people over at her house.

She said she had begged her mother for hours, swearing up and down that she would be the best daughter and never ever complain ever again if she could have her friends over, and her mother had finally relented. So, now Tommy and Sue were parked outside a cottage as old as time itself. It’s swathed by tendrils of ivy climbing their way towards the roof that was missing several shingles and splotched with patches of emerald green moss. The weathered wood is a chalk color, paint peeling and flaking off, and black peppering along its breast. The windows are tinted a deep brown and covered up by drapes, many of them cracked. The yard was a sea of weeds and the walkway leading up to the house was lined with deceased trees; their ebony branches bore no leaves. The very age of the cottage is shown in its deterioration.

This was no place for any child to be raised.

Withered brown leaves rustled in the ghostly wind. The street was almost silent, if not for the wailing gust, the crackle of fronds, and the gentle rumble of the Jeep’s engine. Black tires trampled over the dead blades scattered on the edge of the poorly-kept street, the crunching of their filaments like bones beneath a hammer. A flurry of brown leaves swept across the windshield. 

The couple slid out of Tommy’s car after Tommy checked his neatly-combed hair for the tenth time. He was acting like he did the day he met Sue’s parents for the first time in junior year, which was actually quite polite of him to do so. He was taking this very seriously. 

Above, the sky was awash with low churning clouds. Towering trees with ebony branches reached down far, almost blocking the way. Their naked twigs grabbed like fingers, clawing at their faces as they trekked up the driveway. The brittle limbs snapped and fell as kindling onto the ground when brushed away. They too cracked beneath footfalls as Sue and Tommy made their way up to the stoop, across the cracked sidewalk and through reaching snarls of weeds sprouting from the overgrown yard. The porch creaked beneath their weight, and for a split second they feared it might cave in, but the old wood held together firmly despite its age. Tommy knocked on the door; there were cracks inside the frame and the hinges were green. It looked like it would fall over if the curved door knob was yanked too hard.

There was a shuffling sound from inside and the tumblers of a locking mechanism fell away with a grinding crack. When the front door was pulled open, the hinges protested with a deafening creak, sounding as though the rotten wood was splintering even as the heavy door scraped along the floor. Carrie peered out at them like a lime green macaw in a tunnel of darkness in the overalls she was wearing, beaming.

  “Hello!” She greeted eagerly. “Come in!”

They stepped inside and entered a world that reeked of religion.

Wall-to-wall there were crosses ranging in various sizes and made of many different materials. There were wooden crosses, metal crosses, crosses made of twigs twisted together and crosses created from woven tangles of barbed wire. Among them were pictures of Bible scenes, like The Last Supper and Noah’s Ark and Jesus doing something with a staff and water- or was that Moses? Sue wasn’t very up to speed on Christianity, so she didn’t know exactly what was going on, but the bearded dude was definitely doing /something/ with water.

Aside from the paintings and crosses and some candles, there didn’t appear to be any other decorations. No photos of Carrie as a little girl, no potted plants, no big wooden letters spelling out “WHITE” on the wall- there were only religious adornments.

Carrie led Tommy and Sue through the cramped front room, passing a closet door and a small circular table with a single red candle on it, and into the living room. The smell of baking bread wafted strongly in this room, flowing from the nearby kitchen. A large crucifix was poised menacingly over the ancient fireplace mantle, Jesus’s face frozen in a permanent expression of agony. Each rivulet of blood, every cut opened up on his skull from the Crown of Thorns held so much detail that it almost looked like a real person nailed to the giant wooden cross instead of just precisely carved plastic.

There’s no TV, not that either Sue or Tommy were surprised, so the scuffed, fraying leather sofa taking up a large space in the room was just sitting in front of the fireplace with only a grotesque crucifix to watch. The coffee table in front of it held a Bible that looked like it would crumble into dust if picked up and a well kept nativity set of baby Jesus’s birth. It was probably the nicest thing in the living room, maybe even the entire house, with all the animals shined to perfection and the humans not bearing a single scratch upon their porcelain flesh. There was also a washed out velvet lounge chair with intricate golden designs across the fabric, where a woman sat sewing an article of clothing and watching the new arrivals intently.

Mrs. White was as mangy as her daughter, but not quite as filled out as Carrie was. She was thin and bony, with sunken facial features and spindly fingers like the hands of a skeleton. Tangles of chocolate brown hair were tied up in a messy ponytail, revealing her pale, narrow neck to the light of the several lit candles around the house, and Sue and Tommy both concluded that Carrie must have gotten most of her features from her father because she looked nothing like this banshee of a woman dressed in a grey-blue gown sitting before them. The only noticeable thing they had in common were their brown eyes, which were so dark they were nearly black. Mrs. White’s were piercing, yet tired and haunted, and she was looking at Tommy and Sue like she already hated them.

This woman had done terrible things that tormented her, Sue could tell.

------

  “That definitely sounds like Margaret.”

Sue and Tommy’s head whip around, but Lynn’s whips faster. She stares at her girlfriend, fully dressed, standing in the hallway spitting out into the rest of the house from the master bedroom. Her blonde hair is combed neatly, leaving no evidence of...things...having been going on. Her grey eyes are troubled.

  “You know Margaret White?” Sue asks.

  “Who are you?” Tommy says at the same time.

  “Estelle Horan,” Estelle answers the nosy teenagers. “And, yes, I knew her.”

She strides across the floor and into the living room. Carrie is lying on one of the couches, expression pinched even in unconsciousness. Sweat is beaded on her forehead and she breathes raggedly.

  “How do you know her?” Sue prods further.

Estelle looks at her, then says, “I was their neighbor.”

A beat of silence passes. A pin dropping would be the loudest sound in the room. And then-

  “WHAT?” Lynn yelps.

Estelle gives her an amused look. “Did I never tell you?”

  “No!”

  “Oh.” Estelle shrugs. “There wasn’t ever a good time to bring it up. And I’ve tried to put it out of my mind…” She trails off, a haunted expression flickering in her eyes, like something had shaken her. She looks at Carrie’s frail, bruised body and frowns. “I--never thought she would live this long.”

Lynn gets a terrified look on her face. She didn’t exactly like showing so much fear and weakness around her students, but she couldn’t help it. There’s no way Carrie’s life was as bad as everyone was making it out to be. There’s no way she had suffered so much for so long and she hadn’t done anything to help her.

  “What-- what do you mean?” Tommy asks softly. His expression is a mix of horror and rage and his fists are clenched tightly at his sides.

Estelle reaches out and gently touches Carrie’s head. “Everyone in the neighborhood knew of Carrie’s treatment. But nobody did anything. And then, one day when I was seventeen, Carrie came up to me while I was tanning. She was five? Maybe six? Anyway, she-” She laughs, “-she pointed to my breasts and asked me what they were. I told her and she said she wished she had some and then said how good girls wouldn’t. She said that her mother was ‘bad when she made her.’ Margaret called them ‘dirty pillows’ or something stupid.”

Tommy snorts. Sue elbows him lightly. Estelle shoots him a quick, agreeing smile, then continues.

  “Then her mother came out and snapped at her to come back inside. Margaret called me a whore, I called her a cow- I was a very mature and polite seventeen year old.” Estelle chuckles. Her expression soon darkens, however. “I could hear--her screams--from inside the house. After Margaret dragged her back in. Carrie started screaming and crying so loud that I could hear them from outside. Everyone started coming out, but--” She sighs, looking ashamed. “--we didn’t help. Not after the meteor shower. We all ran.”

  “Wait-” Sue says. “Did you say ‘meteor shower’?”

  “Yeah,” Estelle says. “These rocks just started falling from the sky, but they only hit the White’s house for some reason. It was so weird.”

Tommy and Sue exchange looks. 

  “Carrie mentioned something about stones…” Tommy says.

Estelle furrows her eyebrows. Lynn kneels down next to her and takes one of her hands, not caring about secrecy around her students anymore.

  “Sue,” She says to the girl, “continue the story. What happened next?”

------

  “Mama,” Carrie said, and the sound of her voice startled both Sue and Tommy. They don’t know why they had assumed Carrie would sign at home; her mother didn’t exactly seem like the type to put up with sign language. “These are my friends! Tommy and Sue!” She beamed at them both, radiating with pride. Her voice was so sweet and youthful.

  “Hmm,” Mrs. White merely said. Her hands are still working a needle and thread through the pale purple fabric, and Sue can see muscles rippling beneath the skin.

Tommy stepped forward first, gathering his shoulders up into a straightened position and marching smoothly across the room. Carrie skittered after him and stood beside one side of the chair, and then Sue followed.

  “Tommy Ross,” Tommy extended a hand and flashed a dazzling smile. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, ma’am.”

Mrs. White looked at Tommy’s hand with visible disgust, but she shook it firmly when Carrie nudged her arm. She did the same with Sue, but with less reluctance. Sue guessed that she probably had something against men, which was something she never had a problem with, there were MANY reasons to hate men, but this woman looked like she wanted to chop off the penis of every male in existence and violently choke them with it. 

Or, perhaps, do something even worse.

  “It’s nice to meet you both, too,” Mrs. White finally said in a voice that could crack an iceberg in two. She sized Tommy and Sue up silently, sneering at Sue’s skirt, which barely reached her knees, but didn’t comment about it. “It’s so...wonderful...to see my precious angel with people she can trust.” She lifted a hand and Carrie eagerly ducked her head beneath it. It was quite cute to see her blissfully get affection, but Sue got a feeling of uneasiness in her stomach when she noticed that the action made Carrie look like a trained dog. And Mrs. White was her owner.

  “Carrie is a lot of fun to have around,” Tommy said, and Carrie grinned brightly at him. “Your daughter is amazing!”

  “Hmm,” Mrs. White said again. She looked at Carrie and a smile tugged on her lips. “She is, isn’t she?” She patted Carrie’s cheek. “Run along, my darling. Go play.”

Carrie nodded and her face scrunched up adorably with giddiness when she got a kiss on the forehead. She jumped up a moment later, darting past Tommy and Sue and to the staircase. She waved to them to follow her eagerly, grinning her head off and doing a little dance on the first step.

  “We’re coming, we’re coming!” Sue laughed as she and Tommy walked over. “Calm down!”

They ascended the stairs, and Sue could feel Margaret’s burning gaze scorch holes into her back with every step she took.

The first thing Sue and Tommy noticed upon entering the bedroom were the bars over the window.

Carrie’s room was plain. Plain cream walls, plain scuffed hardwood floor, plain white bed sheets and blankets (no pillow, as she had once mentioned before). There was a nightstand next to her bed with a lamp and a small Bible on it and a splintering bookshelf with very few books set up neatly. A chest at the end of the bed had ribbons of colorful fabric overflowing from the closed lid and a desk had a current sewing project spread out over its surface. A small table in the corner held a few old stuffed animals stacked neatly in a fuzzy pyramid. 

  “Welcome,” Carrie signed with a grand gesture with outstretched arms. She spun around once, looking around her room, then centered to Tommy and Sue again with a sheepish expression. “I--don’t know what to do now.”

Sue tilted her head, not understanding her hand movements, and Tommy translated. It made her pause in thought- what WAS there to do at Carrie’s house? There was no TV to watch movies on or teach her how to play video games like Tommy usually did. The place was actually quite...boring. Sue couldn’t bear to live in such a bare place.

  “Sorry…” Carrie lowered her head in shame.

  “Hey, no, it’s okay!” Tommy said quickly. “No worries!”

Sue looked around, trying to find something that would hopefully ease Carrie’s tension. She spotted the piece of fabric on the desk, which was a plum color with frills along the breast. She nodded at it.

  “That’s pretty.” She said.

  “Oh!” Carrie skittered over to it. “Thank you. It’s not finished yet, but it’s going to be a dress!”

Tommy translated her signs and Sue smiled. “Do you make all your clothes?”

  “Most of them,” Carrie nodded. 

  “That’s so cool!” Sue said. 

Carrie blushed. “Thank you.” She lightly brushed her project. “I can--teach you how to. If you want.”

------

  “And then we started sewing,” Sue says. She stares into the cup of water Lynn had gotten for her with a deeply troubled look. 

  “I made a scarf.” Tommy states in an attempt to lighten the mood.

  “It was supposed to be a sweater.” Sue manages a giggle, although it was tight and slightly strangled.

Lynn wants to smile, she really does, but as she is pressing a wet rag to a welt on her young student’s stomach, watching blood seep into the white fabric, such an action feels impossible. 

