#breezys prop packs

[dread-red-queen]

🚫 Do Not Re-Upload/Edit My Shots/Art Without My Permission🚫

             [Pillowfort][Instagram][Tumblr][AO3][Nexus][Ko-Fi]

This might just be my favourite Prop pack by @breezypunk XD lots of fun horror props to play with hehe

[breezypunk]

nibbles deserves all the comfort :3

comfy living/home decor prop pack coming soon <3

[theviridianbunny]

happy halloween to those who celebrate the holiday ~ ! --- the scares and screams props by @breezypunk is out now (( thank you for making this pack Breezy - you've enabled me to make the most silly girlboss crossover - in a strange way I think Edith and Pyramid head would be besties XD))

[thelonestrider]

Breezy's halloween prop pack soon

[firstpersonnarrator]

Review: Robert Sheehan in Withnail & I

Dynamically staged and energetically performed adaptation

Source: TheStage .co.uk (X)

“Adonis Siddique and Robert Sheehan share a sweet, bickering energy, their obvious affection for each other taking the sting out of their constant arguments… Sheehan infuses sozzled, self-loathing aristo Withnail’s every iconic line with bumptious theatricality. All plummy-voiced deliveries and huge, arm-flailing gestures, he is self-consciously funny, putting on a flamboyant act to shock or amuse onlookers.”

“Relating the misadventures that befall a pair of luridly alcoholic struggling actors during a wet weekend in the Lake District, Bruce Robinson’s brutal black comedy Withnail and I quickly became a cult hit after its 1987 release. Wallowing more in nostalgia than drug and drink-induced dissipation, this cheerful stage version – adapted by Robinson and directed by Sean Foley – follows the original beat for beat. All the most quotable moments are intact, frequently drawing cheers from the clued-in audience. But it all feels safe and somehow sanitised, lacking the scuzzy charm and reckless momentum of the film.

“Stepping into iconic roles originated by Paul McGann and Richard E Grant, Adonis Siddique and Robert Sheehan share a sweet, bickering energy, their obvious affection for each other taking the sting out of their constant arguments. As Marwood (the story’s unreliable narrator and the ‘I’ of the title), Siddique is gentle, wary and sometimes intensely paranoid, visibly uncomfortable in his own skin. Opposite him, Sheehan infuses sozzled, self-loathing aristo Withnail’s every iconic line with bumptious theatricality. All plummy-voiced deliveries and huge, arm-flailing gestures, he is self-consciously funny, putting on a flamboyant act to shock or amuse onlookers.

“Malcolm Sinclair handles the role of Withnail’s wealthy gay uncle Monty with delicacy, convincingly reframing the character as desperately lonely rather than as an overt homophobic stereotype. His aggressive pursuit of Marwood is played off as a farcical, faintly sad misunderstanding, rather than the act of a sexual predator.

“Foley’s staging is vigorous and inventive, smoothing off the story’s rougher edges with a high-tempo pacing and a fun, flippant tone. Every scene ends on a familiar punchline, and the talented actor-musician ensemble inject even more energy with live accompaniment, breaking into driving Hendrix riffs and groovy snatches of the Doors and the Kinks.

“Much of the production’s dynamism comes from Alice Power’s extraordinary set, which shifts between locations with breathtaking speed, from seedy pubs to a mouldering Camden bedsit to a Penrith tearoom. At one point, Power even smuggles in a battered old Jaguar, making precise use of sliding screens to conceal the quickest of these changes, while props and furniture glide through hidden doors. Seamlessly integrated video and lighting from Akhila Krishnan and Jessica Hung Han Yun respectively paint winding country roads and miserable London tower blocks, while psychedelic effects ripple across the walls in queasy tones of velvety purple and lime green.

“It all rattles by at breezy pace, and although the play lacks the acidity and bite of the film, this remains an entertaining, satisfyingly skewed sitcom packed with eminently quotable lines that will linger in your head like an unshakeable hangover.”

[reyesstrand]

dream this night away

8.4k - tarlos - m

It should be ridiculous. TK wishes he could be mad, or annoyed, or anything but focused on how completely in love he is with the man in front of him. The man who's done the best with what they have and thrown open the windows in the now dimly-lit motel room to let in fresh air, the floral-print curtains gently billowing in the breeze. Carlos has propped his phone against the coffee machine, soft music filling the small space around them, and he's in one of the linen shirts they'd packed for days walking around seaside streets...not waiting out a cancelled flight in Dallas.

Or, TK and Carlos go on their honeymoon. Sort of.

For all they've gone through to get here, the wedding thankfully goes off without a hitch. 

TK was certain something would happen, as the universe has never really been interested in steering clear of them when it comes to inflicting disaster, but it feels like he can finally breathe again when they realize everything is going to plan. The weather is perfectly sunny and warm but breezy, so they aren't sweltering in their suits, and their friends and family arrive without incident. Even though they lose track of him half an hour before the ceremony, they find their officiant hunting down a can of Coke; not suddenly sick somewhere as they feared. Their rings are safely tucked away and the flowers are beautiful and as Carlos' cousin—who attends a fairly prestigious music program in Houston—starts playing the violin to welcome them down the aisle, it hits TK that this is really happening. 

It hits him that everything is going to be okay. 

"You're bouncing," Owen whispers to him, jostling his shoulder lightly. His dad's smiling, though, and definitely holding back tears as he helps straighten out TK's jacket while they wait for their cue. 

"I just can't wait to see him," TK says, glancing out at the crowd. Even though he loves everyone here, they're practically faceless blobs as his vision blurs out anyone that isn't the love of his life. 

continue on ao3!

[eazy-group]

How To Cook When Camping In The Rain

New Post has been published on https://eazycamping.net/how-to-cook-when-camping-in-the-rain/

How To Cook When Camping In The Rain

Camping on a rainy day can be challenging enough as it is. Imagine preparing and cooking food while trying to keep everything else in your tent safe and dry.

That said, a sudden downpour should not prevent you from recharging with a nice, hearty meal. With proper planning and preparation, you can discover the joys of outdoor cooking even when the weather takes a turn for the worse.

In this article, we will share 10 helpful tips on how to cook when camping in the rain. We will also cover the most common questions that beginner campers tend to have about choosing the right equipment and minimizing potential safety hazards.

Our top 10 essential tips for cooking in rainy weather

We’ve had our fair share of sudden downpours and thunderstorms while camping. Over time, we learned practical ways to prepare tasty and filling meals no matter what kind of day it was.

You don’t have to go through the same trial and error. Check out below the 10 points you should keep in mind when you are planning your trip.

1) Portion meals in Ziplock bags

Resealable plastic bags can be your best friend in keeping your food supplies organized, prolonging their shelf life, and preventing them from getting soaked in rainwater. They can also serve as your makeshift plate to reduce the cleanup afterwards.

Pack your food in single-serving portions and label each bag with the name and packing date. Then, store them in a cool, dry place until mealtime arrives.

2) Wear waterproofs when cooking

Layer on your raincoat, waterproof hat, socks and boots before heading outside to cook. Doing so will allow you to focus more on finishing your meal preparation while preventing hypothermia.

Avoid wearing loose-fitting gear. No matter how robust the material is, it may still catch fire while you are cooking over an open flame.

3) Waterproof your backpack to keep food dry

Much like waterproof tents, a backpack with an excellent waterproof rating should be considered as part of your camping essentials. It is not just meant for your clothes and valuables.

Remember, you have limited storage options while out in the wild. Leaving food lying around can also attract pests and predators. Store your packed meals in a waterproof backpack to protect them from moisture, bugs, and other elements.

4) Set up a camping tarp

If you must prepare large meals, we recommend propping up a tarp to keep the rain away from your designated cooking area.

Fasten the corners on tree branches or poles at an angle to prevent rain from pooling above. When needed, lower one edge of the tarp and use it to shield you from raindrops and gusts of wind.

5) Pop open a trekking umbrella if needed

Some campers don’t mind a light shower when exploring nature. However, the same cannot be said about outdoor cooking.

An easy solution for such days is to set up a trekking pole over your camping stove. Position it at a level where you don’t have to worry about trapping the steam and fumes beneath it while also serving as protection from the rain.

6) Avoid cooking in your vestibule

We understand how tempting to stay and cook within the safe confines of a vestibule. Don’t make this mistake since you will expose yourself to toxic fumes.

Remember, you should only use a camping stove in a well-ventilated space, even when it rains. Outside the tent is ideal in most cases. If not, leave the tent windows and doors open while cooking.

7) Use the correct stove

A liquid fuel stove is a wise investment, especially if you intend to go camping throughout the year. This type is consistent, eco-friendly, and compatible with many top-rated winter camping tents.

We recommend pairing your stove with a screen or a small rock wall to keep the flame going during breezy days.

8) Bring a lighter for quick fires

Have a lighter on hand when you are cooking, no matter if it is sunny or rainy. It’s a convenient tool to start a fire or relight a stove, particularly when your fingers are too slippery to deal with traditional matches.

Be careful in handling the lighter fluid, though. Store this device in a plastic bag when not in use to avoid spillage on your gear.

9) Place your campfire just on the edge of your tarp

Whether the rain is pelting straight down or from the side, you must position open fire near the edge of your tarp and away from the sloping angle.

By doing so, the heat and smoke can flow out to the open space unimpeded. It will also prevent your tarp from getting damaged by being too close to the flame.

10) Keep positive and enjoy the experience

When the dark clouds start amassing just when you’re about to prepare a meal, don’t panic! Learning how to cook when camping in the rain is more than just having the proper tools. It’s also about gaining a positive mindset.

Remind yourself that camping can be enjoyed regardless of how fine the weather is. Therefore, when the raindrops start falling, take the opportunity to experience outdoor cooking with a few added challenges.

Don’t Let the Rain Dampen Your Spirits

Camping can be enjoyed across all seasons with a bit of planning and preparation. Aside from picking the best waterproof tent, it would be in your best interest to learn valuable skills for your enjoyment and peace of mind.

As demonstrated in this article, learning how to cook when camping in the rain is essential to experience nature in all its forms. We can try our best to time our trip when it is less likely to rain, but there are no such guarantees, as we can attest through our years of experience in wild camping.

We hope the tips shared earlier have boosted your confidence in outdoor cooking during rainy days. Keep them in mind as you consider what to pack for your next camping trip.

FAQs about cooking when camping in the rain

Can a camping stove get wet?

As much as possible, protect your camping stove from excessive moisture. Water can damage the valves and prevent the stove from igniting. The risk becomes higher if you use an electric model, which can also cause physical harm to you. In case your stove becomes soaked, please refrain from using it until it is completely dry again.

How do you keep a campfire burning in the rain?

This is only possible if you build your campfire in a sheltered location—for example, under the trees or a tarp. Then, to keep the flame going, use dry tinder and kindling. Add them slowly because too much may smother the fire. We also suggest using a metal screen or wire mesh to protect it from the wind.

How can I make camping in the rain enjoyable?

The key is to plan well. That means packing the waterproof camping gear and finding a campsite that is safe from flooding and strong winds. While you might be disappointed when you cannot head outside the tent during a heavy downpour, you can keep yourself entertained by reading your favourite book or playing indoor games while waiting for the weather to brighten up again.

How do you keep a tent dry in the rain?

Water leaks and seepage are some of the most common tent problems faced by campers who do not know how to choose a suitable model. If you did bring waterproof camping gear but the issue persists, you may use a tarp to lessen the amount of rainfall directly hitting your tent. A groundsheet can also shield you from the wet ground. Remember to maintain proper air circulation to prevent moisture build-up inside the tent.

Can you cook under a camping tarp?

Yes, but you must set things up correctly to ensure your safety. Secure the tarp at an angle to protect you from the rain and wind. Place your camping stove near the tarp’s edge to avoid trapping heat and smoke in your cooking area. Remove all flammable materials nearby and have a fire extinguisher on hand in case of an accident.

Can you cook in an open tent?

Yes, though we don’t advise doing so. However, if you have no other choice, use only a camping stove designed for indoor use. That equipment has safety features against accidental fires and toxic fumes. Pay close attention to the stove at all times and switch it off immediately when you are done cooking.

How high should the tarp be over the fire?

The ideal height varies depending on the actual situation, but positioning the tarp around 2 meters above the ground generally does the trick. You might have to place it higher if you have an intense flame that produces a lot of smoke. Conversely, lowering the tarp may also be needed if the rain is pelting down sideways or if the wind is blowing too strongly.

How to use a tarp over a fire?

First, look for trees or use trekking poles to support the tarp. If possible, the location should also be sheltered from too much rain and wind. Arrange the tarp so one side slopes downwards while the opposite side is high enough to prevent the build-up of excess heat and smoke underneath.

Can I use a gas burner inside the tent?

Yes, but it is not recommended due to the safety hazards involved. If you really must use one, select a model intended for indoor use. Open the tent door and windows to minimize the risk of carbon monoxide poisoning. Place the burner on a stable, non-flammable object, and remove all combustible materials nearby.

How much rain is too much for camping?

Though many heavy-duty tents promise to shield you from extreme weather conditions, you should exercise caution, nevertheless. Before going on your camping trip, check the most recent weather forecast. If the precipitation rate exceeds 7.6mm per hour, the rain is likely too heavy for you to stay safe and enjoy the outdoors.

Can you use a camping stove in the rain?

Yes, as long as you prepared well for it. Look for a secluded area that is shielded from the rain and wind. Use a tarp, trekking umbrella, or metal screen as further protection against the elements. Remember to wear waterproof gear and bring a fire extinguisher to ensure your safety, too.

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[running-with-kn1ves]

Hi! If you're still taking requests... maybe another male yandere!werewolf x reader?

Maybe where the reader saves the werewolf's life and his gratitude turns to love turns to yandere attitudes? something like that?

Hello!! Thank you so much for requesting :D (girl I was so scared I was talking to myself thank you 😭🤚)I have come to deliver >:) this is a continuation of my last werewolf story; I decided to continue it bc I really havent fleshed out his character at all! So here he is, our stereotypical "alpha wolf male" dude bro :D.

Yandere Werewolf! Male x GN Reader

• On a breezy late night, you found yourself strolling through the woods looking for mushrooms. The fae never touched the mushrooms during the witching hour, which allowed you to take them first.

• Unexpectedly an enormous wolf-like being was visible in your path, laying in a clearing of the trees. Immediately you ran to the beast, checking if it had any chance of survival. The faintest breath left its mouth, giving you the small semblance of hope.

• You struggled to pull the thing onto your wagon; which was better than nothing for carrying a large creature home. Bringing it inside, you pulled the otherworldly beast onto your bed, dirt and blood easily staining the sheets. • Propping the creature up for inspection, you noticed several bullet holes within its chest- all barely missing its heart. You frantically worked to find a remedy that would heal such deep punctures. Taking out the shells was a difficult and gruesome task, but it helped you nurse the being back to health. The sky grew to light quickly; before you knew it, you had fallen asleep while bandaging the last wound. Waking up that morning, you found the beast gone, it's only proof being the mix of debris and blood smeared onto your bed. • Days after, you began to find dead animals placed outside your home. It started out small, with birds and squirrels, but soon progressed to larger animals. You originally thought it was the feral cat that would sometimes hang around your home, but no cat could kill a mountain lion. You never ate the animals, burying them instead one after another. • This compassion, and care for the living things around you, is what drew Elias in. He could hardly remember the night you nursed him back to life, but your face, and the soft gentle hands that touched him with so much care, were enough to pique his interest. Your gentleness was the type of which he could never have: soft and kind, with good and lovable intent. Elias was always harsh when trying to be kind; even when he had such genuine intent, he somehow managed to always hurt someone. • Before he knew it, he wasn't just watching you every now and then- it became everyday. He didn't want to, he didn't know why he was doing it in the first place! Something about you... whether it was the way you would so gently caress your plants, or the way you'd smile after seeing a few animals in the woods scurry along, something about it drew him to... infatuation. • Atleast that's what his "family" said. Such a group consisted of several other lone shifters who had no one else to rely on. Elias didnt particularly care for them, but they provided decent comfort in times of shifting, and daily life. He never had intentions of staying, or leaving that group of loners. So far his life had been a train wreck of moving place to place which depended on how stable enough it was to live in. That "pack" was just the same. He scoffed at the way they called themselves a group; a family. They were just a bunch of rejects bumming off one another. • They didn't approve of his close watch of you. But.. he could see a REAL life in that comfy cottage. Watering the plants with you, going out hunting to bring home supper, you scolding him after he accidentally crushes the perennials. And you.. youd be there to comfort him when he turns every full moon, there to give him support and love. Youd be there to greet him when he comes back home; naked and scratched up and afraid. He'd even take being chained up for the night if it meant you'd be down there in the morning when the transformation was over. • Every night he dreamt of being in that little cottage with you. Sure, you had only met him once, but isn't that how all the fairytales paint it out? One meeting and the prince and princess fell madly in love. • He was so ecstatic thinking about the future: children, running around in the gardens, his old "pack" rotting without him. He wouldn't be bolted to the ground along side the rest of them anymore. That "better for society" bullshit made him want to desecrate a village rather than keep the peace. Being stung over and over again by the silver chains was no route for a "good society." He would do it for you though.. if it was necessary. He'd allow himself to be chained if it kept you and his possible future children safe. • It had been a month since you last saw him, dripping blood all over your hardwood floors. Elias couldn't take it anymore; watching you from a distance, it wasn't enough. He hated the fact that you lived

without recognizing his presence. He would have gone up and talked to you, if it wasn't for the fear of you running away and screaming. After all, he was utterly h u g e. Anytime a normal human saw him, immediate fear flashed over their face. The only people who ever saw him as "normal" were his own kind- and even then, some of the weaker few were terrified. It was like he would never be free of this curse from the moon. • As days passed by, you got increasingly more worried about the woods. Fewer and fewer animals would border your home, something driving them away. You didn't know what it was, but the strange shadows illuminating your house, watching you, were eerie. • All you did in life was what you needed to, to survive! Why was this... thing.. targeting you? Was it a demon coming to torture you after all your misdeeds? You were afraid and unsure. • Elias noticed your growing anxiety and anticipation. Due to such reactions, he felt the need to resort to some methods that would be seen as...unseemly. Sure, a witch in the woods isn't the most reliable, but she sure as hell knew how to brew a good love potion, and by all things good Elias would get his hands on it. He didn't WANT to force your love but.. what choice was there? There was no way you'd go willingly. It was clear enough that the rest of the pack didn't agree either. One of the bigger few tried to take him down, stop him from "corrupting" you, but the larger male werewolf had too much drive to let a mere mutt break him down. • Elias didn't find hurting others fun, but it was necessary to get you in his clutches. So what if a few savage beasts from his "family" got a bit mangled and bloody? The rest of them would survive, they can do without a few of those "peace seeking" mongrels. What was left of the pack would no longer accept him at that point without fear, and he was glad to be rid of them. No point having ties with them any longer. • Elias' obsession grew, he couldn't resist the idea of winning your affections any longer. Visiting the elderly witch, Elias was ready to give up just about anything to win you over. He wasn't ready to force you without some kind of buffer. "Just a few drops," the elderly woman told him "nothing less, nothing more, lest you create something dark." • Her foreboding warning was ominous, but Elias wasn't afraid; he would love you no matter what plagued you both. He wouldn't allow himself to screw up. Even though gaining that potion cursed his future children with the same beast-wolf transformation, he didn't mind. He would have you, and they would survive just as he did. The witch was really getting the poor end of the deal. • And with careful precision, a few dead deers as a loving gift, and the perfect potion on a tomato plant- Elias got his way. Sneaking into your garden was a bit difficult, as you were carefully alert as to whom entered and what was tampered with. But eventually, he managed to pour a few fluorescent pink drops of the potion onto a ripe tomato plant. Quickly it soaked up the witch's concoction, leaving no liquid to spare. • The next day Elias watched you carefully pick the ripened tomatoes, unbeknownst to you, that they've been tampered with. You made a simple soup with the magical fruit, adding a layer of spices; which Elias was grateful for. He didn't want any kind of slip up to cause you to throw them away. • You ate the soup normally like you always would, but Elias convinced himself that it was different; like you knew it was from him, as if you were aware of him coming. If the potion didn't work, he wasn't sure if he could muster up the courage to hurt you. That would be the utmost last resort if necessary. • The next day was as usual as ever; nothing out of the ordinary happened; you tended to your garden, and fed the stray cats that came crawling to your door. • Elias got himself intentionally worked up; what if it didn't work? Or the potion caused an opposite effect? Worries plagues him. The dead deer were tucked behind the large man, slowly dragging as he pulled

them along. He swallowed heavily, anxious to meet you again, this time fully conscious. It was a surreal and dreamy feel, his heart swelling out of fear and excitement. • The werewolf could hardly muster the courage to knock on the door; spying from afar was so much easier. But it would be worth it; that's the only thing he could say to convince himself: it will be worth it. Anxiously he paced, before attempting to knock on the door. Quickly, you opened it before he placed a knuckle on the frame. Your shorter posture and pajamas from up close caused the man to widen his eyes. "Darling you're home!" You shouted, jumping onto the big tanned man. • He stood in shock, unaware of what to do or say. Was this due to the potion? He stared blankly down at your smaller form hugging him. • You were warm, so, so warm. He was used to being hot and sweaty but you were a comfortable warm, like sweet bread from the oven or a burning candle in the cold. You ushered him inside, taking off his ragged and tattered coat. You pulled his shirt down to force him to kiss you on the lips, letting go quickly. He was so much taller that it was necessary for him to bend down to even reach you. • Elias didn't expect you to be so bold neither so embarrassed! You shifted awkwardly whilst blushing, unable to hide your nervousness. He stood frozen, not able to reply or move as he processed the previous events. "What, am I not allowed to kiss my husband?" You question defensively, noticing his hands covering his face and stepping backwards. The reaction left you to believe he was being moody. • You felt dejected for a second, before feeling yourself lifted off of the ground and into his bulky chest. Without hesitation, Elias threw you onto the bed, only to attack you with a slobber of kisses and marks; claiming you as his. His long nails dug into your pajamas, tearing them. • Officially and finally, you were in his grasp. There's no way out now.

[bvccy]

Forbidden thoughts | 20. Eternal silence

— PAIRING: soft!dark!Bucky Barnes x female!Reader

— SYNOPSIS: For one of his last missions to make amends, Bucky tracks down the daughter of a man he killed when he was the Winter Soldier. He follows her from a distance at first, then slowly gets to know her. Affection turns to love which turns to lust which turns into something darker. Bucky tells himself he’s stalking her with good intentions, but he knows that isn’t true anymore.

— CHAPTER NOTES: Here we are. We've finally reached the end. It's the last chapter, and the longest one. Bucky confronts his demons and learns something about himself that he did not expect. He also manages, finally, to make his amends. Warning for a bit of violence.

Thank you so much for reading, my dears! And for sticking with me through this fic. I hope you enjoy the ending!

— WORDCOUNT: 8.5k

⸻ [MASTERLIST] [AO3] [PLAYLIST]

Everything was falling apart around him. Sitting at the Morfran for a lonely breakfast, then walking through town, circling around to kill the hours until evening, Bucky saw fewer and fewer familiar faces. Mr Daimon had gone, as had Mrs Aster, and Melvin was probably busy. Winter kept people inside and all the parks were empty.