If Carrie had looked worrisome when Lynn first saw her, then the removal of most of her clothes has only increased that concern tenfold. The few injuries that had been visible when she first got there were bad enough, but the skin on her torso and back were splattered with impossibly dark colors that were split open in the center of each mark, like she had been beaten with a thin object. Cuts and scrapes marred her tanned skin, which was now horribly pale.

Carrie is stripped down to the black shorts and white tank top she had been wearing underneath her green overalls, which were stained in her blood (not that it was much of a loss- those things were hideous). Her face is tight with pain and all her muscles were tense as if she wanted to run, but couldn’t. Each breath she took came out shallow and ragged.

There’s too many wounds. There’s too many injuries on her little body. She isn’t going to live. Carrie will die.

A touch on her shoulder brought Lynn out of her morbid thoughts. She looks up to see Estelle, still kneeling next to her, a worried, but “I’m here for you” look on her face. She leans against her and a sick feeling settles into the pit of her stomach. Her mind is a jumbled mess, a tornado of disconnected thoughts and overwhelming stress.

Sue takes a deep breath and all eyes turn to her again. She pries her gaze away from her cup, rests her head against Tommy’s shoulder for support, and begins the story again.

------

  “WHAT is THAT?” Carrie signed.

  “IT is a SCARF!” Tommy declared defensively, holding the long piece of red wool fabric as if it were a live snake. “And it’s very stylish!” He flicked it around his neck and lifted his nose in a very haughty, pompous manner. Carrie flopped backwards, giggling and kicking her legs in the air. Tommy looked delighted at her reaction.

  “I thought we were making sweaters…” Sue said, blinking down at the misshapen purple blob in her hands. Carrie giggled louder. 

She giggled and giggled, such a pleasant, relieving sound.

And then the bedroom door opened.

And a thunderous voice that could shatter a glacier spoke up.

  “What is going on in here?”

Tommy, Sue, and Carrie all jumped and twisted around to see Mrs. White slithering inside, growing bigger and more menacing with every step she took. Tommy and Sue both straightened up, trying to look like model guests, while Carrie scrambled up off of her back and to her feet. She was still beaming, however.

  “Hello, Mama,” She greeted sweetly. “I was just teaching Tommy and Sue how to sew! They’re not very good.”

  “I made a scarf,” Tommy said, holding up the droopy ends of his silly creation for Mrs. White to see. She looked at it as if it were the serpent that had bewitched Eve. “Also, oi! Rude!” He poked Carrie in the leg, then glanced up at Mrs. White again, like he was saying, Look at how good I am with your daughter! Look at how nice I am to her! Please like me!

  “Hmm.” Mrs. White merely said. She looked very suspicious of all three of them, even her own daughter. She looked around the room like she was searching for a shred of impurity that would give her a reason to throw Tommy and Sue out. This process, however, was halted when Carrie hopped forward and latched onto her arm.

  “Mama, I finished the dress,” She said. She bumped her head against her mother’s shoulder and smiled up at her.

She really does love her mom. Sue thought. But does Mrs. White love her back?

  “Did you?” Mrs. White said, half distracted. She was trying to not take her eyes off of the guests, Tommy the most in particular.

  “Mhm!” Carrie ran and grabbed the dress she had finished while she was giving the sewing lessons. She presented it to Mrs. White proudly. “See?”

Mrs. White delicately ran her bony fingers along the stitching and frills. Then, she looked up and smiled at Carrie. “Very good, darling.”

That smile flickered away, however, when she looked back to her daughter’s friends. She frowned at Sue, who was rigid next to Tommy. She wasn’t trying to suck up to her like he was.

  “You.” She said. “What are you making?”

  “Oh, uh--” Sue looked down at the malformed, barely-sewn sweater flopped pathetically in her hands. “A-a sweater.” She wanted to kick herself for stammering. Why was she so nervous around this lady? “I think?”

  “My scarf is better.” Tommy muttered, then flashed a smile at Mrs. White. She blinked at him slowly. Even she was curious about his adamant attempt to get on her good side.

Mrs. White sniffed. The edges of her eyes crinkled in distaste. “Maybe you should try lengthening that skirt. You’ll be burning in hell in no time looking like that.”

Sue stiffened. She suddenly felt like her clothes were paper thin--or maybe not even there at all. Mrs. White was staring at her like she had just finished having sex with every man in the entire world and was currently dripping semen all over her floor. Sue struggled not to squirm as silence descended upon the room.

At her side, Tommy’s mouth was half open in shock that an adult would talk to a kid, especially a guest in their house, like that. He kept looking from Sue, to Mrs. White, and then back to Sue, conflicted on whether he should defend his girlfriend and risk Mrs. White hating him even more or not say anything and have Sue possibly hate him (but she wouldn’t hate him. if it were him essentially being called a man slut, she would probably be too scared to say anything, too).

Mrs. White was stood up straight and she looked like she was trying very hard not to smirk. She may be thin and ragged, but she was alight with disgust, like a flame that would never go out. Beside her, Carrie was rigid, but didn’t seem very surprised by her mother’s comment. Her head was lowered, dark eyes flitting towards Sue with an apologetic look. And then, she moved, slotting herself between Sue and Mrs. White.

  “Mama, Sue is the nicest girl I know.” She said, and Sue felt a flutter of guilt inside her stomach. At one point, she had participated in all the teasing Carrie got. She had been in on schemes to humiliate her and had looked at her like she was the most awful creature to ever walk the earth, and Carrie knew this, she had known it, and yet she still defended her. “If she doesn’t go to heaven, then heaven is wrong.”

Crack, went something in Mrs. White’s head.

Carrie noticed it first, the way her mother’s twisted expression twitched and rippled on her face like a melting wax mask, the way a diseased light flickered behind her eyes, the way her nostrils flared with a silent breath, and then Sue and Tommy followed. They could see it now, too, how Mrs. White still had the same look on her face as she had when she insulted Sue, but just slightly lopsided. It was like a wrinkled photograph cut from a magazine or a blurry movie still. There was something awful swimming behind those beetle-black eyes, and Carrie had accidentally awakened it. 

Sue wondered for a fleeting second if she were infected with the same parasite as her mother.

Carrie was very tense, so much so that Sue could see the muscles in her neck bunching up and popping out painfully. Her knees were shaking and a bead of sweat ran down the side of her face slowly. Sue and Tommy had both seen her scared before, but this was nothing like the fear that came from bullying at school or being called on in class or getting humiliated somehow.

Carrie looked terrified. Genuinely terrified. Like she thought she was going to die.

  “Carrie.” Mrs. White said calmly, but they all still shivered. The weight of the fury in that one simple word--Sue hoped she would never have to hear anyone say her name like that. She might as well have called her daughter ‘Disappointment.’ “Dear. Come here.”

But Carrie didn’t move. Her breathing starts to become more ragged.

  “No, mama,” She whispered, and Sue had never heard so much fear in her voice before.

Twitch, went something on Mrs. White’s expression.

  “M-my friends--” Carrie went on shakily, trying to give a good reason for her to talk back. “Th-they’re here. C-can’t we wait…” But her words trailed off into meaninglessness when she met her mother’s sharp gaze and she fell into helpless silence.

Mrs. White stretched her neck to the left and there was a series of pops that reverberated around the room. She seemed to be swelling up like a venomous snake.

  “Hey--” Tommy leapt to his feet, the tail of his sweater-scarf wagging lazily in front of him. “It’s not Carrie’s fault. She was just being a good friend.”

Mrs. White snapped her smoldering gaze over to Tommy, and that was enough to send him slamming right back to the floor in a rigid sitting position. Sue had never seen him obey so much like a trained dog before. It was horrifying how much this single woman could strike so much terror into all of them.

  “Carietta Nancy White.” Mrs. White hissed, her voice dripping with icicles. “I will not tell you again.”

She knows she could just grab Carrie. Sue realized with a twist in her stomach. She wants the satisfaction of Carrie obeying her.

Carrie moved slowly, dragging her feet as if they were weighed down by chains, head bowed in a submissive way. The moment she was in reach, Mrs. White snatched her by the forearm and dug her nails in so deep tiny jewels of blood bubbled up around her fingers. Tommy twitched at Sue’s side, like he wanted to jump up and tackle Mrs. White, but his nerves were holding him back.

  “I’m sorry…” Carrie whispered, although Sue doesn’t know if it’s directed to her and Tommy or to her mother. She’s briskly guided out of the room a moment later, so fast that she actually clipped her forehead on the doorframe, but Mrs. White doesn’t stop to let her recover. Their footsteps shuffle and stomp down the hallway, down the steps, and then disappear downstairs.

Silence.

Sue and Tommy waited for yelling, crashing, banging, fighting to break out, but there was nothing. They could only hear the distant sound of Mrs. White’s voice, but neither of them dared to move to listen closer. They just sat there in Carrie’s room, surrounded by scraps of colorful fabric and sewing needles, not speaking a word.

Mrs. White came to get them five minutes later. Her eyes were filled with disgust and hatred and her mouth was twisted in a sneer.

  “Get out.” Was all she said in a voice filled with malice.

Sue and Tommy leapt to their feet and scampered out of the house with metaphorical tails tucked between their legs as fast they could. Mrs. White followed close behind them, like the devil on their heels, until they were out on the stoop. She slammed the door so hard Sue was surprised the entire house didn’t come crumbling down and they heard the sound of a lock clicking into place.

Silence.

  “That...was eventful.” Sue said.

Tommy doesn’t answer. He just began to pace up and down the front walkway, crunching gravel and pebbles underneath his shoes. 

  “Tommy?”

  “We have to do something.” Tommy blurted.

Surprised, Sue said, “What?”

  “We can’t just leave her in there!” Tommy said, then quickly quieted his voice. He looked around. “We have to save her.”

Sue knew they had to, even if the thought scared her. She wouldn’t be able to sleep that night knowing Carrie was probably thrashed for the skirt her friend had been wearing.

The two of them wait a moment, then sneak around the side of the house, romping through overgrown weeds and grass and knowing full well that they’ll get hell rained upon them if they’re caught. Tommy peeked in through a back window with a crack in it and saw the fleeting figure of Margaret ascending the staircase, giving him and Sue a chance to slip in through the back door and re-enter the house.

Being inside that place felt wrong, like they were intruding on sacred grounds. But the house was anything but sacred, especially with the muffled sniffles echoing from somewhere they couldn’t see.

Sue and Tommy ducked into a small closet that was cluttered with moth-eaten blankets and boxes. They were at the end of the main downstairs hallway and it was dark enough for them to crack open the door and peek out without being seen. There, they waited, peering out of the barely-open door. Sue’s back was just starting to hurt from hunching over when footsteps stomped down the staircase. She and Tommy watched as Mrs. White unlocked what they thought had just been a coat closet, reached in, and pulled Carrie out.

  “I’m sorry, Mama!” Carrie blurted instantly, as submissive as always.

Mrs. White answered in a low rumbling noise. She dragged Carrie into the den and out of sight.

  “Mama, please talk to me.” Sue and Tommy heard Carrie beg. “Please, I’m sorry! I just-- they’re my friends and I don’t like when people are mean to them. I’m sorry, Mama. I shouldn’t have talked back to you.”

Mrs. White snorted. “Friends.” She repeated the word as if it were a curse. “They aren’t your friends.”

  “They are!” Carrie said. “They are, Mama! And they’re really nice, too, you’ll see!”

Mrs. White huffed out a breath and Sue thought she may be shaking her head. “Nobody is friends with you, Carrie. You don’t have friends. You know why.”

Sue winced. That felt like it was needlessly cruel to the poor girl.

  “No, Mama,” Carrie said, this time much softer.

  “If I told them what you are--what you can do, they’ll run for the hills. Or worse: they’d lock you up and use your gifts. But me? I’ve always accepted and loved you the way you are, my sweet girl.” Mrs. White crooned. “You’re different, Carrie. And you know people love to destroy what is not like them.”

  “I don’t have to be,” Carrie said. “Tommy says I can be whoever I want!”

  “Oh. That BOY.” Mrs. White said with great disgust. “You know how boys are, Carrie. Do I need to remind you of your father?”

  “No, Mama.” Carrie replied with a shudder in her voice.

Sue and Tommy exchanged looks. They had both wondered on their own about Carrie’s father, but neither ever brought it up to her. By the sound of it, whatever happened to him wasn’t very good.

  “They’re good, Mama,” Carrie was saying when focus was brought back to the conversation. “I promise! I’m sorry for talking back, but Tommy and Sue are good people!”