He decided to have lunch at a little place across the street from the bookstore where he first met her, throwing longing glances out the window, hoping somehow to see her there — but she had better things to do.

That question from his shrink came back… He didn't plan to stay there, did he?

"Not without an invitation," he chuckled sadly, downing a glass of whisky while waiting for the bill.

He used the day to go through the parts of Ixum he hadn't seen before. From the town hall to the farmer's market, with worn-down cinemas and fashion stores between, lawyer's offices and jewellers, flower shops and pet stores, and residential areas more elegant than the one she lived in. The entrance to the under-city that Melvin had once talked about was still locked up. Bucky stood outside of it and wondered what it would be like if they could break through, go inside, navigate through those old forgotten tunnels — where would they end up?

The idea of escaping was coming on stronger lately, but it was always with her by his side.

He went back to the hotel and skipped dinner to spend his time packing. It didn't take long, he'd barely taken out most of the things he brought with him, although he did take out a few more of the money he'd reserved and put it in his wallet. The suitcase was packed and propped against the wall by the time he left.

Bucky's hair was brushed back nicely, his shoes were clean, his suit was fresh, his hand was shaking. The Morfran's corridors seemed darker and more breezy than before, every step echoing as he stepped through the long hallway of his floor, stiff and straight like a funeral march, then down the steps like through a hole, and finally out into the lobby. The light inside was blinding, but there were no other guests.

He checked his phone again for the hour and address and saw he had enough time to walk there. The Ava Deva it was called, or Heavenly Bird if he tried to translate directly. Bucky scarcely felt the cold as he walked across the city at that hour, long after the sun had set. There were a few more people out now, mostly youngsters going places, but everyone avoided him. Maybe it was the constant scowl he had, or the determined way he walked, or the firm set of his shoulders as he marched across those grey cobbled streets.

The area the bar was in was far from Ixum city centre, in every way: cheap and slightly dirty, with graffiti in faded colours decorating some of the buildings nearby; trash cans were overflowing and there was the specific scent of wet dog in the air; the occasional empty tree stump did little to enliven the place.

The Ava Deva's small doors opened glowingly right at the street corner. It was painted in forgettable black and brown, with its windows half-obscured by the large letters of its name pasted on top in thin faux-cursive font. A pizzeria sat across from it, a wine shop further down, then a closed pawnshop… Bucky stood at the end of the street and his nose curled in disgust at the sort of bar her "friends" had chosen. He didn't mind it too much, but it was not the sort of place he'd take her.

"You're here!"

He turned around as soon as he heard her voice, hands still in his pockets where his fists were clenched. His frown immediately uncurled when he laid eyes on her. She walked faster to catch up to him, a smile lighting up her face.

"Of course," he said, smiling back. "You were pretty persuasive."

She preened at that as she slowed down beside him, their elbows almost touching.

"I wasn't dead set on going either," the girl shrugged as they started walking together. "But having you there should make it easier."

She looked away from him as soon as she said it, sensing that it was too much — too close to flirting. Bucky smiled down at her and kept his pace deliberately slow, hoping they would never reach the bar.

Memories from the past two days and all his filthy thoughts about her surfaced, guilt bubbling away at the base of his throat. Seeing her beside him helped, somehow, though that was the last thing he expected. She was the same and yet a different person from the one in his fantasies — but he'd never dream of hurting her. Bucky sighed and looked ahead, walking close enough to feel her elbow knocking into his every now and then, just to remember she was there.

He opened the door and let her step through first, then walked inside and looked around. Cramped, dark, wooden, stained, the place looked oddly enough like some places he remembered from New York back in the 40s. There was a mix of sounds and smells, with instrumental music and smoke prevailing. The place seemed arranged in a circle that went around the bar, with rows of narrow tables set along the walls. All of the ones on their side seemed full, the other disappearing in the other half, but a dark stairway to the side hinted at a lower level.

Just to their left, on the far end, he spotted Melvin waving to them. He was sitting at one of the longer tables, accompanied by two other people he didn't recognise: a boy and girl seeming to be in their mid-30s.

"You're here early," the girl said as she took off her coat.

"That just means you're late," Melvin grinned.

"We're not late. Hello," she then said to the pair, going on to introduce herself.

Apparently, they knew Melvin and Berit, but not her. They were a couple from the Netherlands — perhaps they were brother and sister, it was hard to tell seeing as they looked so much alike, both pale and blonde and thin but with wide, solid faces. The girl's name was Kune, and the boy was Bent. Bucky smiled politely as he introduced himself too before taking a seat.

Before their drinks arrived, another two girls came: the old classmates she'd mentioned, Silvie and Sabrina. Like all other Cathonians, they had a cold air about them, a sallow tint to their complexion and deep, tumultuous eyes. They each sat at the heads of the table and got to know the rest.

Bucky might have felt out of place, by far the oldest one even compared to the Dutch couple, if not for the girl by his side. Her hands were on the table, curled around a glass of wine, but he couldn't help but feel she'd placed them deliberately close to where his hand was holding a mug of beer. And she was fairly quiet too, just like him, listening to Kune and Bent talk about their trip, or Melvin talk about his research.

Berit was next to arrive, with an older boy in tow. The whole table waved them over; she was probably the only one who knew everybody there.

"Sorry!" she said breathlessly. "I'm sorry we're late."

They took their coats off and sat down as Berit explained — bus not working, snowed in somewhere, so on. The boy, a full-faced red-cheeked tawny creature who introduced himself as Reimer, took a seat right across from Bucky's girl. Although the bar didn't seem very well heated, everyone warmed up once they got their drinks and they could all toast together.

Bucky and the girl sat back as Berit led the conversation, with the Dutch twins being very talkative and Melvin stepping in with his usual dry banter now and then. It was the anniversary of their graduation, apparently. Berit and Reimer were old university friends, albeit from different classes, and she'd met Kune and Bent when they were just finishing their Master's.

"So you came out here just to have a drink with Berit?" the girl asked, smirking.

"I'd go anywhere for a drink," laughed Reimer. "No, but really, I was just in the area."

Bucky instantly disliked him, if not for his strident voice then for his inability to be serious about anything.

"I told him it would be a nice, cheap place to have a mini-vacation," said Berit.

"Did you have to travel far?" asked Kune.

"Only from Germany," he said. "You?"

"Holland. But Germany's pretty far too."

"Guess we're lucky," grinned Sabrina. "We were already in the area."

"And you?" he asked, nodding his head to Bucky's girl. "You look like you're from around here."

"Do I?" she asked coldly.

Bucky tensed at the insult in his tone, and felt her tense beside him too, like a spring ready to snap right in that haughty grin. She put on a polite smile regardless.

"Yes, I'm from here."

"So, what do you do for fun in these parts?"

"I guess the same sort of things you do for fun in your parts," she answered calmly.

From the corner of his eye, Bucky could tell her jaw was clenched behind her smile, and her eyes had a hard stare in them, almost daring the boy to keep going with his impertinent array of questions.

"I'm not so sure," Reimer laughed.

"Anyway, I work here, so I'm not the best person to ask about having fun," she said, tilting her head away to dismiss the conversation.

"Melvin too," said Silvie.

"Really? You work here?"

"At the university," he said, glass halfway to his mouth.

"And what are you?" Reimer then turned to Bucky, his wide cheeks filling up with a grin. "James, right? You're his boss or something?"

"No," he said, then paused to sip his beer. He added with a tepid smile, "If anything, I'd say I'm his assistant."

Melvin's chuckle echoed in the beer glass. Everyone but the three of them who knew about the expedition seemed slightly confused and looked at Bucky for what seemed like the first time. The answer was vague enough that it gave Reimer pause, and he was soon distracted by another conversation. Berit had spent many years abroad, it seemed, and they were all comparing Cathonia with other places.

When he caught another flash of white, Bucky looked down to see the girl chatting with Berit on her phone, and he knew enough Cathonian to understand what they were typing.

«Why did you bring this asshole here?»

«He's fun, I promise! You just need to get to know him.»

«Can't believe I wasted an evening for th—»

She deleted that last sentence before sending it, then put her phone back in her pocket with a sigh. Berit sent her a look across the table but tried to put on a brave smile. Bucky wished he could have comforted the girl, hugged her and taken her away, but it was hard to even turn toward her in that cramped corner they were in. Conversations flew above the table and the mess of noises from the rest of the bar filled the space with strident sounds. When he dared to look at her, just to see how she was feeling, he caught her already looking toward him.

"Are you having fun?" she asked in a quiet voice, leaning so that their shoulders touched as they leaned back together.

"Yeah," he nodded, then looked down from the corner of his eye. Her teasing, disbelieving smile was what made him finally laugh.

"Yes, I want to stab myself through both ears too," she chuckled.

"Don't talk like that," he whispered. "It's not that bad."

"Believe it or not, I feel just as out of place as you do," the girl sighed. "I have almost nothing in common with these people. I don't even know half of them."

"We haven't got a lot in common with each other either," he said, keeping his voice kind, but frowning, almost pained by the admission.

He hated being reminded that his dreams meant nothing. All the time they spent together in his head, however intimately he explored her body and imagined what it felt like to lick the sweat off of her neck, her breasts, what her heartbeat sounded like as he was thrusting into her, or the way her voice sounded as she was undone by pleasure in his arms, none of it counted for anything. He wasn't that much closer to her than on the day they'd met. She must have thought the same.

Bucky looked down at her body. She was wearing a cream-coloured sweater with a white shirt underneath, the sharp points of the collar coming to rest over the rounded neckline. She had the sleeves pulled down past her knuckles and held the glass of wine much like someone would hold a cup of cocoa — perhaps that's what she really wanted but didn't dare to drink in everyone else's company. Her face looked fresh, almost without any makeup save the hint of berry-red across her lips. The hair fell over her shoulders, bending in waves like shadows that disappeared behind her. Before his thoughts could once more veer off the path and take him to another world where, after this dull get-together ended, he could take her home and they could warm up and cuddle as they fell asleep, she said something that surprised him.

"I think we do."

"What?" he asked with genuine surprise. "Really?"

"Yes," the girl said as she tilted her head. "I have to remind myself we only met a couple of weeks ago. But sometimes, it feels like I've known you for a long, long time."

Bucky took another sip of beer to soothe to knot that got in his throat. Her voice sounded far away and hollow, however close her whispers were, and if not for the noisy people all around him he would have put aside his plans and fears and just confessed to her right there: that he did know her, he knew her since before he even realised, and his actions, although not of his own will, had touched her life in a way that today broke his heart — but beyond that guilt, he was grateful. He was grateful that he got to know her.

"I feel the same," he said instead, his cold hard eyes travelling quietly between her own. "Sometimes…"

She hugged herself with one arm and drank a bit more wine, thinking to herself. Bucky's heart beat frantically until she said, at length:

"When did you say you were leaving?"

"Soon," he answered. "Why?"

"I guess I envy you," she giggled, but didn't even pretend to hide the notes of sadness in her voice. "You get to escape."

He was on the verge of… something very careless — asking her what she meant, inviting her to come with him, forcing her to come with him — when all of a sudden, Reimer stabbed himself into their conversation.

"Did you ever notice?" he asked.

"What?" she said, looking around the table as she tried to figure out what the rest of them had been talking about.

"The prostitutes on Faron road. The place is crawling with them."

"Oh."

Melvin was awkwardly burying his face into his glass, slinking in his seat away from the conversation, while Silvie and Sabrina watched coolly from both ends of the table. They each had a pleasant smile as they looked on but both their jaws were set. Kune and Bent were taking it quite seriously, going back and forth with Reimer in pragmatic, impersonal ways, drawing comparisons to Amsterdam and Berlin like it was nothing, while Berit seemed to laugh it off.

"There was actually a big scandal in the news recently," the boy continued. "A human trafficking ring was found in Dresden and over half the girls were Cathonic."