  “They’ve entranced you,” Mrs. White said, not even listening to her daughters. “They are imps sent from the devil!”

  “No, Mama!” There’s a rustle of fabric and the scuffing of feet against the floor- Carrie must have been standing up. “They aren’t! Don’t you dare say that about them! They’re not imps, YOU are!”

The sound of a hand smashing against flesh filled the house; Carrie’s body fell backwards into sight on her stomach. She’s frozen in shock for a moment before pushing herself up on her hands. A second later, one of her legs was grappled and she was dragged backwards into the den, screaming and clawing helplessly at the floor.

It was like a scene ripped straight out of a horror movie.

  “Mama, stop! Stop it, Mama! I’m sorry!”

  “You’re going to repent, you vile little beast--”

Another slap reverberated through the house, followed by a sharp yelp reminiscent of a puppy getting its foot stepped on. 

  “Mama! Mama, no! Please, no! I’m sorry!”

  “You must be washed clean of the filth they put on you.”

There’s the sound of fabric scraping against the floor that traveled into the kitchen. A clatter of a body being thrown into a chair echoed from that room, followed by a stern, “Stay.”

  “Mama, please,” Carrie pleaded. “I don’t want to, Mama, I don’t want to be cleaned--”

Sue heard the sink running in the kitchen. What was going on?

--

A hand yanked her head backwards by the hair. Water hit the over her face cloth- small drips and then a heavy torrent. It flooded into her nose. She instinctively opened her mouth to gasp for a breath, and the water poured in. Her heart was racing, and her whole body was frozen. She could feel the freezing water trickling down her throat. She tried to toss her head to escape the torrent, but she couldn't even twitch. The only part of her that was moving was her chest as her body fought frantically to cough, to escape, to breathe, to survive.

   “Don’t like that, do you?” Mama’s voice was crowing as she lifted the cloth. She smirked at the way her daughter gasped for air, taking in quick, rapid breaths to soothe her lungs. “No, you don’t.” She felt her shake her hand beneath her hand. “Admit it, my darling. Admit that that boy and girl are sent from the devil and dirtied you. Admit it and it will end.”

Desperate to retain at least a shred of her dignity, Carrie said, “No.”

The cloth drops back down over her face with a wet plop.

She felt the moment the water hit her lungs this time around- there was a lot more poured over her. There was a sickening chill, so at odds with the burning pain. And then her arms and legs were tugging against the ropes as sheer panic enveloped her. She wasn't thinking of twisting her wrists to try to free them; her arms moved of their own accord, tearing the skin. She wasn't thinking of kicking out with all her strength; her legs jerked and tugged against the restraints, wrenching their own muscles. She wasn't thinking of trying to get away from whatever was pinning her down; her body writhed and shifted as panic and fear pulsed through it.

When Mama lifted the cloth again, water was spit up from Carrie’s lips. She lowered it, not giving her much room to breathe. She whined sharply, pathetically when she just inhaled a wet rag.

   “Please, please, Mama...” Carrie begged through breathless sobs.

   “Tell me the truth. Admit it. You know you want to. You want to damn their souls to hell for cursing you.”

    “No, Mama, I don’t--”

Carrie cut herself off with a horrid gag and water rushed down her throat, choking her.

Dying. Dying. Dying. She could feel it. Her very bones were vibrating with the knowledge that she couldn't survive. That oxygen, held away from her by nothing more than a piece of fabric, was still too far away for her to reach. That every frantic heave of her chest was drawing the water further and further down, pulling in more and more liquid.

Every fiber of her being wanted to fight, was trying to fight, but it wasn't a fight she could win. There was nothing she could do.

Unless…

   “I--”

Carrie’s squeal ended in an intense dry heave that twisted her stomach so badly she began to feel nauseous. Her head spun and the crying was adding to the extreme pain that infected her chest and abdomen.

   “Mama--”

A whimper, a whine, a keen of helplessness as Carrie’s limbs began to go limp.

   “I do!”

The bowl clattered to the ground. Mama removed the rag from her face, stared deep into her teary eyes.

   “What was that?”

   “I--” A weak sob shook Carrie, “I do. I do want to send them to hell. They made me dirty.”

She thought she’s having to lie to get out alive, but her mind is too fuzzy to know for sure... Maybe she does want them to burn for all eternity in hell.

   “You do?”

   “Yes, Mama. Yes, Mama.” Carrie bobbed her head rapidly. “I’m sorry, Mama. I’m so sorry. I should have listened.”

Mama knelt down beside her and began wiping her face off with a dry cloth. When fresh tears streamed from her eyes, she gently dabbed them away. Carrie couldn’t help but press into his touch.

   “Is this the truth, Carietta? Are you really sorry?”

   “Yes, Mama,” Carrie said with a sob. “Yes, yes, I am. I’m so sorry. I’m sorry, I’m sorry...”

   “Good girl,” Mama crooned, continuing to dry off her face.

   “I’m sorry.”

   “Yes, I’m glad you know to tell the truth, but that doesn’t change what you did.”

Ice cold fear shot through Carrie’s veins.

   “I took your gun.” She was desperate now.

   “You still have to be punished, little jade.”

She lets out a whimper.

   “You know what you did.”

The dry cloth is put over her face.

Water sloshed above her.

She wanted to say she was sorry. She was sorry. She was so sorry. She wanted to be a good, obedient daughter. She wanted to make Mama happy. She wanted her to be proud.

Drip-drip-drip

The cloth soaked up the water, slowly this time, to drag out her punishment. Carrie took a shuddering breath of air, fills her lungs as far as they can go, fills them so full she feels like they’re going to burst.

Mama’s voice echoed.

You need to be punished

The water soaked the cloth. The cloth clung to Carrie’s nose as she inhaled, clung when she exhaled, and the panic exploded in her chest. Water slid down her throat, over her neck and into her hair, over her shoulders. So cold it burns.

She’s drowning. She’s dying. She’s suffocating.

Screaming.

Her throat hurts. There’s no air in her mouth, in her lungs. She can feel the water trickling into her nose. Can’t breathe. No air. No air. No air.

The ropes on her arms loosen and then are gone. She wanted to die. She can’t breathe past the panic in her chest. She was shaking. She was dying. She wanted it to end.

Oh god, please keep pouring. Please. Please. Please. You can kill me right now.

But then the faces of Tommy and Sue and Miss Gardener flash in her head and she thought, Do I really want to die?

--

Sue and Tommy didn’t think anything could get worse than Mrs. White waterboarding her own child, but then she raised a wicked-looking switch when Carrie lurched out of the chair she had been punished in. She coughed violently and slipped in the water coating the kitchen floor, falling to her hands and knees, but jolted forward as the switch swung down at her. It just barely missed her left leg.

  “I’ll thrash the devil out of you!!” Mrs. White screeched.

Carrie catapulted herself over the dining room table to get away from her and her switch. Sue and Tommy watched as she clambered over the top, scattering porcelain plates and cups, before tipping over in a very ungraceful landing. After hitting the ground, she scrambled up again to flee, but her mother was already upon her.

   “Ma--!!”

Before she could get the word completely out, the switch connected with her back with a horrible CRACK.

Carrie doesn’t scream, but she does whine sharply at the burning sensation that had to be blazing through her shoulder blades, even with her shirt on. She scampered around like a mouse below Mrs. White, as she had easily been sent to her knees by the blow. She’s fidgeting and fumbling, trying to speak up without sounding pained, as that would make her seem even weaker.

   “Mama, please, I--”

Another lash streaked across her lower back and Carrie gritted her teeth through the pain. Her fingernails claw and catch into the floorboards, but she would have much preferred splinters uprooting her nails than this beating.

   “Worthless girl! When will you learn to obey me?!” Mrs. White roared overhead before cracking the switch against her daughter’s waist.

Carrie’s arms gave in and she toppled over onto her side. She squirmed helplessly, pushing her heels against the ground in an attempt to get away, mouth agape as she watched Mrs. White raised her arm yet again.

   “Mama--”

This time, Carrie does scream.

She does scream because the switch lashed right across her belly. Her head threw itself backwards, knocking her skull against the floorboards, but it’s not enough to lessen the searing sensation burning itself through her midsection. For a moment, she can only choke and cry out, but then the incomprehensible wail turns into words.

  “MOMMY, STOP IT!! PLEASE, MOMMY, STOP!!!”

But Mrs. White doesn’t stop. She just kept on lashing her daughter until blood is soaking through green overalls and Carrie is a shuddering, whimpering ball at her feet. Even then, she does not stop.

Not until a voice cried out.

  “THAT’S ENOUGH!!” Tommy barreled out into the den, absolutely fuming and seeing red. It surprised Sue, who had been recording the abuse on her phone in shocked silence. She followed after him quickly.

  “Don’t you hurt a single hair on her head.” Tommy warned. His fingers were clenched and shaking, teeth bared, eyes alight with rage.

  “Tommy,” Carrie coughed out weakly.

Tommy looked down at Carrie and his eyes softened instantly. He looked anguished about how he wasn’t able to go to her, not with Mrs. White poising the switch over her back. 

  “I’m here, Caz,” He murmured. “I’m here.”

Carrie made a feeble whimpering sound. She tried to look up at him, blinking through tears and water and sweat and blood, but she was exhausted from the beating and her head flopped uselessly to the ground. She panted heavily, trying to curl away from her mother.

  “I thought I threw you both out.” Mrs. White said.

  “We would never leave Carrie.” Tommy said. “Not so devilish now, huh?”

Mrs. White snorted. “You think this proves anything? I know what you people are like.”

  “I got what you did on video,” Sue said, holding up her phone. “Just so you know.”

Mrs. White laughed an awful laugh. “Oh, you empty-headed whore,” She cackled. “You think evidence is going to change anything? Everyone in the neighborhood, new and old, have heard Carrie’s cries for years and they have never done anything. Not even when police are called. Nothing is ever done, and you want to know why?” She smirked wickedly. “It’s because nobody cares.”

Sue felt a sinking feeling of dread. Would really nothing be done to save Carrie even with video evidence?

  “I care.” Tommy said. “Sue cares. So does Miss Gardener.”

------

  “I do,” Lynn murmurs, gently touching one of Carrie’s hands. Tommy and Sue both give her tight smiles, then Sue continues telling the story.

------

Mrs. White rolled her eyes. “No you don’t! You’re lying!” She nudged Carrie with her foot and Carrie moaned weakly in response. Her daughter rolled over slightly, blood squelching beneath her, and gave her her full attention, even after being beaten to a bloody pulp. “I’m the only one who cares about you. No one will ever love you except me. You’ll always be a monster to everyone else.”

Sue shivered. It sounded like some kind of chant or curse, like something Mrs. White had repeated this to Carrie several times before.

Carrie whimpered. She craned her neck slowly, wincing in pain, and looked at Sue and Tommy desperately. Mrs. White nudged her again, prodding her foot against one of the cuts along her lower back and making her look back at her.

  “She’s not a monster.” Sue spoke up, glaring at Mrs. White.

Mrs. White barked a laugh. She looked down at Carrie quivering beneath her. “Is that what you’ve made them think? That you’re just some shy, innocent little mouse?” She laughed again and turned her blistering gaze back to Tommy and Sue. “You have no idea what you’ve gotten yourselves into, children.”

What did she do? Sue thought. What has Carrie done to make her own mother call her a monster? 

And will she do the same thing to us?

  “Don’t you DARE talk about Carrie like that!” Tommy growled. “You have no right!”

  “I have every right,” Mrs. White said airily. “I am her mother.” She spread her arms in a grand gesture. Droplets of sparkling red blood twinkle on the edges of the switch she was still holding. “And I am just trying to cleanse the little devil he put inside of me.”

A tense silence descended upon the den, only broken by Carrie’s soft gasps and sniffles.

  “Who?” Sue asked quietly, reluctantly.

Mrs. White began to pace around the room, swinging the switch at her side and sending blood flying through the air in glittering crimson arcs. “I didn’t want him to put it in me. I tried to fight him.” She said.

  “Mama, please don’t,” Carrie begged weakly. She covered her ears and curled up tighter.

  “But he didn’t listen.” Mrs. White hissed, ignoring her daughter’s pleas. “He made me enjoy it. Satan gave him sin and, in return, he put a devil child inside of me.”

Oh. Sue realized with a jolt. She was raped.

Mrs. White shook her head. “I don’t hate Carrie. Far from it. If I did, she would be long dead.” She looked down at her daughter with a strange look in her eyes. “I just...have to cleanse her. Remove all her sin.” She tilted her head like Carrie was a new plastic body to decorate the crucifixes with. “And then--she will be--perfect.”

There was something very, very wrong with Margaret White. And Sue didn’t feel safe being around her any longer.

How could Carrie live with such a mother?

Mrs. White looked up at Tommy and Sue, scrutinizing them. “Does that make sense?”

Sue nodded a tiny bit and Mrs. White gave her an appraising look. Tommy, however, only fumed even more.

  “What the fuck?” He seethed. “No! Not only no, but HELL NO!” He glared at Mrs. White. “You are fucking psychotic! You can’t treat people like that! Why did I want you to like me? You’re insane!”

Mrs. White glared right back at him. “I should have known you wouldn’t understand. Men.” She nudged Carrie, who tentatively removed her hands from her ears. “Why don’t I show you why purification is necessary? Carrie, my darling little creature, show them.”

Carrie doesn’t move. Mrs. White exasperatedly rolled her eyes and grabbed her by the top of the head, throwing her to Sue and Tommy’s feet. Carrie landed with a heavy thud and a soft grunt. She looked up at the pair with guilty black-brown eyes so eerily like her mother’s. Sue shivered, finding it difficult to look at her anymore.

  “Go on.” Mrs. White waved a hand.

  “No, Mama,” Carrie whispered. She tried to make herself as small as possible.

  “Why not?” Mrs. White smirked. “Is it because you know they’ll hate you for it?”

Carrie whimpered. Fresh tears stream down her cheeks. She began to rock herself back and forth on her knees.

  “Look at that,” Mrs. White mused. “She doesn’t trust either of you at all. How sad. Some great friends you are if she can’t tell secrets to you.”

Sue felt a smudge of betrayal streak through her. What was so important that Carrie couldn’t tell her and Tommy about? Did the best friend's oath she once made them take mean nothing? She looked to Tommy to see his reaction, but there wasn’t a hint of hurt on his face. He squared his shoulders and narrowed his eyes at Mrs. White.

  “It’s her business,” He said. “She can tell us when she’s ready. I wouldn’t admit anything while being pressured, either.”

I should have reacted like that, Sue thought with a twist of guilt. Not immediately assume Carrie is a bad person. She looked at Mrs. White. She’s...so cunning. And convincing. It’s scary.

  “Tommy,” Carrie gasped from below. She gripped tightly to one of his pant legs. “Tommy, it hurts.”

Tommy dropped to his knees in front of Carrie and bundled her protectively in his arms. Blood smeared against his clothes, but he doesn’t seem to care much. Mrs. White watched with a murderous look in her eyes.

  “Shh, you’re safe. I won’t let you go.” Tommy whispered to her soothingly.

  “And just WHERE do you think you’re putting your hands?” She spat.

Tommy glared right back up at her. “I’m protecting her from you.” He said.

  “Foolish boy,” Mrs. White shook her head. “You don’t know what she could do to you.”

  “Carrie would never hurt me.” Tommy said.

Mrs. White laughed. “That’s what you think! But she could! She easily could!”

  “Mama,” Carrie wheedled. 

  “Release my daughter.” Mrs. White said. “This instant.”

Tommy narrowed his eyes at her and said, “No.”

Mrs. White’s face twisted in fury. She gripped the switch in her hands tightly and, for a moment, Sue worried she was going to strike Tommy with it.

But she didn’t.

She didn’t move.

  “Mama, please stop.” Carrie begged. She had her head twisted around to stare at her mother. Most of her wounds have stopped bleeding by now; dried blood clashed horribly with her green overalls.

  “You devil,” Mrs. White hissed lowly. 

  “I don’t want to hurt you, Mama.” Carrie whispered. Her body had gone worryingly cold in Tommy’s arms. Her voice was the sound of dead leaves rustling against pavement. “Please don’t make me hurt you…”

Mrs. White was stiff in her spot, arm half raised. The muscles were contracted tightly beneath her skin. Why wasn’t she moving? Was she scared of Carrie? And if so...why? Carrie was anything but threatening.

The next words Carrie spoke made her mother go deathly pale.

  “I’ll bring the stones again.”

Mrs. White staggered backwards, eyes wide. “You wouldn’t.” She whispered.

Thunder rumbled deeply, then cracked across the darkening sky outside like a warning. Lightning flickered in through the tightly-drawn drapes, illuminating Carrie’s eyes like ebony flames, and Sue realized they weren’t as black as she thought. There were hues of amber and red-brown, and they glowed intensely in her skull. Her gaze was hard and cold.

  “I will, Mama.” Carrie said. Her voice was drained and dry; she sounded so tired. “If you touch them-- If you dare--” She was shaking like a newborn baby goat in Tommy’s arms. She looked up at her mother with the same diseased light that had been in her mother’s eyes. “I will bring the fire down on you.”

Mrs. White dropped to her knees, falling like a bird with broken wings. She clasped her hands together and began to pray loudly, although her words were wavering and slurring together. She rocked back and forth, shaking her head like she was trying to ward off sinful thoughts from worming their way into her brain.

Carrie sucked in a sharp breath, her body shuddering in an awful, bone-shattering way. Her head flopped limply onto one of Tommy’s shoulders, panting heavily. Sweat was soaking her brow and a feverish expression contorted her face.

  “Tommy,” She gasped weakly.

  “Grab her.” Sue ordered. “Grab her, Tommy! Let’s go!”

Tommy scooped Carrie up into his arms and ran for the door, Sue tailing right behind him.

Mrs. White did not stop them.

------

  “And then we got in the car and drove here.” Sue concludes with a frown.

An uncomfortable silence descends upon the house, only broken by the pattering of rain on the window and low rumbles of thunder. Tommy shifts closer to the couch, casting Carrie yet another worried glance. His gaze practically screamed, Wake up. Please wake up.

  “That can’t--that can’t be true,” Lynn whispers. Her breath is caught in her throat in horror. There was just no way. No parent could possibly be that cruel to their own child. She didn’t want to believe it.

  “It is.” Sue says sadly. She slips her phone out of her pocket and hands it to Lynn. Estelle leans over her shoulder to see. A video is displayed on the screen. With a quaking finger, Lynn presses the play button.

And it all fell away.

Hope that the story wasn’t true, hope that Margaret wasn’t as bad as Sue and Tommy made her out to be, hope that Carrie wasn’t getting brutally abused this whole time, right under her nose, and she never did anything to help her.

Because on the screen, clear as day, is Margaret White lashing her young daughter with a whip-thin switch, splattering blood everywhere. And the agonized yowls of Carrie will echo in her ears, haunt her nightmares, for years to come, always reminding her that it was very, very real.

Lynn’s vision blurs and she realizes she is tearing up. She blinks and claws away the tears hopefully before anyone would notice, trying her best to be strong, trying to not let her facade fall and reveal that she was actually horrified. Horrified and sickened and shocked and livid. She would not let her mask fall, and not just because she was supposed to be a tough-as-nails gym coach that would make numerous students vomit during Suicides and never flinch when bones broke savagely during games. But because she has to be strong for Carrie’s sake.

And then she looks up and sees blank onyx eyes peering at her blankly and tears cloud her vision all over again.

  “Carrie!”

Tommy is the first one to react, lunging to his friend’s side in an instant, nearly falling face-first into the rug in the process. He clasps one of her hands with both of his.

  “Carrie,” He says again, this time quieter. “How are you feeling?”

  “Everything hurts,” Carrie replies in a soft, hoarse voice. She sighs. “But what else is new?”

She...doesn’t sound very surprised, Lynn realizes with an awful twist in her stomach. Like this has happened before.

Like she’s gotten used to it. Waking up in pain.

Carrie lifts her head slightly, wincing, and looks around the room. “Where am I? Why is Miss Gardener here?”

  “Hi, sweetheart,” Lynn smiles at her warmly.

  “We brought you here.” Sue says.

  “Oh.” Carrie’s dark eyes dart around again, searching, and then fall on Estelle. Her brow pinches together. “I know you.” She whispers.

Estelle moves closer. “Hello, Carrie. It’s been a long time.”

  “You were my neighbor,” Carrie says. “I asked you what breasts were. Estelle.”

Despite the situation, light laughter ripples through the room. It almost, almost eases the weight pressing on Lynn’s heart.

  “Yes, that’s me,” Estelle chuckles. “It’s good to see you again, Carrie.”

  “You called Mama a cow,” Carrie muses, slightly dazed. Sue gets up to grab the painkillers Lynn left on the kitchen counter.

Lynn gives Estelle a look that says, “You what?” Estelle returns with a crooked smile.

  “Where is she?” Carrie asks. She’s looking around more fervently now and trying to get up. “Where’s my Mama?”

Lynn feels that awful twist in her heart again. Even after what Margaret did to her, Carrie is still so attached to her mother. But after living with such a treatment all her life, she must have gotten used to it. Maybe she even learns to overlook it.

  “She’s at your house, Caz.” Tommy says, brushing back a loose fringe of hair from Carrie’s face.

  “Is she alive?” Carrie asks. Then, more softly, “Did I hurt her?”

The beat of silence and exchange of worried glances is just a bit too long; Carrie begins to whimper and cry. Tommy soothes her quickly, brushing her tears away with gentle hands.

  “She’s okay, Caz. She’s alive, I promise.” He assures her. “Shh… It’s okay.”

Carrie looks up at him and calms slightly. Lynn is impressed- out of everyone in the room, she would have thought Tommy would be the least comforting, but here he was, treating Carrie so tenderly. Perhaps the most awkward one with comfort, at least with Carrie, would be Sue, who was standing listlessly with the bottle of Ibuprofen gripped tightly in her hands. Lynn takes it from her and she and Tommy are able to convince Carrie to swallow two of the pills.

  “They’ll make you feel better,” Tommy tells her, stroking her hair.

  “Do you ever take medicine?” Sue asks curiously.

Carrie shrugs. “Sometimes. Not always. Mama didn’t--believe--in that kind of stuff.” 

With weak arms, she pushes herself up into a sitting position, despite the several arguments for her to stay laying down. She sucks in a sharp breath, the cuts along her belly straining and stinging in the open air, and she stubbornly tugs her shirt back down to shield the expanse of scarred flesh. Lynn makes a clucking noise of disapproval.

  “You shouldn’t have your clothes covering them,” She says. “They could get infected.”

Carrie gives her a wry smile, “I haven’t got any awful infections yet, have I?”

Lynn’s heart wrenched once again, like a claw was dug inside her chest and turning it to mush. Carrie looks so used to this, so used to getting up and shaking off wounds from abuse, and she hates it. She wants to take her away from that kind of lifestyle so badly.

For a long few minutes, the house is silent. Carrie is looking down, her eyes clouded and haunted; Sue is over near the window, hands gripping the sill firmly, peering out at the storm with a deeply troubled expression, like she was considering leaping out into the tempest so the rain could wash away the chill rattling through her body; Tommy has climbed up onto the couch beside Carrie and kept squeezing her hand like he was trying to remind himself that she was still there with him and still alive; Estelle’s arms are crossed over her chest and she’s considering Carrie in thoughtful silence, most likely straining her memories back to the days when she was the White’s neighbor; Lynn is currently getting her heart turned into pulp, emotions tumbling over themselves in the whirlwind that was her mind- anger, guilt, shock, fear, maternal instincts, anger again, then guilt...it was all mixing together. 

Everyone was lost in their individual thoughts, listlessly wandering the winding corridors of their own minds.

The one who speaks first is Sue.

  “Carrie,” She says slowly, turning away from the window, “why do you love your mother?”

  “Sue!” Tommy hisses, then whips his head around to see Carrie’s reaction.

For just a moment, there is a flash of anger, and Lynn so badly wants to see it come out. She wants to see Carrie get mad at her mother for the treatment she got. But it is chased off by deep sadness and confusion, like Carrie herself didn’t know why she was so attached to such a wicked woman.

  “How much do you know about her?” Carrie asks instead of answering. She looks around, including everyone in the question. “Aside from her being an extremist, how much do you know?” 

Looks were exchanged as minds were dug through for any information on Margaret White that weren’t rumors. Carrie waits patiently, a tiny, sad smile ghosting her lips. 

  “You once said,” Estelle starts slowly, “that she was ‘bad when she made you.’”

Carrie nods, her smile twitching up a little more. “My Mama,” She says, “is a delusional, accursed witch.”