"Cathonian," she corrected him.

"Right. They were all minors too, I mean, the youngest was 9 years old. Did you hear about it?"

"I don't read the news much."

Bucky hid his smirk behind his glass, knowing how blatantly false that was, but the boy didn't seem to get the hint from her firm tone.

"What does your government plan to do about it?" asked Reimer with a wide smile, almost on the verge of laughing. "I mean, it's a big problem for Germany, you know."

"I don't know, what does your police plan to do about the human traffickers?"

Reimer didn't seem affected by the biting remark. He kept smiling dumbly, probably from having drunk too much already, and looking at the girl as if he hadn't even heard her. Berit, ever watchful, distracted the young man with another question before the tension between the two snapped. Beside him, Bucky could hear the girl deflate with a deep sigh.

Melvin stretched his lanky frame across the table, fingers tapping on down to get their attention.

"How much longer are you staying?"

"Not long," she said, leaning in as well with her hands sprawled in front of her.

"Me either," said Bucky.

"I think I'll be here maybe an hour more, then —"

"An hour?! I can't last that long, Mel."

"It's only 10 o'clock," he said. "Have another glass of wine. James?"

"I guess…"

And so they lingered in the smoky, noisy bar as a new round of drinks came, then another. Everyone else was either more mellow or more agitated, depending on what they had, while Bucky was left watching over all of them. The girl had abandoned her wine for a sliver of Cointreau, and although she took it slowly, he could feel her lose her focus, melting in her seat beside him. Feeling her lean against his arm made his insides tremble and tense, but he knew he couldn't put his arms around her, no matter how badly he wanted to.

"I think I'll go," she whispered. "So sleepy..."

"You want me to come with you?" he offered in a heartbeat.

"No, it's alri—"

"I'll come with you."

"What, you're leaving?" asked Berit once she saw her friend start to get her things.

"Oh no!" said Kune

"Stay a while!" begged Silvie.

"It's still so early!" said Reimer, his tongue by now stiff with drunkenness.

"Sorry guys, it's been a long day."

"You're no fun," the blond boy said with an insipid smile.

"Yeah, well…"

"You too?" he asked once he saw Bucky getting up as well.

"I'm leaving in the morning, got to be up early," he mumbled.

"What bullshit," the boy laughed.

"No, James…" — "Stay," begged the twins, even though they'd barely exchanged a few words with him that whole night.

He smiled and shook his head politely, and got out first to make way for his companion. They put the payment for their drinks down on the table and waved their wailing friends goodbye. He went out of the stuffy bar first while she stayed to hug Melvin and Berit. The air outside felt colder than before, and with every sigh, a puff of smoke came out in front of him. Bucky frowned as he looked up into the black and starless sky. He'd toyed with the thought of staying on another day, but now he wondered whether he really should… What was there to stay for? What more could he accomplish? No. He'd apologise, and tell her the truth, and slip out of her life for good.

There was a faint commotion coming from inside, even on top of the incessant clink of glasses. He turned around in time to see the girl storm out the door, head in the ground and frowning.

"Let's go," she mumbled.

He wasn't about to argue… He stepped aside for her to walk beside him and barely took a few steps forward when the doors of the bar burst open.

"Oh come on, don't —"

It was Reimer's voice again, his words slow and slurred.

"Let go!"

"I'll be nice, I promise," he whined.

Bucky turned. The boy had caught her from behind and tried to lift her off the ground, laughing stupidly but frowning as she struggled. She seemed more upset than scared, but it didn't matter. It didn't take Bucky two steps to reach them.

One quick fist to the side of his head was enough to make Reimer drop her, and she regained her footing fast enough to step aside. The blond leaned against the wall and shouted, but the shapeless noise was cut off with another punch and he slipped right to the ground. Bucky stood above him, heaving, lifting his right arm for another blow, then reconsidering and used it instead to grab him by the collar as he readied the left metal fist.

"Hey, hey hey!" the boy slurred. "I didn't mean anyth—"

"James!"

The sound of her voice was all that kept him from punching the jerk right in his teeth, so he aimed for the abdomen instead. Every vile instinct he had, every disgusting desire he'd harboured all those days, was suddenly reflected in this pathetic drunken lout and all the horror of what he'd thought of doing to her came to the fore. Bucky grit his teeth as he held back and felt his eyes burning with anger, not even seeing the boy in front of him anymore. The wretch heaved in his grip and seemed on the verge of throwing up.

"Stop!" she said. "You should really stop…"

The blond spluttered and coughed and tried to steady his feet against the ground, hands weakly trying to hold onto the wrist that grabbed him, but the hits had disoriented him too much. Bucky raised him slightly higher, letting him tiptoe for a while before he let go and dropped him to the ground. He looked down at Reimer and resisted the temptation to kick him one last time.

"We should go," she said, and when he looked up, he saw her looking toward the bar. A few people inside had already noticed the commotion.

"Alright," he breathed out. "Alright, let's go..."

To his surprise, she didn't shrink away from him, even though her eyes were wary, and for a second he allowed himself to take her hand as they walked quickly away. The girl held onto her purse tightly, but it was just a way to hug herself, and he could feel how firmly she was gripping his hand too. He felt guilty to even touch her now…

'So much for rule number 2,' he thought.

"Are you ok?"

"Yes," she said absently, staring ahead into the night.

He forced them to slow down once they went around the corner, and although he didn't speak again, he kept his eyes on her.

"I'm ok," she said more calmly, looking at him. "Thank you."

Bucky swallowed hollowly and nodded.

Should she be thanking him? He knew why he had done it. Sure, Reimer was a pain in the ass and he had no right to touch her, but the instinct to beat away at him until he was raw pulp wasn't directed just at that stupid boy. It had finally come home, how disgusting he'd been. How disgusting his thoughts and dreams had been. How selfish his desire to keep her for himself, to touch her, to kiss her, to hold her so tightly even though she didn't want to be held. Like a flash, those horrible fantasies he'd been indulging in came back — gripping her body, tying her up, forcing himself into her, pleasuring himself with her for hours... He wasn't any better than Reimer, and had no place to feel heroic about what he'd done.

"I'll take you home," he muttered, letting go of her hand and looking down in shame as they reached the better lit main streets of the city.

She didn't say anything for a while and kept walking silently beside him, still a bit huddled into herself, seeming ashamed — of what had happened? of having to be saved? of him seeing her in need of rescue?

After a few minutes, she spoke once more.

"Did you go to see those houses you were looking into?"

"What? Er, no," he said.

"Do you still want to?"

He slowed down and looked at her. "Now?"

"I want to," said the girl, unflinching.

Her face was soft and steady like a quiet sea, but in her eyes, he could tell there was a trembling, a shiver waiting to come out. He'd felt a thing like that so many times before when the earth seemed like it was about to collapse underneath his feet and he had nothing, nobody to hold on to.

"It's pretty late…"

But maybe he could be that somebody for her tonight.

"I don't feel like going home. I want to be… elsewhere."

"Alright…" he said, sounding for the first time that night sure of himself, of everything. "Alright, let's go."

Within 15 minutes, they reached the train station, with another 15 minutes to go until the train arrived that travelled north. The place was utterly abandoned at that hour, except for the ticket booth and that little shop where they'd once bought coffee and croissants.

They stood in front of each other, not even feeling the cold, and the girl barely looked up. Bucky traced every angle of her face, her awkward posture, the frown stuck on her brow… She kept looking down, her eyes blinking and moving every now and then as thoughts ran through her head. When she finally remembered he was there, her gaze flashed up to his, and she even mustered a smile.

"Thank you again, really," she spoke.

"It's nothing."

"He was such a jerk."

"Yeah."

"You know, if you're tired, we could canc—"

"I'm not tired."

Deep down, Bucky was relieved that his icy reservations weren't putting her off. Fortunately, the train arrived not long after that.

Its long corridors were as quiet as a grave and just as narrow, but walking through them seemed to calm her down. By the time they reached a cabin they both liked, the girl seemed more awake and cheerful than she had been the whole night. They settled into the same seats they took on that ride to Urte once before, both beside the window, facing one another. The faint light from outside, a sickly yellow, painted half her face, the other staying shadowed, but more than anything Bucky was struck by the warm look in her eyes as she gazed at him through the silence.

He must've looked guilty, he knew he did, but he didn't dare say why — at least not yet. The train jerked forward as it started moving, and then began the familiar rattling as it picked up speed. Stripes of light and darkness flashed beside them in the window as they drew away from the station, and soon the darkness overtook everything in view. The glass seemed painted black with nothing outside but endless fields as they left the city, and a sky empty of stars or clouds on the horizon.

"I'm really sorry, you know," the girl said, still smiling softly as she leaned her head against the wall.

"What are you sorry about?" asked Bucky with a frown.

"I should have just come with you this morning. I shouldn't have dragged you to that boring bar. I'm sorry I wasted your time."

"You didn't," he said shaking his head. "You have nothing to apologise for. In fact, I…" He clenched his teeth for half a second, then with a sigh he allowed the words to finally leave him. "I'm the one who should apologise to you."

"Why?" she frowned, smiling at him as if he'd just said something silly.

"I…"

He couldn't look at her, couldn't even think where to begin.

"I didn't really care about the cottages. I just asked you to come because I wanted to spend time with you," he said, breathing out now that that first small step was taken.

"I like spending time with you too," she said.

Bucky looked at her and saw her smile turn into a cheeky grin. He might have enjoyed seeing it, if he wasn't feeling so low right now, but it died when she heard what he had to say next.

"And I'm not here on vacation. I came here to find you."

She didn't move and hardly blinked, and were it not for the loud noises of the train he might have thought time froze.

"What do you mean?" she finally asked, a thread of fear slipping in her voice.

He frowned and bit his lip. Making her nervous was the last thing he wanted right now, but there was no better way to go about it. A darker side of him was aware that there was also no place for her to run to if she didn't want to be around him by the time he finished what he had to say. And there was no good time to say it, but having her trapped with him on a train, away from everyone, was as good as it could get.

"The reason I came here is… Well, you're the reason. I had to speak with you, I had to tell you that… I'm sorry."

"W-what are you sorry about?"

"I wanted there to be a better way to say this. A way to make it worth your while, but the more I got to you know you, it…"

He sighed and measured his next words, forcing himself to look into her eyes and breathe, let her know she was still safe with him. But it got harder by the minute, and he could see dread grip her body, tensing all around her like death — his dark, soft, innocent girl painted with honey, wine, and tar.

"It's obvious you don't need anything from me," he said. "There's nothing I could give you, anyway, that would make up for what I've done. So the least I can do is just tell you."

"Tell me, then," she said, sitting primly in her seat by now but sounding more frail than ever, even as she tried to laugh, and added, "Don't scare me, now. What is it?"

"I am James 'Bucky' Barnes," he recited, fulfilling rule number 3. "I am no longer the Winter Soldier…"

Something set in her eyes then, a passing recognition, but there was no sign of the horror it implied.

"And you're part of my effort to make amends. I came here to apologise to you. Your father," he said at last, "I… I know what happened to him."

The girl looked him up and down, measuring the sight of him against what she'd just heard.

"Were you a friend of my father's? You don't seem that old…"

"No," he said. "I killed him."

She didn't react at first. Then, she looked to the side and moved backwards in her seat, as if his words just now had reached her. The girl looked again at Bucky and, seeing he was serious, began to smile. That died quickly, to be replaced by a frown, a scowl, a gasp that left her mouth half-open, and then a quick clenching of the jaw.

He waited for her screams, her accusations, her tears, quietly in the surrounding mechanical noise of the train and its swaying chains and wheels — the sound of death, for him.

"That's not possible," she whispered, eyes staring at the empty table between them. "Why would you kill him? How?"