Stunned silence. Carrie tilts her head at them, as if to say, “What? I thought you were waiting for me to say something mean about her?” She shakes herself out, like she was getting rid of evil spirits clinging to her, then went on, “She hates everything about the world. Men, most girls, people who follow different religions, even churches. She doesn’t trust them, so we hold our own ceremonies at the house. She’s the preacher, I’m the congregation…” She splays open her hands and looks at them as if they had nails lanced through the palms. “She hates my father the most, I think. Even though I believe she does love him still, despite what happened. And that makes her hate him even more.” She closes her fists and looks up with dark eyes. “She hates me, too. She says she doesn’t but I know. I’ve seen the way she looks at me. I remind her of him.”

  “Have you seen him before?” Sue asks softly. “Your dad?”

  “Only once,” Carrie answers. “In a picture. I look like him.”

There’s a beat of silence. Carrie runs a hand thoughtfully over her bottom jaw, looking horrifyingly calm while speaking of her home life. But there was fear in her eyes. Lynn could see it flickering in her hugely dilated red-brown-black pupils, very much there, but being stamped down. It was honestly quite startling to see her young student, who would flinch when someone simply raised their hand to ask a question, who always tried to make herself seem smaller when teams were picked for games, who had to use sign language to speak to people because she was too anxious to even verbally talk, be so reserved and nonchalant.

That was another thing- Carrie speaking so many words. Lynn doesn’t think she’s ever heard her talk so much before. She’s wanted to hear her talk, yes, but not like this.

  “If a prayer was said just a little wrong,” Carrie begins again, “if a cross was bumped and became crooked, it all fell apart for her.” She leans back, staring out the window. What is that look in her eyes? Disdain, fear, anxiety, relief about finally telling about this? “And she took it out on me over...”

  “…and over…”

  “…and over…”

  “…and over…”

Carrie’s eyes became vacant, darkening until they looked completely black, lost in the abuse that gripped her so tightly. The calm demeanor only then breaks and is replaced by intense terror and anxiety. At her side, Tommy is too stunned to react, so Lynn lunges forward, grabbing the girl by the shoulders. As soon as contact is made, Carrie begins to thrash and cries out, “…AND OVER!” 

Lynn’s grip on Carrie’s shoulders does not break, even when the girl swats fearfully at her arms in a panic. She could only stare as she seized out of control. It was like watching an exorcism happen right in front of her.

  “Carrie, stop!” Tommy pleads.

With a start, Carrie stops breathing and tightens every muscle in her body. Prolonged contact with someone who wouldn’t hurt her is starting to have an effect. Her eyes close and her spasms slow. Silence fell around the group.

Then, Carrie expels her breath and sucks in another. She grasps Lynn’s hands and gently pries them away from her shoulders; her touch is like ice.

Sue beseeches her, “What happened to you?”

And on the inside, Lynn thinks, “Is this the girl I want to take in?”

Carrie didn’t look at anyone. Shame carves deep grooves in her face. 

  “Mama says I’m different,” Carrie smolders. “That I was born from my father’s sin and that’s why--I’m the way I am. And she believes that she has to purify me and remove the devil from inside of me.” 

After a second, Carrie turns her head back ever so slightly and peers at the group around her out of the corner of her vision. There was pain in that bloody ebony eye. 

Her next three words were tight with humiliation.

  “She broke me.”

The pit in Lynn’s stomach dropped until it was a chasm. She can’t speak. Nobody could speak. Carrie looks away again, hiding her disgrace from sight.

  “My Mama damaged me in a way that cannot ever be repaired. No matter how many decades pass, I will always be just as broken as I am now. I can’t become whole again.” Her voice cracked as she mourned. “She passed her sickness onto me.”

Tommy reaches over, slowly bridging the gap between him and his dear little sister figure, but Carrie shrinks away from the hand, shaking her head and whimpering, “It’s like a curse that spreads from people to people.”

Tommy swiftly retracts his hand, and the speed at which he does so causes guilt to bloom all over his face. Carrie looks up at him with an understanding frown.

  “I will never let anyone share in my sickness. I can’t.” She shakes her head miserably. “I have to--stay away--from people. To protect them. That’s what Mama says.” She clenches her fingers into claws and anger, pain, longing, shame all flash in her eyes. 

  “But Carrie, how could you pass that sickness onto other people? Onto us?” Tommy asks. “You wouldn’t hurt us!”

Suddenly, a guilt-ridden sob tears out of Carrie’s throat and she doubles over, face buried in her hands.

Quivering, Tommy whispers, “You wouldn’t hurt me, right?”

Carrie wails. 

Everything is falling to pieces, to ashes. Lynn is frozen, unable to think straight. At her side, Estelle is frowning--like she’s seen this before.

  “You don’t want to hurt us.” Estelle says. “You don’t want to hurt anyone at all.”

Carrie sniffles and looks up from her hands. She looks absolutely miserable.

  “Would it matter if I did?” She shakes her head and looks at her hands with so much hatred. “I’m a monster. Just like Mama always says.” She covers her face again and sobs.

Lynn can see it now: Carrie wasn’t just shy and anxious and socially awkward, she was fragile, too--too fragile for the awful things she’s been through.

  “Oh, Carrie,” Tommy murmurs. Despite what had been said, he pulls Carrie securely into his arms and she lets him, curling into his warmth. “Carrie. Carrie, I love you anyway. I don’t care.”

And Carrie cries.

She cries and cries and cries for a long time. She cries until she’s reduced to weak sniffles and hiccups and can barely lift her head from Tommy’s chest. She looks absolutely exhausted by the end of it, completely drained. She is feeling the full effect of her wounds, now, and whimpers softly.

  “I have a spare bedroom,” Lynn says. “She can sleep there. She’s tired.” She frowns at Carrie’s pale face.

Tommy nods silently and carefully picks Carrie up. Lynn leads him to the guest bedroom and he sets Carrie down beneath the blankets. Her eyelids are fluttering as sleep--or maybe unconsciousness--begins to take hold of her. Tommy kisses her forehead.

  “Sleep well, Caz,” He murmurs.

Silence descends upon the house once again. Lynn, Estelle, Tommy, and Sue all sit at the dining room table with mugs of peppermint tea Estelle had made. They didn’t look at each other for a long time.

  “What are we gonna do?”

Everyone looks up. Like before, it was Sue who spoke first.

  “About Carrie.” Sue states, but it wasn’t really necessary. They all knew who she was referring to.

  “She can’t go back home,” Tommy says. 

  “But she also needs help.” Sue says. “I’m not-- I don’t know if it’s the best idea, but there’s a mental hospital in--”

  “No.” Tommy growled. “Hell no.”

  “Tommy, she needs help!” Sue says.

  “She wouldn’t last a day in a place like that!” Tommy reprimands. “You know that. And mental hospitals aren’t exactly well known for actually helping people. Locking Carrie up with batshit insane people isn’t going to fix her, it’s just going to make her worse.”

  “He’s right,” Estelle nods. “I have a cousin who was in a mental hospital for a few days. He said that both suicidal people and homicidal people were put together. So there would be someone who tries to kill themselves with any object they could get their hands on and then someone who loudly talks about wanting to kill everyone in the place in the same room. Not exactly very comforting.” She shakes her head. “What Carrie needs is a stable place to live with sane people who can take care of her. Does she have any relatives?”

  “Doubt it.” Tommy sighs.

  “She can stay here.”

All eyes turn to Lynn. Her jaw is set and she looks confident in what she said.

  “Really?” Tommy’s eyes lit up slightly in hope.

  “Yes, really,” Lynn says. “As Estelle said, she needs someone who will take care of her. I can. I /will/. And I want to.”

  “That’s a really sweet thing for you to do, Lynnie,” Estelle coos.

  “Ooooo, Lynnie?” Sue and Tommy tease simultaneously. For the first time in hours, they had real, wide smiles on their faces. 

Lynn rolls her eyes. “Watch it, Snell. I’m still your coach. I can make you run until your legs give out.”

  “But you’re not mine.” Tommy says, puffing out his chest.

  “You doubt my ability to make kids run Suicides.” Lynn smirked at him.

For just a moment, things felt good again. And maybe they would continue to be good, because if Lynn had her way, Margaret White was never going to see her daughter ever again.

[morgandria]

Moon Musings

I am on day #!^* of One Of -Those- Migraines (thanks, March), so while I’m sitting here trying not to be miserable, you’re getting some moon stuff. I have a pile of random thoughts that are trying to coalesce themselves into a coherent lunar-focused project in the future, so the moon has been on my mind. In many ways, I miss the moon. I live on a street corner in town where two separate lights shine directly on my yard, and since they installed new LED lights there's no such thing as darkness at night. Even my backyard, which would be in the shadow of the house normally, is lit since the LEDs spill farther and brighter now, and my neighbours keep their back porch light on all the time. We won't even talk about the fact that out of the last 16 months, I think we had full cloud cover for about 14 of them. That's the reality.

So this is more of the woo side. This is UPG, 100%. I often don’t use traditional names for the different Full Moons - some of them don’t resonate, so I do what works for me. Secondly, my personal lunar lore behind the names I do use is all mashed up with a whole lot of synesthesia, and some personal experiences. So...if any of this works for you or entertains you, cool. If not? No worries. Do your thing, and I’ll do mine. I also live in Ontario, and always have, so my experiences and practices are absolutely rooted here. Weather patterns and seasons won't work the same elsewhere, so you need to work with what you've got.

January: Wolf Moon

I do use a traditional name for this moon, but only because I used to go howling with the wolves in the back 40 when I was a teenager. I used to be able to take long white walks in the fields when they were all lit up, and were fortunate to have some lupine neighbours. I love the sharpness of the night sky, and finding moments of silence and stillness. More practically these days I bundle up at home away from the ice and the cold and enjoy a good cup of tea when I can. The vibration of this moon's energy always seems to bring me insomnia, though. The colours I associate with January’s moon are white, silver, red, and a deep amethyst. Other things, more randomly: birch trees, the sound of cracking ice, the hissing of river reeds in the wind.

February: Storm Moon

There’s a tempestuous feel to February’s moon for me. It’s usually the month we get intensely cold. January is often a icy, thaw/freeze mess, but February always feels like the time when Winter decides it’s time to really throw its’ weight around with some serious storms. The feel of this moon’s energy is sinuous for me, sliding around and into everything, but also fierce. There’s something profoundly cleansing about letting a sharp winter wind pierce through to your bones and strip away all the gunk cluttering up your energy. My colours for this moon are grey and deep blues, like Prussian blue or steel blue. Other things: labradorite, blue tiger’s eye, and the smell of wintergreen,

March: Crow Moon

This is the moon when my crows come back to my neighbourhood. They usually move out around the start of December, and I start to see and hear them again around the start of March. Nothing about March in Ontario is spring-like: it’s either a solid mass of ice coating everything, or faded grey-brown and thick with mud. Ugh. I actually used to camp on March break as a teenager, but inevitably it ended up with a dozen frozen teenagers in a friend's kitchen having an impromptu Sunday breakfast while I woke up and wondered where everyone'd gone. (Stir-crazy kids in the sticks with nothing to do for a week do silly things.) Nowadays, I’d rather look up at the skies than down at the earth during this moon, and I choose to focus on my corvid friends because they make me happy. Crow Moon is somehow all aquas and peacock blues in colour, and mare’s tails in impossible blue skies, and the world smells once again of fresh, clean Earth, when the ice lets it through.

April: Seed Moon

Maybe the moon where (people who are better gardeners than me) start to get their seeds in the ground. I live in a snow belt, so I don't trust myself to plant anything until May. It's still not super warm, or even remotely dry, but there starts to be hints of things like warmer sun and breezes around the edges. Later in the month you get those days where pollen and snow can fly at the same time. There's no leaves yet, but you can see the buds getting fatter. I think of it as a "restful" time during the year, before summer gets really busy with family and friends. If we're having a good Spring I might get a day or two where I can actually get outside and tidy the yard some. I associate Seed Moon with the colours of soft buttery yellow and pale peridot green, which starts to invade around the rust-brown-green background. It's a citrine month, and also one where those little blue flowers come up in people's lawns.

May: Hare Moon

We don't have hares here. I wish we did - I used to see snowshoe hares in the country when I was wee - but I have rabbits, at least. And yet, this is not "Rabbit Moon". A hare is a different beast from a rabbit entirely. They have a fierce wildness that our Eastern Cottontails do not. And for me, the moon of May, the month of Beltane and the nuptials of the Lord and Lady, have a fierce, wild joy as the world finally explodes with warmth and light and leaves and flowers. I don't ever really trust winter is gone until mid-May. Hare Moon is emerald and violet and velvet, the shadow of leaves and sweet intoxicating aromas. There's something tactile about it - you want to run your hands through it, let it brush past you and run its' fingers through your hair.

June: Mead Moon

I sometimes also call this the Honey Moon. It is the sweetest time of the summer for me, before it's mind-meltingly hot. You get those gorgeous days that are still draped in gentle grey veils of rain on the growing, swaying green fields, and the flowers are growing tall and tangled - honeysuckle, clover, alfalfa and St. John's Wort. There are bees -everywhere-, and the very first of the summer fruits are coming ripe and I spend eight months of the year absolutely dying for the four when we get local, seasonal fruit. It's an idyll, before I'm completely sunbaked and dried out in the heat. Mead Moon is all sky blue and honey gold, saffron and ultramarine. It's warm sand and cold lakes, the smell of hay drying in the fields, and long drives down country roads to escape the concrete of town.

July: Satyr Moon

This month's moon is probably the time when folks in these parts get up to the most outdoor activity. I associate it most with a kind of revelry and hedonism - hence the 'satyr'. We get people taking their vacations, heading to the cottage, the campsite, and having their reunions and parties. Concerts, fairs, festivals...we have a lot to cram into a short time. The lilies in my yard finally have bloomed their brilliant orange, by the start of the month, and July is one long stretch of pure jewel-like greens, under bleached blue skies. This is the other month, like April, where everything feels like it's just poised, waiting to explode with the brisk business of harvest. For me, this moon is natural life in its' prime, and despite my dislike of intense heat and humidity I try to remind myself to enjoy it where and how I can. Satyr Moon is an endless mosaic of greens, a heady musky smell of wood and water, cedar and leaf, shadows and firelight dancing, and distant music everywhere.

August: Barley Moon

This moon is the first harvest moon, here, when the wheat is finally harvested and all that dust in the air makes it ripe and golden and warm. Haying season will sometimes give the moon a bit of a gold tint earlier on, but not those deep amber rises I adore in August. I am an August Virgo, and I adore the Barley Moon - I mean, I quite literally worship wheat. All the first fruits of harvest are peaking, there's SO much goodness in the fields, and yet I can feel summer slowing down, and gradually waning to a bronze-green glowing that I absolutely adore. The nature of daylight changes, subtly, and I try to catch onto every sunset and fix it into my brain, to save it for those white winter days when we haven't seen even the notion of sun for weeks. When we slide from the scorch of the dog days into long, gloaming evenings and cooler nights and the hints of colour on the leaves at the end of the month - heaven. Barley Moon is wheaten and speckled browns, endless golds, blackberry and peach, the smell of dry grass and fresh corn. It's countless toasted tomato sandwiches, far too much zucchini, and penetrating spears of bronze light through the trees as the sun slides away to let the fat amber moon rise up.

September: Harvest Moon

There's no stopping harvest. This moon is when -everything- comes down, and you have no choice but to get your ass moving. You try to get as much of it off the vine while it's best. I get very hobbity when Harvest comes, and I want to be living a simple life. I start to miss home, and rural life, and my family, a lot. It feels different than my youth, and it's...wrong now, somehow. These days it's more like Second July - it rarely cools off below 20°C., it's often stupidly humid, and can be much, much warmer. Our changing climate makes it feel like a month of dragging what I dislike most about Summer out, and it just feels unnatural. Add into that everyone still running around trying to pretend like Summer isn't ending, and I do not like it much for that reason. September always ends up cluttered and rushed, just too much going on in our lives for various reasons. I wish I appreciated it more, but I don't. But there are moments: the deepening indigo of September twilights, the movement of the birds (both those ready to move on and those snatching up all the food they can before the cold comes), the exuberance of goldenrod and Queen Anne's lace and asters. Harvest Moon is indigo and wine-red, the sweetness of a frost-touched grape, the musk of a yeast-laden apple's skin, and the first cries of the migrating geese.

October: Hunter's Moon

Hunter's Moon has two sides. From the start of October, until Thanksgiving, is gorgeous, brilliant leaves and bright crisp skies. It's deep blue waters reflecting streaks of smoke and high cloud. Any time after that, it can snow. It certainly will get wet and windy, at the very least. And then everything is grey, torrents of wine-dark leaves all with that sugar-sweet rot as they lie where they fall intertwined with the smell of the cold and everyone's woodstoves firing up. I cannot tell you how much this season refills my spirit. It's always been a hunter's moon for me. Various hunting seasons start (turkey, duck, deer, then into moose later in the fall), and I have many fond memories of delicious game meat meals with family well into the spring. It was a vital part of life, and always done with respect and thanks. Hunter's Moon is grey on grey, the edges of smokey obsidian and crimson-carnelian-red. It is antler and bone and slow-burning hardwood, the hissing of the corn stalks drying in the darkening fields.

November: Snow Moon

You'll see Snow Moons all over the winter calender, depending on where you live. For me, winter starts at Samhain, and it is inevitable that we have snow here very close to that date (whether before or after). It was true living on the Rideau, and it's still true over here in the Central Ontario snowbelts off Georgian Bay. November's is another two-sided moon: there's the gold, and the grey, The gold is of a clear day's sun through the last of the golden maple leaves clinging to the branches is clarion, of wetland reeds and cow corn still standing in the now-frosty fields. The grey comes softer than October, creeping softly across lawns and windows and the brown leaves curling on the ground, and as drifting veils of snow blowing in to cover the land in its' first lingering solid coats of white. I love the world's withdrawal into silence - I too, withdraw into myself and listen to inner voices. Snow Moon is white and silver (but also pearl grey and ash and brown) and the nights are long, powdery indigo, mounted by silent owl wings, iolite eyes set in silver frames.

December: Oak Moon

This last moon is curious for me, in that I do not know precisely why I continue to use this name. I like it - it has many associations for me in my Craft - but I guess I haven't thought much about it. Many oak trees do keep some or all of their rich tannin-brown leathery leaves through winter, though, and I do enjoy their song (along with the remnants of the leaves on our ash trees) in the wind... but that's not it. Neither is the whole Oak King/Holly King construct, which I don't really engage with. I have a strong connection with a particular energy, that of an aged, Green Man sage-type spirit that comes with this moon, so perhaps that's part of it as well. I suspect it will always be a bit of a Mystery, which I'm ok with. December's night skies seem curiously leeched of their blue hues, as the nights grow longer, a velvety black glittering blanket. Oak Moon comes dressed in the deep, rich colours of the Earth element - glossy evergreens, rich brown, deepest black, and is redolent of pine and cedar, and the flash of cardinals and blue jays at the bird feeder.

I don't know if any of that is useful, entertaining, or even intelligible. I hope at the very least, it prompts you to think about how you interact with the moons of the year, and the seasons, and how you perceive the world around you.

[dingdongitsbees]

BLACK-EYED SUSAN | LEVI X READER HUNGER GAMES AU

Chapter 2: The Trip

Previous - Next

TW: mild panic attack

Work Count: 5.1k Ao3 link Ask to be added to the taglist

Second person version (“you” pronouns) can be found here

Master List

"We were inside the train car when I started to cry. You were crying too, smiling and crying in a way that made me even more hysterical."

― Richard Siken; Crush

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.

.

We were sent inside the mayor’s house, each guided into a small living room meant for goodbyes even though we wouldn’t be receiving any visitors, giving each other a quick glance as we were separated. I peered around the luxurious space; it was spotless. Oil paintings adorned the walls, the couches were covered in plush velvet and they didn’t even seem to have a dent disturbing them. The ginormous windows were covered in thick curtains, blocking anyone seeing in or out, and likely with guards on the other side in case anyone wanted to make a run for it.

I slinked back up to the door and hesitantly opened the door a crack. I looked out, seeing the grey back of a guard inches away. I looked closely and realised I recognised the blond hair that snuck out of the helmet.

“Hannes?” I whispered.

He glanced behind to me before facing forward again. He hummed quietly under his breath.

“Where’s Levi’s room?”

He stayed silent but looked around to see if anyone was watching. “Next one over, why?”

“Can you bring me over to him? Please.”

His foot beat anxiously against the floor, his looks becoming quicker.

“Please Hannes. I just want to be with him before it all goes to shit.”

He looked down at me with his mouth pursed into a firm line. He poked his tongue into his cheek and looked over his shoulder. “I’ll see what I can do, just wait.”

I paced around the room for the next minute and a half, glancing to the door every two seconds. Soon the sound of footsteps greeted me, and Hannes beckoned me over. He guided me out with a hand hovering at the small of my back down the corridor, stopping at a door whose assigned guard opened it for me. I thanked Hannes quickly and stepped into the room.

Levi looked up, sitting on the couch, his eyes going wide when he saw me. As soon as the heavy wooden door closed behind me, I ran up, him meeting me halfway, and swung my arms around his neck. He held my waist and leant his chin on my shoulder, swaying us side to side.

“You’re a fucking idiot,” I managed out.

He hummed.

We stayed there for a few minutes, hearing muffled conversations from the guards outside.

“I guess we should have stayed on the hill, huh?” I joked half-heartedly.

He drew himself back and held me at arm’s length, his face remained emotionless. His jaw locked, looking at me, his silver eyes analysing every part of my face. I gulped. A decision was made by both of us in that moment, of how we wanted the games to end, and we both knew they clashed horribly.

Silently I guided him down onto the plush rug, getting him to lay down on his back next to me. I looked up to the glass chandelier spreading light on the rest of ceiling from the ray of light that had snuck in past the curtains, it casted technicolour over the light blue paint. Our eyes raked over the shapes made, like we were cloud gazing, trying to find shapes and creatures hidden within the chaos. If I closed my eyes, I could even pretend we weren’t here, the rug threads almost felt like the grass on the hill. Almost.

But in those threads, our hands crawled to meet each other, interlocking at contact. I could feel my hand shaking within his. I kept staring at the ceiling, studying the colours as the door opened.

I glanced over to Hannes whose heart seemed to shatter at the scene before him.

It was time to go.

Levi stood and slowly lifted me to my feet. I gave a silent plead. He squeezed my hand tight.

We walked out hand in hand to the train station, ignoring the cameras that followed either side of us. The train door slid shut behind us.

.

The train’s interior matched, if not topped, the luxurious rooms of the mayor’s house. All of the chosen furniture and décor must have been in tune with the latest season, likely ahead of the waves of Capitol trends. Me and Levi could have worked our whole lives and still not have had enough money to buy even one thing that was in the room. It disgusted me; Levi felt no different.

Nick came out from a door ahead and gestured to the small table that held drinks and a tray of bite sized meals that probably had more nutrition than an entire week’s worth of what we could get. He looked down his nose haughtily at us, no doubt displeased with the smell of poverty that reeked off of us. I was once again very thankful for the fact that Hanji had stepped up to be the representative of Twelve. He glanced down to out linked hands and raised his eyebrows in mild surprise. I felt Levi hold me tighter. I didn’t need to look at him to know he was glaring holes into the older man’s head. Nick with a quiet scoff, gave a dismissive wave and left us alone.

We quietly made our way over to the table, our hands slipping out from each other’s as went to grab something.

Levi frowned as he looked at the tiny pavlova in his hand, eyebrows furrowed.

“It’s not gonna kill you,” I laughed, plopping mine in my mouth. “It’s too soon for that.”

He gave me a playful glare before taking a hesitant bite.

We quickly filled up on a few of the offered delicacies and drinks after deciding we needed as much as we could stuff into us to build up as much muscle and body fat possible in the time we had left, and food has always worked well for comfort anyway. Before we knew it, we were full, which came out of left field for both of us after not feeling it for many years. Everything felt so off.

We soon found ourselves wandering aimlessly around the room, feeling too awkward and unsure to leave until we were told we allowed to. The likely hood that we would be punished for doing so before going into the games was low, but it had definitely happened before. I peered at the abstract paintings that dotted the walls, understanding absolutely none of it, Levi looked at the diamond chandeliers no doubt thinking that it was a tasteless waste. We soon gathered by the window next to each other and looked out as the world sped past us. Everything was a blur no matter if you tried to follow something with your eyes.

“Didn’t even realise we had left,” Levi said lowly. I nodded in agreement; it was unnerving that we hadn’t even noticed the weird metal tube even leave the station, let alone going a fuckton of miles an hour.

Behind us the door slid open. We spun around and came face to face with Hanji Zoe. We both analysed her as she whistled under her breath and promptly poured herself a glass of some pungent drink that made me woozy with just the smell. She gulped half of it down immediately and gave us a quick wink and a smile before walking past us and making herself at home on one of the armchairs.