"I shot him," he confessed. "In the forest, at the edge of it. He was out watching nightbirds and… I didn't mean to do it."

The girl looked at him with a strangely settled storm brewing in her eyes, waiting for him to finish.

"I was an… an assassin back then."

"You were the Winter Soldier?" she softly said. "I've read about him, but I never…"

"You never got word that they found out who he was."

"I never looked into it more than that. But if they know who you are, why are… why did…"

"Why am I not in prison?" he sighed. "Guess a lot of people are wondering the same thing back home. But, I didn't mean to do it, any of it. I was being forced to." Bucky always had trouble admitting to being enslaved to that extent, a toy for Hydra to handle, but he didn't need to elaborate it for her. The girl seemed to understand. "Your father was just at the wrong place at the wrong time..."

She nodded as she slowly accepted what he said, and stared out at the nothingness that passed them by, letting his words and their meaning sink in. Bucky watched her face and tried to catch every emotion, readying himself to answer anything she wanted to know, console her in every way he could, however she would let him, but she was admirably impassive now. Her face was as still as the glass and carried the same chill calm. Only her breath that raised her chest in high, panicked inhales, showed what she was feeling.

The train creaked as it slowed down, approaching another quiet, empty station.

"So that's why you came all the way out here?" she finally asked, looking once again at him. "That's why you spoke to me? To be able to admit to it? Maybe get me to forgive you?"

Now it was his turn to stare and be left gasping dumbly with no words to say. There was no part of the truth, beyond what he'd just mentioned, that he could admit to. Yes, he came there just to make amends. No, that wasn't why he spoke to her — at least, not why he kept coming back. He wanted her in every way a man could ever want someone, and no shadow of shame could keep him away, nothing did, except his pity for her suffering. He couldn't acknowledge it until this night, until he heard her scream and struggle in the arms of someone else.

"It's a condition of my pardon. I have to do this," Bucky simply said. Grating iron sounds filled their cabin as the train began to move again. "I tried to find a better way to apologise to you, but I realised there's… there's nothing I could offer you, nothing I could give, other than just telling you the truth. But I wish there was. I enjoyed every minute I spent with you. I just wish I had a better reason to know you," he sighed. "I'm sorry, for everything."

She clenched her teeth and looked down between them, swallowing the bitterness of his admissions and her own misunderstandings. If he had to guess, he'd say she looked jilted. He was getting ready for an outburst of anger from the girl, but the moments passed in silence and she collected her thoughts. When she next looked up at him she seemed, more than anything else, at peace.

"You don't have to apologise," she said, managing to smile. "I'm not upset about… about what you did."

"You're not?!" he frowned.

She shook her head and smiled, one trembling hand coming up to dab away at a lone traitorous tear.

"I'm shocked, but… I'm honestly not angry with you for what you did."

"But…"

"I didn't like my father much," she shrugged, saying it quickly before the courage left her and looking down in shame. "Mother's honestly more upset about it than I am. Can't see why…"

The mother. He remembered looking into her, finding her living more fully than her daughter was, and seeming between the two of them to be the least affected. Bucky wondered whether he'd ever trust his first impressions again — but he couldn't fault it now, because he was alone with her and she knew the truth about him, and although he'd been terrified of this moment for weeks, it wasn't going in the direction he had feared.

"I'm actually grateful," the girl continued, shocking Bucky into silence. "I shouldn't say it, but I'm grateful that he's dead. It was the best thing that could have happened. I know I sound horrible, but…"

"I understand," he said, and he really was beginning to. Sounds like the old man wasn't all he was cracked up to be...

"If anything, I should be thanking you," she laughed. A tear slipped down her cheek, then another, and before she could hold herself back, a choking sob gripped her whole body. She leaned back in the seat and covered her face, shaking with past fears and regrets, waves of misery washing over her at once, the years gathering up in one sharp moment of remembrance, and the coiled shame of being, at last, happy.

Without thinking, Bucky got up and went over and put his arms around the girl, letting her bury her flushed face into his shoulder as he rubbed her back with the steady metal hand. He rested his cheek over her head and breathed in deeply, willing her to calm together with him. The soft patter of rain began to beat against the windows and a strange shapeless light brightened the horizon — an early sunrise, maybe. But they hadn't been travelling for that long... It didn't matter. He closed his eyes as he held her and pressed her to his side until the sobs quieted into little tears.

And through it all, he didn't feel any of those impulses he feared, any of the evil thoughts that plagued him at night, and now that she was in his arms, weak and alone and fragile, Bucky wanted nothing more than to protect her. He was almost afraid to let her go, as if the magic of this tenuous peace within his heart would break.

Eventually, she pulled away on her own, head bowed and bashful as she wiped tears away with the heel of her palm and swallowed a few hiccups. Bucky's arms stayed around her, thumbs moving in soothing motions across her shoulders.

"I'm sorry," she laughed. "I didn't want to do that."

"It's alright," he smiled, looking at her face in anticipation of her looking back at him. "I know it's a stupid question, but, are you alright?"

"Yes," the girl nodded, and finally raised her gaze to give him a weak but sweet warm smile. "I'm alright now."

The wind picked up outside, howling against the walls and windows, and the rain beat hard as hail against the glass. The pair turned to look toward it but could barely make out anything, the whole landscape being a haze of white and grey.

"What time is it?" she asked.

"It's… 1:25," he said after checking his watch.

"We've passed that town…"

"So where are we going?"

"I don't know," she said with a strange serenity.

Bucky smiled down at the girl and held her face in one gloved hand. Her cheek filled his palm as she smiled.

"You said you wanted to be elsewhere. How about we keep going?" he suggested.

"All the way to the end?"

"To the end."

She didn't seem to know how long the tracks went on for, she'd never been that far, and neither had he. So they leaned back together, her arms slipping around his waist, and they travelled together against the ghoulish storm outside.

He thought about the strange calm that conquered him when he held her, how different it was to his invasive dreams — as if those belonged to a completely different person. Meanwhile, the girl fell quietly asleep against his shoulder.

Bucky was half-way fallen into a dreamless sleep as well, countless minutes or hours afterwards, when he was woken by a sudden crashing sound. The girl jumped in his arms as well, and they looked at each other as they felt the train slow down.

"What's going on?" she asked groggily as she leaned over to look out the window.

"I don't know. Do you see anything out there?"

"It just looks like… wind and rain."

On unsteady feet, they got up and started to walk toward the exit. There was nobody else around them but the train was getting slower, its wheels creaking violently against the tracks. By the time they reached a door, it was just gliding forward on the remnants of inertia. Bucky walked ahead and the girl tried to see over his shoulder.

"I'll try to open the door," he said as he gripped the handle.

He had to pull a few times but managed to open the rusty old thing. Outside, everything was calmer than before. He could feel the girl's fingers curling around his shoulders as he stepped down, and she followed. The train seemed to have stopped in the middle of nowhere. Bucky's arm held onto the girl's waist as they looked around, and they marvelled together at the strange sight that surrounded them.

The fields were flat and black, like everything they'd seen before outside the city, and by now the rain had stopped. But just a bit beyond, where they had come from, a strange downpour kept battering the earth in a grey curtain of incessant rain. On the other side, ahead of them, a fog extended as far as the eye could see, so thick you could cut it with a knife, but resting in a firm and unmoving shape like a globe cast over them.

"Where are we?" she whispered.

"Figured you'd know," he said. "What the hell is going on?"

"I've never been this far away before, not by train that is."

"Ok, let's find out together, then…"

They went up to the front but could spot no conductor through the high windows. If there was a shape or shadow sitting on the seat inside, it didn't move. The tracks themselves kept going, and the pair decided they might as well follow for a bit and see if they went anywhere.

"What are we going to do when we reach that fog though?" she asked.

"We'll figure it out when we get there," frowned Bucky.

They walked together hand-in-hand, and slowly through the deathly silence brand new sounds began to break the closer they got to the mist. Looking behind, the land looked dead, cold, caught up in winter, but in front of them, they could hear birdsong and feel even feel a gentle breeze.

He held the girl's hand tighter and felt her gripping back, and before they knew it they had stepped into the fog. It eased the pair in and then enveloped them, covering their bodies and their vision in pure, soft white effusion like a shrowd. Neither of them spoke, and he wasn't sure if they even could anymore. He focused to take each step forward in a straight line, suddenly afraid of getting the both of them lost as they lost sight of even the train tracks that were beside them, but the girl's steady grip emboldened him.

Soon, he felt her walking by his shoulder, although he couldn't see her and didn't dare to try to look — he didn't know what gave him the idea, but he sensed that something horrible would happen if he did. He didn't even check his watch, he just kept walking, and after countless silent steps through the wall of earthly clouds, they started to see it all fade away before them.

Once his boot stepped onto something hard, Bucky looked down. The cold wet earth from a few feet before was gone, and stretching out in front of them were vast green fields peppered with red and yellow flowers. The sky above was a soft dark blue, and far on the horizon, a red line stretched out to announce the sunrise. Even the air smelled different. On their frozen cheeks, the same pleasant breeze they felt before washed now over them in full, a warm and gentle breath of spring.

"We've crossed the border," she said, looking all around in wonder.

"What do you mean?" he asked. "It's like… like we're in a completely different world."

"Yes," she said, looking down but still not daring to look behind her shoulder. "That was Cathonia. We've left it."

Bucky looked at the young woman by his side and waited for her to look back. Her eyes, once they reached his, seemed scared but with a thread of boldness in them. She knew more than she was telling him, and as he searched her face he started to put two-and-two together.

"That wasn't your run of the mill country, was it?"

"We never think about it, but… no."

It all came rushing back, all those things he'd noticed but laid aside as ordinary: the deathly pallour of the people, the cold smiles like on a corpse, the name of Charon on the train just like the ancient boatman of the dead, the tombstone feeling of the streets and walls and buildings, their celebrations, their dance and costumes, like a funeral procession, with death-masks and laces like spilt blood... Even Eugene Daimon and Lucille Aster's names seemed, in retrospect, suggestive of things demonic.

Melvin's strange theories came back to him then. The siege, the fortress defended from the outside, the odd markings on the ground — when put together with the peculiar masses of Cathonians that lived there, it painted a more lively picture than he'd given the boy credit for. There was never an invasion of the place. If anything, the ancients probably tried to lock them in, barring off the gates of their old citadels with thick wood trunks to stop them from advancing on the living. It was almost too crazy to consider...

"What were you doing there, then?" he asked, feeling the girl's hand in his. She seemed as alive as he was, although in the fresh daylight of new land her cheeks had lost their faded shade.

"We're all dead there," she said. "It's easy to forget about it… It's just another way to keep on going."

"Well, it's not the only way," he said, chuckling at the absurdity of what just happened.

His other hand came up to caress her cheek, then paused. Without thinking twice, Bucky took his gloves off, and finally touched her and felt her with his skin. Like a love-famished pet, she purred and closed her eyes, tilting her face further in his palm. She sighed and reached out for him too, her hand travelling down his arm until it got to the cold end of the metal. Opening her eyes, she stared down at it. Bucky watched her face for any sign of apprehension.

"So, the Winter Soldier… You know, I never gave too much thought to the prosthetic."

"I'm lucky you didn't figure me out sooner," he grinned.

She laughed lightly, looking at him more kindly than he ever had expected. Nothing about that night had gone the way he thought it would, and he was grateful for it — impossibly grateful that he had neither her wrath nor her disgust or fright, and she was instead looking at him with dreamy, soft delight.

His hand stopped its caressing of her cheek and cupped her face, holding her for him to look at in the pure light of day. She bit her lip and his eyes traced it, then like a lazy wave she brushed up against his chest, looking upward at him fearfully.

Bucky swallowed the knot in his throat and tilted his head toward her, moving slowly to give her time to turn away, but she never did. He felt the light puffing of her breath against his face and kept on going, tilting her head toward him as he lowered his and, at last, he felt the touch of her lips.