Levi looked to me and I just shrugged. I followed after her and sat on the small couch that faced her, Levi on my heels. She had already pulled out a book that she was dissecting as she took occasional sips. I coughed quietly and she looked up, mild surprise painting her face.

“Can I help you or…?” she asked slowly.

“Well,” I began, “Since you’re our-”

“Are you going to help us or what?” Levi butted in.

“Oh shit, you guys are actually serious?” Hanji spoke, putting down her book and proceeding to down the rest of her drink. “Haven’t had that in while, most just accept death at this point.”

That certainly wasn’t the most comforting news to hear but it wasn’t anything unexpected. Most reaped kids from Twelve, knowing they had next to no chance of getting home, would just spend their last days enjoying the gifts that the Capitol offered them. Might as well go out on a full stomach. Most never made it past the blood bath anyway. But not getting out of the bloodbath alive, let alone the final few, was not an option either of us had.

We both nodded and she sighed quietly, shifting in her chair and discarding her book on a coffee table.

“First things first I suppose,” Hanji said, scratching the back of her neck, “How much experience do you two have in fighting?”

“A bit,” Levi grunted. I didn’t need to say anything for Hanji to know immediately that that was a lie or at the very least a grand understatement.

“He gets into fights at school sometimes,” I answered honestly, “We both get into back-alley stuff when people and peacekeepers are giving us shit. Hunt a bit here and there too, but we don’t- didn’t really have the tools to do more impressive stuff like archery or anything like that.”

She held eye contact with me as I spoke, occasionally looking over to Levi to try and spot any holes in our story. She sat back and let out a breath. “Well, I then can say you two are already in the top half of tributes which is pretty good. Most don’t know how to make a fire let alone sock someone’s jaw, so you have an advantage there.”

I already felt myself buzzing at her words and gave Levi a quick smile which he softened at. We had a chance.

“Do you guys use weapons at all?”

“Just knives usually, or whatever’s lying around,” Levi said as he cracked his neck side to side before crossing his arms, “She can throw them though, I go in closer usually.”

Hanji’s eyebrows rose and she looked over to me to hear confirmation. I nodded.

She stood up suddenly and we watched, puzzled, as she shuffled through some draws and finally picked something out. Before I knew what was happening a steak knife was being thrown to me. I quickly caught it by the handle and looked up waiting for instruction.

She pointed to the opposite wall. “Try and stick it in.”

I stood up nervously, peering to Levi who just shrugged. I tossed it in my hand, feeling its weight. Most of its mass was delegated to its wooden handle so I had to make sure to throw it well. I drew my elbow up and threw it, spinning and cutting the air with a faint whistle, sticking itself cleanly into the dead centre of one of the oval mandalas in the patterned wallpaper, making me look way better than I actually was.

“What is going on here?!” we each spun to see Nick who had emerged from the door, the knife only half a metre from his now very pale face. “You don’t pay for the upkeep you know! Just because you’re getting a free trip to the Capitol it doesn’t mean you can do what you want!” He reached out, and with a bit of trouble, pulled the knife out and carefully placed it on the half-eaten food tray. “Outrageous,” he muttered under his breath as he walked out of the room.

As soon as the door slid behind him, Hanji snorted and broke into full out laughter. “Oh my god his face. That was actually amazing I wish I got a picture of it.” She wiped tears from her eyes as she walked back to us and fell back onto the chair. “Well, I know you’re good now at least.”

I scratched my head sheepishly. Levi bumped his shoulder into mine.

“How about you then huh?” Hanji cocked her head to him, “Can’t exactly challenge you to a knife fight on a deluxe Persian rug, now can I?”

“He’s good,” I grinned, “He’s never lost a single fight and he cuts up people like they’re paper, not going in for the kill though obviously. He’s pretty notorious for it at this point.”

“I’m not that good,” he grunted.

“Oh, are you saying you’ve lost a fight then?” I shot at him.

“Well no, but-”

“Then where’s my lie then Levi?” A mischievous glint shone bright in my eyes.

“God you’re such a brat.” He rammed his shoulder into mine only making me laugh.

Hanji had watched us as we squabbled, a soft and sad smile on her face. I could have sworn when I glanced to her, a flame of familiarity flickered behind her eyes for a moment, but it was soon gone. She coughed, getting our attention back to her.

“So, you’re both competent enough at fighting it seems,” she said, “But fighting only gets you so far when you’re freezing your ass off in a cave in the middle of the snow. A lot of the tributes will get offed just by environmental stuff and lack of water and food, of course let alone the messed-up traps they’ll leave for you.”

Levi locked his jaw. “Get to the point.”

She threw up her arms in mock surrender. “I’m getting there, I'm getting there, sheesh. What it means is that you two need sponsors.”

Levi audibly cursed.

“Precisely the problem dear Levi,” Hanji said, “They need to actually like you.”

“Why would we even need that shit-”

“Because when you’re close to starving to death, or you need medicine for an infected open wound that goes to the bone, or even just a blanket so you don’t die of hypothermia, you need someone to help you when you don’t have the resources or skill or knowledge to do it yourself.”

He looked away from us and clicked his tongue a moment before connecting with her eyes again.

“Sometimes, when they’re really liked, the fan favourite, then they’ll even drop down weapons that you weren’t able to grab at the start.” Her voice gradually became quieter. “And you don’t want to give up any possible opportunities that help get you closer to your goal.”

We both noticed her choice of words. Not a win. Our goal. She read both of us far too quickly, particularly for Levi’s liking. He looked down, arms still crossed. His arms tensed and his grip on his biceps tightened. After a moment he looked back up to her, his eyes barely visible through his hair.

“How do we get sponsors then? How do you get people to like you?” he spoke softly.

She exhaled and looked between us, her eyes moved up to the flower I still had behind my ear, and to the matching one in his pocket. “You show your likability through your relationships and interactions with others,” she said finally. “Which might mean you’ll be saved by the girl next to you.”

My eyes widened as they both looked to me.

“The Capitol audience is already likely infatuated with the way you volunteered so you could go in with her, so they already see you as a caring person and have dubbed you two a duo.” I gulped nervously and side eyed Levi who was poking his tongue in his cheek, but he glanced over to me and his face softened. “How long have you two been together?”

“Huh?” I sputtered, my face going red. Levi looked into his hands, suddenly very interested in his nails, ignoring all possible eye contact.

“Ah,” she said softly, staring at us in mild amusement. “My bad, I meant known each other?”

“We-” we started in accidental synchronicity, making us stop talking immediately.

“You talk,” Levi said quickly with a wave of his hand, still refusing to look at me. He must be embarrassed. It tore my heart just a little bit.

“Um well,” I began, “We’ve known each other like six-ish years or so? We’ve lived together for about four-five years. We met in school, but properly when we saw each other outside the fence.”

Hanji nodded, taking it all in. “Your relationship and the fact that you two seem to have almost opposite demeanours will help you two a lot I reckon. Levi can take the gruff, bad-boy type with a heart of gold, who will also likely get interest as he looks quite physically capable. You’ll be able to take the funny and kind and more approachable type of personality who still looks quite independent and reliable. If you two play those personalities up and show the duality you two hold as a pair, break their hearts with the fact that you’re going in together and don’t want to lose the other, then you’ll have a large pool of viewers, and especially sponsors, in your palm.”

“Playing a caricature sounds fucking stupid.” Levi had finally sat up and slouched his body and arm onto the couch.

“It’s a TV show,” she said simply, “They’re watching for easy to digest and easy to understand entertainment, it’s easy to promote characters that are already known and loved.”

He ran his fingers through his hair with a click of his tongue. He rolled his head over to me. “Would that shit be alright for you to do?”

I sighed. “I mean if it works then yeah, we don’t exactly have many options to pick and choose from.”

He nodded and faced Hanji once again. “We’ll do it then.”

She nodded thankfully, and pushed herself out of her chair, empty glass in hand. She rolled her wrist in circles habitually as she brought out another bottle, not even bothering to check the label and pouring her glass up to the brim again. She looked down into it, almost disassociating as she created little whirlpools in it. She swallowed and looked back up with a hollow smile on her face. “You guys should get some rest, it’s been a long day.”

I glanced up to the window and saw it was almost night-time. Before I turned back and to give a thanks, she had left the room, with a waving hand as the door slid closed behind her.

.

The day soon came to a close; we had dinner provided to us by some servers we had no idea were even there and were shown to our individual rooms.

I laid in the big bed unable to get to sleep. It was too large, too far off the ground, too soft, too quiet, too empty. I hadn’t slept in a room by myself for… for my whole life. Sleeping where you couldn’t hear the quiet breaths of someone a metre away from you, the rustling of sheets of twisting and turning in their sleep, mumbled words from sleep talking, or even just the sounds of the birds outside, the idea was so foreign to me. It was entirely silent, even the rocking of the train, or it’s connection on the rails didn’t make a noise, or not loud enough to penetrate the invincible walls and windows. It was so goddamn unnerving. I could almost hear my heartbeat.

And the fact that Levi wasn’t next to me, just to touch if I needed to, to make sure if he was still there. It was so scary, especially after today. I genuinely thought of just going to check in his room to make sure he was still there, still breathing.

I quietly cursed and tried to burrow myself into the sheets as best I could, blocking out the moonlight that came from the window. Not soon enough, I finally drifted off.

.

Where is he? Where is he? Where is he? I lurched up, drenched in sweat. Where is he? Where is he? Where is he? Where is Levi? I looked frantically around the room, my hand instinctually reaching out to my left to only to be met with cotton sheets. My hands were shaking, my breath rough and uneven. I struggled to get a full breath before another anxious shudder went through me.

Nothing here was right. None of it. None of the familiarity of home. No Levi.

I held my head in my hands as I tried to get myself together, my mind running off to routes that didn’t even make sense. Is he hurt? Is he already in the games? Is he already dead? Is he already dead after volunteering to stick with me? My fault, my fault, my fault.

Slowly I got my breathing under control. Inhale; one, two, three. Exhale; one, two, three. Repeat.

Gradually my heartbeat went back to a more acceptable speed, but the nervousness never left me. I looked over to the clock that read in large white letters “3:14”.

He was probably asleep, even with his bouts of insomnia that he got. But it wouldn’t hurt to check on him, I reasoned. To just calm down my brain and materialise him in front of me without bothering him. Quietly I got out of bed, my toes hesitantly reaching the carpet to quieten my descendance. I was momentarily thankful that we weren’t at home, so I didn’t have to worry about creaking floorboards. I tiptoed out of the door, cringing as the slight whistle of it sliding. I made my way down the corridor, following the floor lights that lit the way. Finally, after a slow and quiet minute, I arrived at his door.

I was frozen stock-still as I just stared at his sleeping form. He looked so peaceful; his usual frown gone, sprawled out reaching to the left side of his bed. It was rare that I got to see him asleep, him always falling sleeping after me and waking up before me. But when it did happen, I couldn’t help but just stare.

He looked so much at peace when he was asleep. Even on the happiest of days tension still ran through his body and face unnoticeable to most people, but it was there. The slight defence and wall that he kept up subconsciously so no one could hurt him or would dare to. It was there sometimes when he was younger when I saw him in school and just in the streets, but it stayed a permanent feature ever since Farlan and Isabel left. To be honest, I probably had something similar that I didn’t even realise I kept up. Pain and trauma just do that to you.

It added to his intimidating aura that he always had, a part that undoubtedly made him quite popular with the girls (a fact he was yet to accept). He may have been physically on the smaller side, even with his pretty well-built muscles, but the atmosphere he created when he walked in the room was unparalleled by any size.

So, when that is what you live with every day, it’s really a treat when you see it completely dissipated. I just stared at him with a soft smile, the moonlight bouncing off his cheekbones and caressing his eyelashes. He was beautiful.

I took a step forward, and then another, getting closer and closer until I could hear his light breathing. A voice in the back of my head was telling me to stop but I was far too sleep deprived, stressed, and drunk off beauty that I pushed it away without a second thought. I slowly lifted the corner of his sheet and slid my leg in, the rest of my body following. I tensed as the mattress dipped to accommodate to the new weight, terrified he would wake up. But he just appeared as if he was fast asleep. I eventually set myself in, and with one more look at the sleeping face in front of me I closed my eyes.

As I started to drift off, I heard shuffling and soon an arm was pushed under the arc of my neck, its attached hand pulling me a bit closer, hand in my hair.