They were soft and dry, and very warm, and felt so rich and full beneath him. He saw her eyes closing slowly in delight as he caressed her mouth, and he closed his as well to sip her into his soul. It wasn't anything like his dreams, where she felt foggy and abstract and he was left with nothing by the end. It was complete and gentle, echoes of her tender affection running beneath his skin through his whole body, entering his heart, his mind, settling deep inside his spirit and finding there a mirror of herself, his patient waiting for her, his readiness to hold her and never let her go.

Each peppering of love he left on her fleshy mouth was met with a soft trill, a giggle he felt right against his chest, a smile that found its way onto his cheeks. Once he felt her pull away, panting, out of breath, Bucky let the young woman go but leaned back in to kiss her cheek, her brow, her forehead, eager to make her feel all those things that burned inside of him for her. She giggled underneath his touches and wrapped her arms around him for a hug. He buried his head into her hair, pulling the real scent of her in his lungs and keeping it for as long as he could. Bucky held her to his chest as they rested against each other, speaking in this wordless way about all those nights of longing, the hollow hopes and deathly fear — and, underneath it, their need for one another. She loved and needed him too, he knew that now, could admit it to himself and put the guilt and want for punishment aside. When she was ready, if kisses somehow became not enough anymore, she could tell him, and he could tell her too.

As the sun rose and lightened their path, the pair started walking again. They didn't have to go far before they reached a road, and a sign showed that they were not far from a town. They were in Italy, judging by the name of it — Carlazzo. The refreshing air of a spring day and birdsong carried them along, still holding each other's hand as they discussed what to do next.

"I'm sure the hotel can mail your things to a new address if you call them. And I can call Berit to pack some things for me and send them over. I'm not sure what I'll tell my boss…"

"Tell him that you took a vacation," offered Bucky. "Tell him that you'll quit."

"And how am I going to live?" she laughed. "With you?"

"Yes," he said, looking at her hopefully. "Why not?"

She said nothing, but her smile grew.

"We can keep travelling around for a while. I've got nothing to tie me to New York, not anymore… You were the last one on my list."

"And how will we live?"

"We'll figure it out," said Bucky, letting go of her hand to wrap it around her shoulder and pull her into his body, flush against his side, as they walked on. "Together."

[taechaos]

Blackmail

pairing: bully!Jungkook x nerdy!fem!Reader

genre: drabble, smut, college au

synopsis: Jimin offers you information on Jungkook, but your friendship is misconstrued by Jungkook who ends it singlehandedly with one video of you professing your love to him between moans.

warnings: dubcon, fingering, degredation, mild squirting, manipulation

word count: 2.8k

a/n: jealous kook doesn't realize he's jealous. this part is a bit extreme, so beware ><

One doesn't come across someone like Jungkook every day. It's fate that you met him in your first year of college, extending to your second where he grows closer to you; fair, it's clear that he only intends to use you for his academic success, but you've deluded yourself into thinking you're in love with each other. Growing up, you only had your dysfunctional family to teach you about how to love, how to think. As long as Jungkook needs you, he will love you, and you’re willing to do anything to be with him, only him. You need him to live.

Birds sing in the background as you lay on your stomach on the grass of the yard across the campus. It’s sunny and breezy, the perfect spring day as you work on Jungkook’s research paper due next month. You compiled multiple credible sources in a separate file to create an outline for his essay the moment he forwarded the assignment to you. You want him to praise you, pet your hair, kiss your cheek for starting so early so he can turn it in before anyone else. He would be proud, flashing you his pearly whites and adoring eyes. The reward motivates you to work harder and you’re relentlessly skimming through articles while counting down the minutes of Jungkook's lecture. He'll be outside with his friends in 7 minutes.

With a bad childhood, you don’t care to befriend many people. You only have a few friends to keep you company and you’re socially awkward outside of that group. You’re content, so you steer clear of boys who try to sabotage your relationship with Jungkook. Jimin, however, doesn’t get the memo.

Typing away on your laptop, a shadow looms over you to give you a break from the sunlight. You glance up and stop swinging your legs absentmindedly when you recognize the shadow; it’s a boy with frames and a tight collar adorning his neck.

Park Jimin is a typical nerd whereas you’re more of a closeted nerd. When you’re in love, you usually put more effort into your appearance to impress the one on your mind, but that doesn’t work with Jungkook. It’s always other men giving you their attention through second glances, and that includes Jimin.

“What do you want?” you rudely greet. Jimin is ruthless with his attempts at pursuing you; he’s the perfect gentleman, and often volunteers to do group tasks with you. He is never mean to anyone, and has a squeaky clean reputation, but his only flaw is that he can’t take a hint. You don't bother being friendly to him because you don't want friends.

"I want to know why you look so happy," he bends over to curiously glance at your screen, "while doing homework?"

You slam the monitor closed to stop his ogling. "You wouldn't get it. And stop watching me," you sternly say.

"What's your secret?" he grins and sits down on the grass next to you with crossed legs. His upper body serves as a shade and you stop squinting.

"There is no secret, I was just in a good mood until you came along." You're not upset, but you don't want to lead Jimin on and he won't leave unless you blow him off.

"Thinking of Jungkook?" he teases with a mischievous smile.

"Are you stalking me?"

"No, you're just too obvious," he chuckles, but the sound is strained. You don't notice his melancholy as he continues, "You were doing his homework again?"

You shift on your propped elbows a little uncomfortably. Jimin doesn't need to know what you do in your free time. "Yes," you answer anyway.

"You know he has daddy issues?"

Your eyes round as your discomfort dissipates instantly; he's piqued your interest. "Really?"

"Yeah, he has a tough exterior but he's actually a real softie."

An involuntary smile carves on your face before it falters as you ask, "How do you know this?"

"We went to high school together. I can tell you some stories if you want," he boasts when he realizes he has your attention. The context makes his heart sink, but when he imagines your lovesick grin is directed at him, it fills him with joy.

"Tell me, tell me! Please."

"Weeell," he draws with a lopsided grin, "don't tell him I told you this, but he used to hate girls. I don't know if he still does, but back then he couldn't even stand talking to a girl."

"Why?" your eyes are wide with interest as you whisper.

He shrugs, "No idea, but he hit a girl once when she wouldn't stop clinging onto him. Not like drop-kick her," he laughs, "he just shoved her on the ground. Be careful with him, okay? He can be very aggres-"

"You guys forming a nerd club now?"

You gasp when you hear Jungkook's voice. When you look up at him, he's almost glaring as his eyes flicker from you to Jimin. You're gleeful at his approach, because he never comes to you unless it's about a new assignment. It flutters your heart to see him without any papers in his hand.

You don't take his subtle insult to heart as you immediately respond, "No, we were just talking. H-Hi."

"Pull down your skirt, you look like a whore. I can see your panties all the way from the gates," he seethes in distaste. You instantly sit up with a blush and tug your skirt down to your knees. He looks back at Jimin who's glaring at him under his lashes, "The fuck's your deal?"

"Nothing," Jimin grits. Although he hates Jungkook's guts, he's too smart to fight a lost cause. He has his own set of muscles, but it isn't enough. It's best to accept defeat now.

"Did you start on the paper?" Jungkook asks you.

"Yes, I-"

"Good," he cuts you off and crouches to peck your lips by pulling the back of your neck. You're stunned when he pulls away and nonchalantly walks off to his friends.

Jimin follows him with his eyes and mutters under his breath, "douche."

Your heart is racing and you clamp a hand over your chest as a lovestruck smile spreads across your face. You know this is your end of the bargain, but it never fails to shrivel you up in delight.

"Are you two dating?" he mumbles as he pulls on the grass with a pout.

"Something like that," you exhale as you caress your lips.

It’s become routine to link up with Jimin where he reminisces his high school memories and you don’t doubt a single word he says unless it sheds a bad light on Jungkook. You’ve learned so much about him in the past few days, and you’re eager to know more. He likes energy drinks to this day, he was athletic in school and often got into fights. He began interacting with girls when he entered college, as Jimin says, “only for a quick fuck.”

Though it hurts Jimin that you only talk to him for information on Jungkook, he can’t bring himself to care when you hang onto every word he says with a glint in your eyes like you’re doing now.

You're sitting in the bustling cafeteria across from Jimin, sipping on a homemade strawberry lemonade from your thermos, and you don't notice Jungkook glancing at your table every now and then. It is the first time he doesn't feel your heavy gaze on him. Jimin does notice however, because he is facing him every time he receives a threatening ferile look.

"He could become a lawyer with how much he blackmailed the teachers to give him a good grade," Jimin tells you as he glances back and forth between you and Jungkook. "He's quite dangerous, you know. He's manipulative, a liar and has no empathy-"

"He's clever," you counter defensively, "he knows how to get around the system."

He makes a disgruntled noise from the back of his throat with a grimace. "I don't think the judge would listen to that."

You laugh at his comparison of the conversation to a court hearing. Jimin can be funny sometimes, and you have to admit that he's not that bad of a friend either. You've come to enjoy his company without the topic of Jungkook the past few days, but talking about him is always appreciated.

"Are you the judge then?" you cheekily ask.

"I might as well be, since I'm not biased like a certain someone," he teases with a grin.

"A lawyer has to see the bright side of things, but if I was the prosecutor, I wouldn't tell you that your lecture is in five minutes."

His smile falters as his eyes widen; you remember his schedule? He ran late for a lecture yesterday, but he’s in disbelief that you reminded him today. "Th-Thanks," he breathes as he packs up his belongings before giving you a curt, shy nod. His heart pounds when he walks away, and he resists the urge to look back at you.

It's a good idea, because that's when Jungkook settles down on his former seat.

"I'm thinking you might be forgetting who you belong to," he starts as he gets comfortable on the stiff chair. You instantly smile at his appearance.

"No, I'm very well aware of it." Your tone is high-pitched in excitement.

"It wasn't a question."

"Oh..."

“You talk more than you work,” he observes with a quirk of his brow. “One would think another nerd would be a better influence on you.”

“I work at night,” you defend worriedly, “I promise I’m not slacking off. Can I get a kiss please?”

You’re so adorable when you’re needy. He hides a smirk with a bite of his lip; he thrives from your loyalty to him, but he knows Jimin is a threat to it. He wants you to stop talking to that freak, and he justifies it as a concern for his grades. “I’ll kiss you when you’re not procrastinating. Do you think you deserve even a pat on the head?”

“I do! I’m halfway done with the research paper, please Jungkook,” you beg pathetically, “I-I’ll show it to you, I have it with me right now.” You start unzipping the case of your laptop until he holds up a hand for you to stop.

“You’re going to read it to me, but not here.”

When he stands up, so do you in a haste. He leaves the cafeteria with you hot on his tail, almost jogging when his strides are much bigger compared to yours. You resemble a clueless lamb following a lion, desperate to hold his claws with your hooves. You don’t know where he’s leading you as you walk down the halls until you stop in front of a door. You’re about to freak out when he swings open the door, but you realize the lecture room is empty.

“You want me to read here?” you inquire meekly. It’s a little intimidating to do it in complete silence, because you have a tendency to stutter when reading out loud and you don’t want to embarrass yourself in front of Jungkook where no one can talk over you. 

“Yup.” He snatches your laptop case from your hand with the handle, and roughly opens it before placing the device on the front row wooden desk. It’s a large hall, and the desks stretch out to the half of the room. You’re feeling stage fright for no particular reason; it feels like reverse claustrophobia. “Open the document and give me your phone.”

You don’t question him and hand in your phone before going through your files on the laptop. Jungkook is looking through your contacts and grins when he finds himself saved as: the love of my life ♡. Jimin is saved by his name, and he finds his WhatsApp through his information below. Once he opens your empty chat with him, he switches to your camera and pushes your back so you’re bent over the desk. You sharply inhale and ask, “Kook?” 