“Sorry for waking you,” I whispered, keeping my eyes closed.

“Don’t worry about it,” he mumbled.

He played with my hair gently, his fingers weaving between the strands, and quicker than I thought possible, I was out like a light.

.

I felt the sunrays through the window warming my cheek to bring the grave news of the day’s arrival, but I kept my eyes closed, desperate to get some more sleep. I heard some groans of waking next to me, his arm tensing and untensing beneath me, no doubt trying to alleviate some of the numbness. He continued the rustle the sheets with his small stretches but kept his arm where it was. He suddenly went quiet and I desperately focused on making my breathing slow and rhythmic.

I felt a tingle of contact touch my cheek before quickly disappearing. Then after a very long minute, two fingers met my skin and gently caressed my face, scared to add too much pressure. He did it for a while, how I managed to keep up the act I wasn’t sure, but I wasn’t about to “wake up” for both of our sakes.

Rivalling the volume of a heartbeat, a murmur was let out. “I’m sorry.”

His hand drew away from me and all I was left with was the feeling of dread.

After counting to ten minutes in my head I cracked open an eyelid lazily. Levi was turning his head away from me before I even had the time to make eye contact.

“Were you admiring my good looks Levi?” I managed through a yawn, offering a tired smile. “That hard to look away from huh?”

He just rolled his eyes, not bothering to send me an empty threat.

I laughed to hide the beating heart that was going crazy in my rib cage, sure to reach to his arm that he was still yet to move.

“I’ll leave you alone for a bit, sorry I snuck in last night.” I rose and jumped off the bed. He opened his mouth a sliver before closing it. He gave a wave of the hand and I was out the door.

As soon as his door slid shut behind me my face dropped and I did a mini repeat of the night before, trying to calm my breathing.

What the hell was that about?

Still in my pyjamas, I wandered out to the dining carriage, wiping the sleep out of my eyes. Hanji gave me an equally matched wave and went back to buttering her toast. As I was eating a pastry of some sort, a groggy Levi found his way in as well.

“Morning sunshine,” Hanji greeted.

I was sure I heard a mumbled “Shut the fuck up” making me laugh. He looked at me with a soft smile and slid in a chair across from me.

Hanji talked most of breakfast, going over the basics of finding and creating shelter, getting water, when to make fires, etc. We listened with our eyes half open but our brains stayed locked on to every piece of information we could get.

“You guys are more likely to get a dryer arena I reckon because we haven’t had one in a while,” Hanji spoke, playing with her cold soup, “So you’ll have to be ready for that, I mean you should be prepared for-”

She cut herself off looking out the window and we followed her gaze. The Capitol’s skyscrapers had dug their way into view, only the dam outside of the city separating us now.

“You guys want to seem likeable yeah?” She changed topic quickly and we nodded hesitantly. “This is your first opportunity then. We’ll be arriving at the station and hundreds of people would have come to get a glimpse of everyone that arrived, no doubt some looking for you two in particular. So just, give them some waves or something, interact a bit.”

We nodded and wiped our mouths with the serviettes, situating ourselves on the couch by the window. Soon the train went underground, cement walls being our only view before colour suddenly burst in front of us. Wigs of all colours of the rainbows, clothes big and small, tight and bulky, glittery and mesh. It was a goddamn eyesore. But matched with the alien clothing was smiling faces with energetic waves, reaching over to the train to get a glimpse. We were zoo animals.

I plastered on a smile and waved down into them, getting excited ones in return. A rose was lifted to me by a young boy, and I touched my heart dramatically, mouthing a “thank you”. Levi next to me stayed with his arms crossed looking at me, slightly clicking his tongue at my reaction to the rose but said nothing. I kicked his foot lightly and gave him an eyebrow raise. With a grumble he turned to them too, nodding at their greetings. He waved at a few small children that had been lifted up by parents, who with little fists gave waves back. I few girls, unsurprisingly waved frantically to get his attention, he waved back weakly, we watched them go into giggles and blushes still somehow not blocked by the copious amount of makeup. I locked my jaw slightly and looked away, trying to ignore it. A pretty girl, one that even the over-the-top Capitol look couldn’t hide the beauty of, waved up to Levi who gave her a soft smile in return.

I distracted myself quickly with the camera crew I had managed to notice, following us from behind the crowd along with the moving train. I quickly nudged Levi and pointed out to the camera. Levi scowled melodramatically and I gave the most charming smile I could muster. I elbowed him as a show and he started waving apathetically at the crew.

Show your duality together, echoed in my brain. I turned to him.

“You think they would all get robbed immediately as soon as they stepped foot into Twelve?” I asked, glad to have insulated walls.

He chuckled, “We would have been the ones to rob them.” I tried to purse my lips to not laugh but I broke into a grin and cackled.

When I glanced back to the window it was now cement again, the bustling station now far behind us. I let a breath fall out of me and got up to get dressed, ready to finally leave into the death trap city.

.

.

.

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[thelemoncoffee]

wrote a 'short' HPA Au fanfic; i was just kinda bored and in the mood to write something rainy

Story below the cut

Soft rain drops soaked the town below the grey blanketed sky, cooling down the mid spring afternoon; shops closed up for the day, workers scampering off to get home before their clothes soak, cars disturbing the resting puddles they ride through as they pass half empty buildings and narrowly miss splashing pedestrians. The day cooled with each drop that fell, and the sun started to give up fighting the clouds, falling towards the horizon to call it a night. Out of all the people who scampered about, keeping the city's heart pulsing a few more minutes as they made their ways to warm homes and dry shelters, only one soul was there to stay a while.

Rain seeped slowly into the red cotton hoodie that was worn to temporarily protect a beige school uniform, the shoulders and hood heavy with the collected raindrops, successfully rendering the item useless as the beige overcoat beneath soaked up the water. The owner didn't mind the feeling, no he quite liked it; he loved the rain, how it feels, smells, sounds, it was like a comfort item in the form of weather. The drops soaked the ends of purple-blue locks that stuck up every-which-way; collecting then dripping from the tips of some, while pressing others to paper pale skin, skin with an extra pale dusting to hide the flicks of freckles that paraded across the fair boy's small body.

He knew he'd have to catch a train soon, but didn't really want to go home yet, not when he knew the rain wouldn't follow him towns away, it was making its journey the opposite direction and had probably already given his home a visit. Alas, he knew if he missed another train to linger in the city a while longer, he'd be stuck there, towns away from his comfy bed for the night, he had  already overstayed his usual time amongst the tall towers. He took a deep breath as he lingered on the curb edge, a puddle of resting water collecting in the dip just beyond the tips of his shoes; lavender eyes scanned the black strip of asphalt back and forth till he forced his body to move forward in a sprint, careful to not to disturb the puddle. he stopped on the other side, face to face with a lush park, the train station only the other side of it; he stepped through the threshold of the park's intricate black metal archway hesitantly. The boy lingered just past it to look up at the under appreciated art, smiling softly at the raindrops that collected on it's woven bars and dripped down in drops big enough to soak his palm had he reached out to catch one.

He shook his head as a reminder to himself of his task to get home, putting one foot in front of the other as he trudged on through the park, taking one of the many winding paths that lead to the old station. He left his body on autopilot, trusting it to carry him in the right direction, his mind wandering to the beautiful gardens and trees of the park; beautiful flowers bloomed in beds and on bushes, ivy wove itself through parts of the metal fencing that framed the little slice of nature, trees arched over the paths and reached up at the sky. The rain sparkled against the fragile velvet petals of the sweet scented flowers, and dripped off the waxy surface of leaves. Lampposts flickered to life on their usual timer, signalling to the boy truly how late it had been, their light becoming dominant over the deep gold that seeped through the clouds at the horizon. he muffled a swear under heavy breath and picked up his pace, bringing his saunter to a jog and narrowly missing puddles in the uneven sidewalk.

He managed to make his way through the park in time to rest a while at the station before having to board the train and ride to the end of the line; he sighed and leaned against the outside of the shelter closing lavender eyes and breathing in the sweet smell of the rain. Peacefully he stayed there, simply passing his time by enjoying the weather he loved so. His peace was slightly disrupted by the sound of dress shoes scuffing the concrete towards him in a slightly panicked fashion; at first he assumed it had just been another person wanting to catch the train, frantically scampering for cover from what himself thought of as damp bliss, but that assumption rang wrong as the person's familiar voice called his name

"Ouma-kun!" the voice made his heart leap, not just in surprise, but in another, more saccharine emotion he kept buried away.

Ouma opened an eye as the steps stopped in front of him, he was greeted by the sight of A taller boy, blue locks of hair hidden beneath a cap worn with love and age; a big black pea-coat covered a skin tight turtleneck sweater. The boy sported a worried expression, glints of confusion in moonlit eyes that were perfectly framed by black mascara as he gripped tightly to the handle of the yellow umbrella he held to shield himself from the rain.

A soft sigh slipped from Ouma's lips as he opened the other eye, both lavender meeting the moonlight "hello Saihara-chan"

"what are you doing out here this late? and in the rain?" he worried "you're soaked"

Ouma let out one of his signature giggles, bringing a sleeve covered hand to his lips "i could ask you the same, what are you doing out here?"

"i was heading home from work, then i saw you" Saihara paused a second "i've never seen you outside of school, it was really weird to see you running through the park, still in uniform no less"

Ouma pushed himself off the side of the shelter and adjusted his clothes, pulling the soft red cloth over the tips of his fingers "i decided to hang around a while before heading home, what's the harm in it!"

"you could have gotten a cold, why didn't you head home and change into something more fitting for the weather at least?" Ouma stifled a flinch at the almost motherly tone the taller boy used; of course he never told a soul in this town he lived far off in a small humble town, it was his little secrete to keep in fear of judgement for where he was raised clouding his peer's views on him. He couldn't blame Saihara for thinking he could pull off such a feat. Instead of saying anything Ouma only shrugged, earning a huff from Saihara. "Ouma that isn't an answer"

Ouma glanced down the train track, hoping the train would come soon and rescue him from the unwanted situation "i just didn't want to"

"that's a lie, isn't it" Saihara claimed, nearly certain in tone. Ouma glanced up at him before looking back down the track, pulling the checkered scarf he hid beneath the hoodie over his mouth, he knew Saihara was a good detective when he wanted to be, but now was not the time he should bother actually trying. "please don't ignore me, i'm just worried about you"

Ouma snorted in amusement "why? you never are at school, when Harukawa tries to strangle me to death, when your supposed best friend lashes out and tries to punch me- Why be worried now, when i'm not in danger?" the other fell silent, Ouma looked up at him and cocked a brow, seeing the guilt written in his classmate's eyes.

"Ouma i don't mean to be that way i just can-"

"Can't ruin your friendship with Momota just because you want to learn about me?" no response rang back, Ouma sighed and shook his head, spotting the train's headlights in the distance "you know, he may be a total douche to me, and rightfully so, but he won't stop being friends with you for hanging out with me. Hell, the guy is dating my best friend"

Saihara's shoulders relaxed a bit "I guess.... Hey wait-!" Ouma giggled at the sudden outburst, the 'great' detective realizing what the smaller boy did "How did this end up being about me? i came over here to ask you why you're out here like this"

"i'm just that good at throwing you off track!" Ouma laughed, hearing a slight chuckle slip from the other's lips, the sound making his heart flip, a light blush hidden beneath pale makeup "if you must know Saihara-chan, it's because i live in another city, it would have taken too long if i went home to change"

Saihara smiled softly, seemingly satisfied enough by the only proper answer he was going to get "alright, just, next time you do this, make sure you have something better to change into on hand"

"yeah yeah, don't mother me. you aren't Tojo-san, you don't have mom friend power over me!" the sound of the train softly screeching to a halt at the station silenced the duo, and the trains door's opened up, some passengers stepping out and fleeing from the rain "that's my ride, farewell my beloved"

Ouma bid the taller adue with a dramatic bow and scampered towards the train, "see you tomorrow Ouma-kun" was the last thing Ouma heard before the train's doors closed behind him. He took a seat by a station-side window and waved through it at Saihara, who gave a quick wave back before starting to walk back the way he came.

Ouma slipped his messenger bag bookbag off his shoulder and tugged the soaked hoodie off, folding it up and leaving it atop his bag in the seat next to him. He let out a sigh and leaned back against the worn cushions of the train's chairs, shutting his eyes a few moments as the train lurched forward. He listened to the soft rain hitting the window and the rhythmic chugging on the train's engine, letting it lull him into a peaceful rest as the train carried him homeward.