“Don’t get distracted now,” he lightly scolds and starts pulling down your pants. You stopped wearing skirts after the incident a week ago to appease him. You stammer with your back arched, and your ass is on full display for him. It’s humiliating. “Start reading.”

“H-Humans are- Jungkook?” you warily look back at Jungkook when he slides the slit of your panties to the side.

“Are you slacking off?” he condescends. 

You bite your lip anxiously and continue reading, “Humans are social animals that n-need social interaction,” Jungkook spits in his hand, “the extent of our social relationships is the most important predictor of h-happiness.” You squeal when you feel wet fingers graze your folds, but you know better than to stop and ask what he’s doing.

“Continue,” he coaxes softly as he brushes his fingertips over your pussy lips. 

“Um, o-one of the main reasons our brains have developed the way they have is so that we can be social,” you speak between shaky breaths. Your cheeks are tinted crimson with embarrassment from his touches; why is he pleasuring you when he specifically told you, you didn’t deserve any? “Being happy a-all of the time is neither possible nor desirable.”

“Is it now?” He slips a finger in your cunt and you involuntarily let out a cry as you push your body forward. You don’t notice him holding up your phone behind you while slowly sliding his finger in and out of you. His saliva is mixing with your arousal as you answer in a gasp, “Yes.”

“Tell me why.”

“B-Because negative feelings are natural. When it comes to negative feelings, the most important thing to remember is to learn,” you pause to exhale with quivering lips, “to control certain potentially harmful thoughts.” You whine his name when another finger is added to your heat. You’re moving your hips back and forth until he slaps your wet folds as a warning. “Sorry,” you peep and continue in a breath, “Happiness all of the time entails epistemic irrationality.”

It’s difficult to keep your eyes open when you just want to indulge in his thrusts, but you’re encouraged to stop reading when he doesn’t comment on your moans. His pace is quickening and you chase his fingers with your hips, cum dripping down his wrist as you mewl.  

“You enjoying yourself, whore?”

You nod and whimper, “So much.” You’re clutching the edge of the desk as he fingers you with fervor.

“And you're my girl?” 

“Yes, all yours, I love you so much,” you pant, not stopping for a moment to question his words. He has a full view of your sopping wet cunt on the camera, and he lightly blows on you, making you shiver. He’s recording you confess your love for him while getting fingered.

“Only me?” he presses.

“Only you, Jungkook, I love you more than anything,” you slur as you start to feel a knot in your stomach.

“Then pee.”

“Wh-What?”

“Touch your clit and pee.” He removes his fingers from your clenching hole and takes a step back. “Prove your love to me.”

You mourn the loss of his hand while staring wide-eyed at the floor. You’re contemplating his demand as your hand slowly reaches down to your clit. Is he asking you to squirt? Your breathing is shallow as you near your climax, and you still don’t know if you’ll go through with his requirement.

It drips out in tiny drops as you come undone, moaning as clear liquid spills out of you for only a few seconds. 

“Good girl, my good little girl,” Jungkook whispers as he intently watches you humiliate yourself in the name of love. You’re twitching and trembling in shame when he stops recording you and sends it to Jimin without a second’s waste. “Are you okay, baby?”

You hum with a pout as you collect yourself by standing up straight, a sway in your posture. 

“Give me your panties, you’ve made a mess on the floor,” he chastises as he holds out a hand. You slip and step out of them before giving it to him. In return, he passes your phone before feigning a gasp, “Shit, I think I sent Jimin a video of you when I was trying to forward it to my phone.”

Your mouth falls open as heat consumes your entire being. “H-Huh?” Tears brim in your eyes almost instantly; your heart is pounding from anxiety.

“How will you ever look at him now,” he empathizes with a fake frown. “He must think of you as such a slut now.”

“Let me delete it,” you panic as you open your phone. “Wh-Where is it?”

He motions you to give him the phone and opens WhatsApp after. “He’s already seen it.” There are two blue ticks under the message.

“No, no, no,” you pull your hair in agony with a whimper. You quickly put your pants back on and cry as you do so.

“I guess that’s the end of your friendship,” he raises his eyebrows to himself without a hint of sympathy.

“What do I do?!” you wail and fling your hands in stress.

“Avoid him. I’ll make sure he won’t leak it.”

He steps forward to lean in your face intimidatingly. “And don’t talk to him ever again.”

You don’t exactly have a choice now, do you? 

[some-kindofgnome]

Kinktober #27: The Lake: Bakusquad

In which you and Kirishima take a trip to the lake for a little class reunion.

Characters: primarily Kirishima / f!reader, but also Jirou, Sero, Kaminari, Bakugou and Mina / f!reader AND background Kaminari / Jirou

Warnings: smut (18+ please!) aged-up characters, pro-hero Kiri, Bakugou, Denki, Jirou, Mina and Sero, group sex, polyamory, brief mentions of drinking, not a whole lot of attention paid to protection (sorry...)

Notes: Today’s prompt was “Orgy.” You can probably tell by how many fcking PEOPLE are involved lmao. I... had trouble with this one! This was tough. There are a lot of limbs to keep track of. But I wouldn’t be opposed to re-visiting this dynamic again soon, with more time to play around a little. 

I know it says 1-A on the masterlist, but it really did turn out to be more of a Bakusquad thing, sorry!

Kinktober Masterlist

You’re folding one last sweater into your weekend bag and zipping it up when Kirishima swings by to pick you up.

After a very long, hot summer week at the office, your boss let you go a couple of hours early on a slow Friday afternoon- just soon enough to catch the early train home. It turned out to be very lucky indeed, since Kirishima’s already here and you’re just finishing up your packing.

Then again, it’s not your fault you’ve been agonizing over what to bring.

The buzzer by your door sends your heart leaping into your throat, but it only takes a quick peek out the front window to confirm that it’s Kiri. He knows that you’ll look before you head for the door, so he’s stepped back from the front stoop a little and shoots you a bashful wave with one hand shoved into his pocket.

You melt. He’s cute enough to put your nerves to rest.

“Good afternoon, milady,” he greets with a sweep of charming enthusiasm when you pull the door open for him. He bows playfully before stepping into your apartment. “I will be your escort this weekend. Show me to your luggage.”

“I don’t think there’s enough of it to be called ‘luggage,’” you giggle. You slip an arm around his neck and push a kiss against his cheek.

“Hi.”

He gasps, pressing his fingers to the spot where your lips touched.

“Such unprofessional behaviour. I’m going to have to report this, you know.”

“Shut up.” You bat at his chest. The bastard, in all his well-muscled glory, barely flinches. “Let’s go before I change my mind.”

The threat’s playful, but you’d be lying if you said you didn’t consider it, it in the darkest hours of the night before.

Every year, on the last weekend in July, Kirishima gets together with some old friends from UA. They rent a little cabin out by the lake, drink, party, and catch up. You’ve been dating just under a year, so you’ve never been to one of these before. Even though you’ve met everybody who’s going to be there individually, it’ll be the first time you see them as a group.

And Kirishima’s known them for ten years. You like to think you know him pretty well, but compared to them, you’re strangers.

“It’s not too late to,” he breathes, pausing to glance at you with a moment’s sincerity.

“No,” you brush. “No, I’m fine.” You put your hands on his forearms and squeeze gently. “Nervous, but… that’s what the drive up is for, right?”

“Yeah.” He flashes you a grin that steals your heart over and over again, sweeping you and your little suitcase out the door.

The drive is breezy and surprisingly quick, given the expected level of weekend cottage-country-traffic. You blast the radio and turn it down during the commercials. But you can’t help the sinking dread that pits in your stomach when the ETA in your navigation app drops from an hour and a half to forty-five minutes to five minutes.

The drive was supposed to be your chance to settle your nerves. You’re not ready to be here yet.

When you pull down the sloped gravel driveway of the cabin, there are already three cars there. You recognize Bakugou’s sleek Audi, but you can only assume that the other two belong to the rest of the crew.

So everyone else is already here. Makes sense. Nobody else works 9-5, so they probably cut off early to get here.

Doesn’t make you any less freaked out.

Kirishima insists on grabbing both of your bags. He shoulders his way into the cabin with excitement building in every muscle. You can see it from ten feet away. He’s thrilled to be here. That thought honestly helps, for a hot minute.

Until you hear the voices that drift from inside.

The whole cabin’s lit up with savoury, beautiful smells when you step inside. The kitchen’s crowded- Bakugou’s chopping vegetables and doing his best to shoo everyone out of his way while he sautés and chops and glazes and bakes.

“Jesus Christ. Finally. Will you get these assholes outta my way?” Bakugou snarls, waving his knife around as soon as he catches sight of the two of you.

Before you can even laugh properly at Bakugou’s temper, there’s a high-pitched squeal of your name from behind him, and he’s abruptly shoved against the edge of the counter as a bright pink blur streaks around the island and launches herself at you.

“Hiiiii,” Mina coos, pressing a kiss to your cheek after she’s given you a tight squeeze.

The rest of the party filters in around you- Sero and Denki crowding not-so-subtly around the new addition to their little crew while Jirou makes her way over at a respectful pace. It becomes obvious to you almost immediately that you’re the first girl Kirishima’s ever brought to one of these.

You want to let that feel special. Instead, the intimidation only spikes.

You need to relax.

“Here, babe,” Mina sighs, shooing the boys away from you. “Kiri’ll take your bags upstairs. Let’s get you a drink.”

She grabs your hand and drags you toward the bar cart in the living room. Kirishima disappears up the stairs, but before you know it, he’s re-appearing. So is everybody else. The smells from the kitchen are growing unbearably tantalizing.

Bakugou hollers when dinner’s ready.

He’s done glazed pork chops with some kind of gorgeous mango slaw- indulgent and delicious, but light enough that none of you will be too stuffed at the end of the meal. You sit between him and Kirishima and everybody catches up.

Mina and Sero are starting an agency together. Denki and Jirou found a place together just outside of the city. And Bakugou, of all people, has just taken on his first U.A. intern.

You feel sorry for the poor kid already.

Once the dinner dishes have been cleared, you’re starting to feel more at ease. The conversation flows easily between the group of you, and you’re kind of killing it with the one-liners. Even Bakugou gives a dull chuckle when you land a particularly good one.

But the real purpose of this weekend can’t be put off forever.

“Babe,” Mina coos eventually, leaning over Kirishima to settle a hand on your thigh. “I am so excited that you’re here. Do you know how long it’s been since we had anybody new to play with?”

“Mina,” Kirishima scolds. “Don’t scare her.”

“What?” Mina sits up. “You said you were gonna tell her before you brought her here. Kiri, tell me you talked to her.” She looked up at you with wide eyes. “He told you, didn’t he?”

“Yes,” you promise, holding your hands up to settle her. “He talked to me. I agreed to come knowing full well what we’re here for. But… I’m still nervous as hell over here.”

“Don’t worry,” Mina promises. “We’re gonna take good care of you, sweets. Besides, you and Kiri and Bakugou have before, right? So between them, it’s basically like you’ve already slept with all of us.”

She’s got a point. But that doesn’t change the fact that your cheeks are like molten lava just thinking about it.

Every year, on the last weekend in July, Kirishima gets together with some old friends from UA. They rent a cabin out by the lake, drink, party… and fuck. You’ve shrugged monogamy with him before. Mina’s right- Bakugou’s joined you on a few different occasions. But this is something you’ve never even thought of trying before.

Still, Kirishima makes you want to take risks. He’s always been good that way- encouraging you to push your comfort zone without compromising your boundaries. When you first talked about this weekend, he’d framed his little pitch with the promise that if you weren’t comfortable with it, he was happy to miss out on it, too.

But you know his friends. You know his character. You trust him.

So you jumped.

“She’s so cute when she’s embarrassed,” Denki chuckles, propping his chin in his hand. He’s got his other palm on Jirou’s thigh under the table. In fact, everybody’s starting to get closer, now that dinner’s been taken care of.

“Let me kiss her. Please, Kiri?” Mina leans over again, resting a palm on Kiri’s lap as she bats her eyelashes at you.

“You’re gonna have to ask her yourself, Mina,” Kiri chides. He folds his arms behind his head and leans back in his chair, ready for the show.

Mina purrs your name again, smiling indulgently as she leans a little closer.

“Can I kiss you? Pretty please?”

You’re suddenly bashful, biting your lip. But you want this. You do.

“Sure. Okay.”

You release your lip from your teeth as Mina leans forward. Her lips are soft and so plush, and she’s a careful kisser. Out your right ear, you can hear Kirishima give a little sigh as he watches, and he rests a hand on each of your backs, rubbing soothingly.

“Come on,” Bakugou grunts as the two of you break apart. His chair scrapes harshly across the tile when he stands. “Get your asses to the living room before shit gets messy.”

Before you know it, you’re in a tangle of bare and sweaty limbs. You started out between Bakugou and Kirishima- the two boys you’re most familiar with. You’re stroking both of their hard cocks while they kiss each other, then you, then each other again. All the while, in the background, Mina, Sero, Denki and Jirou are stripping each other down, sprawling across the couch, letting a symphony of moans and sighs drift across the living room to your ears.

Before long, you’re pulled backwards into Denki’s lap as he fucks diligently up into you. Your pussy’s sloppy, slick from Mina’s tongue, and she’s perched right next to you, riding your boyfriend’s cock as the two of you let your hands drift.

You can see that Kirishima has a tight bond with all of these people. But you feel no jealousy towards them. If he can be so closely bonded with so many from his past, then why not you, too? Every time he catches your eye, no matter how many bodies there are between the two of you, he shoots you a loving little wink.

And at the end of the night, it’s you who’s going to be falling asleep beside him.

At some point, Bakugou pulls up a nearby chair, stroking himself while he watches the six of you drive each other to the edge, over and over and over again. By the time you’re all finished, you’re certain at least two dozen orgasms have passed between the lot of you.

And it shows. You’re exhausted.

After sharing such intimacy, you’re reluctant to break from one another. But inevitably you do, separating into your respective beds for the night. As you get ready for bed Kirishima’s full of energy.

“Holy shit, babe,” he raves, grabbing you by the waist and pulling you in for a tight kiss. “That was so fucking hot. You did such a good job, god damn.” He cups your jaw between both his hands and pulls your gaze to his.

He looks down at you with the Milky Way lit up in his eyes, fathomless love all for you.

“You looked so perfect,” he confesses, kissing your forehead, “in the middle a’ all my friends like that.”

You fall into bed together, feeling sore and spent and very loved, and sleep better than you have in weeks.

The next morning, in a haze of woodsy dawn, everybody fights over what to make for breakfast.

[mymoonagedaydream]

Only the Good Die Young (Part 3)

Summary: Before you could commit to a future with Bucky, you had to learn about his past

Pairing: Biker!Bucky x y/n

Word Count: 2.4k

Warnings: Terrible language, anti-religious sentiment, harmful relationship with parents, smoking

Author's Note: Lordy, it’s a good job Billy Joel has such a banging back catalogue. This is inspired by the lovely ‘Just the Way You Are’.

---

Soft sunlight bled through the curtains and caused your eyes to flicker open. As they adjusted to the brightness, the slightly stained roof of the trailer bedroom came into focus. Memories of the night before slowly trickled back into your mind and you smiled to yourself, stretching your arms upwards. When you moved to spread them sideways across the bed, you expected one of them to hit another body, but both just dropped straight onto the mattress.  

You jerked upright, scanning the room for life. You were alone. Wrapping the sheet around yourself and scooching off the bed, you scurried through to the front room. Buck was probably just making breakfast or something. 

No sign of him.

Clutching the sheet a little tighter, you opened the trailer door, only to see that his bike was missing too. A mild panic started to set in as you were unable to prevent hundreds of depressing scenarios racing through your mind simultaneously. 

Why would he drive off without saying anything?

You gathered your clothes, dumped unceremoniously in a pile on the floor, and threw them on. Taking a few deep breaths, you tried to calm yourself down, but you couldn’t fight off the intrusive thoughts. The rational part of you knew that he’d probably just nipped out quickly, that he’d return soon, but in the back of your mind you couldn’t stop worrying that he’d got what he wanted and left for good. 

Why didn’t he leave a note or wake you? 

You spent the next fifteen minutes searching, pacing and overthinking, until finally, you heard a motorbike engine approaching in the distance. 

A wave of relief hit you. Maybe you’d overreacted a little. 

You were just scared. You knew that if this fling with Bucky went on much longer, it would grow into something with the potential to absolutely shatter you. It was terrifying to think how invested you were in a guy you’d only properly known for a matter of days. You couldn’t shake your mother’s shrill voice, incessantly warning you about him and his reputation. 

At least if it ended now, it’d be a little easier to pick up the pieces.

‘Oh hey.’ Bucky came through the door with a paper bag full of groceries. He circled an arm around your waist, planting a kiss on your cheek before moving to the kitchen. ‘I grabbed a few things from the store, figured you were probably tired of hot dogs.’

‘You didn’t wake me up, I would’ve come with.’

‘Ah you’ve never seen yourself sleeping. Waking up that face would feel like slapping a puppy.’ Chuckling, he glanced over, noticing that you were a little subdued. He squinted and smirked. ‘Were you worried?’

You slid your hands into your pockets, trying so hard to look relaxed that you probably ended up looking like a junkie in withdrawal. ‘Worried?’

‘Man, I can read you like a book. You thought I was gone for good, thought all I wanted was a roll in the hay, didn’t ya?’ He grinned and stopped putting away the groceries, instead moving over to you and placing his hands on your waist. ‘I mean that last part is true, but I thought I might as well come back for seconds.’

You smacked him on the shoulders, trying to suppress a smile. ‘Asshole.’

---

Bucky suggested the two of you drive down to the beach, get some fresh air to take your mind off what he called your ‘runaway boyfriend complex’. He was also completely beside himself when you admitted that you’d never been to the seaside- the church camp you went to every single childhood summer was deep in the forest, about as far from a beach as you could get.

After driving for a while you started smelling the sea air. Fresh and briny, you couldn’t stop pulling in lungfuls of it, drinking the scent like a thick soup. You watched over Bucky’s shoulder as the green horizon was gradually swallowed by blue, as far as the eye could see. It was breathtaking.

He stopped the bike close to the edge of the sand. The weather was cool and breezy with clouds covering the sky, so the beach was all but empty. You surveyed the vast expanse of sand stretching in both directions.

You didn’t know why it took an intervention by Bucky for you to realise how much more there is to the world than god and grades, but you did know that you owed him a hell of a lot for doing it. 

Too distracted by the view and by your profound inner monologue, you didn’t notice what he was up to. He’d pulled his shoes and socks off along with his jacket, dumping them next to the bike. He only caught your attention when he raced out in front of you, shouting ‘what the hell you waiting for, doll-face?’ 

You quickly followed suit, undressing and running to catch up with him. 

The crisp sea breeze and the soft sand between your toes should probably have been relaxing, but the gradually closing gap between you and Bucky was making your heart thump like a bass drum. He slowed down and you took the opportunity to jump up onto his back. 

Holding your legs tight, he started spinning around, but you slipped from his grasp and landed flat onto the sand.

‘Shit, are you alright?’ He dropped onto his hands and knees over you, concern melting from his face when he realised you were laughing.

‘Didn’t realise you had such a weak grip, Barnes.’

‘Right, that’s it.’ He gathered you up in his arms. ‘You’re going in the sea.’

He waded in up to his knees, threatening to drop you whenever you tried to wriggle. It took some convincing before he let you down, and he roared with laughter at your reaction to the freezing water. 

After paddling for a while, the two of you went to sit down on some rocks. You brushed all the windswept hairs out of your eyes, your feet were tingling with cold and sand was making your thighs chafe, but the giddy grin didn’t shift from your face for a second.

Bucky took out a pack of cigarettes and placed one between his lips, fumbling around in his pockets for a lighter. You considered for a second before hesitantly holding your hand out to him, silently requesting one. He looked down at it then up to your face, raising one eyebrow in suspicion. 

‘You ever tried one before?’ You shook your head faintly, a little embarrassed at your lack of experience. He smirked and pushed the pack back into his pocket. ‘Nah.’

‘Nah?’ 

‘Don't go changing to try and please me.’ He lit the cigarette and put an arm around your shoulders. ‘I like you just the way you are.’

Admittedly, you were semi-aiming for a Sandy-from-Grease type situation there, but it was probably a good thing that he shot you down before you embarrassed yourself with a phlegmy coughing fit.

Besides, you’d never been a huge fan of the whole change yourself to impress guys message. At least Bucky seemed to feel the same.

‘C’mon.’ He stood up and offered you his arm. ‘It’s freezing, let’s go back.’

---

As soon as you were both through the door, Bucky caught your mouth with his and moved your legs up around his waist, carrying you over to the sofa. Your back hit the armrest and you pulled him tight to you, toes curling in anticipation. His mouth moved down to your neck and your chest shuddered at the feeling of his soft lips and warm breath. You felt his hand snake up underneath your shirt, causing you to arch your back further into him. You closed your eyes, completely relaxing under his touch.

Suddenly, the trailer door swung open, hitting the outside wall with an almighty crash. 

The sound made you jump out of your skin. Bucky snapped his head round before swiftly launching himself off you. A heavy boot landed through the entrance, followed by two shaking hands fumbling around to grab the doorframe and heave a stooped, burly body through the gap.

‘What the hell are you doing?’ Bucky was almost shouting at the swaying figure standing in the doorway. ‘I told you I was here.’

‘You didn’t tell me nothin’ boy.’ 

The stranger had the voice of a lifelong chain-smoker or an alcoholic who only drank kerosene, by the looks of him he was quite possibly both. You swung your legs off the couch and scooched yourself to the edge of the seat, readying for some kind of fight-or-flight situation, not that you’d be much use at either. 

The guest nodded towards you. ‘Who’s that?’

Bucky gestured his hand in your direction. ‘This is y/n.’ Then he turned to look at you with some kind of vague warning in his eyes. ‘Y/n, this is my old man.’

Ah. Shit. 

Old man gave a gruff chuckle, pushing past his son and stumbling to the kitchen. He coughed harshly into his hand for a minute before beginning to haphazardly rifle through the cupboards. 

Bucky rubbed his forehead, not wavering his gaze from his father. It was jarring to see him so stressed. If this situation was enough to make him freak out, maybe his father was more dangerous than he looked.

‘Not your usual type, son.’ You looked over to see the intruder propped against the counter, leering at you over a can of beer.

‘Don’t.’ Bucky’s voice was low, threatening. ‘Take what you want and go, alright?’

‘What’s the deal with this one then? Prison? Meth?’ He was smirking as he took a long gulp from his can, watching Bucky tense up and approach him slowly. 

You shifted uncomfortably, feeling the tension weighing heavy in the air. The two men were face to face now, one still slouched, the other stood menacingly straight with his jaw clenched and shoulders squared.

‘She a hooker?’

Bucky swiftly grabbed two fistfuls of his father’s shirt and pulled him away from the counter, the half-empty beer clattering to the ground and exploding with suds. You felt foolish just sitting there, watching, but there was no way in hell you were going to intervene. 

‘You gonna hit me son?’ The intruder spat, his face inches away from his son’s. ‘Over a bit of cheap tail?’

Bucky stood firm, looking as though he was ready to crack the man’s skull against the wall.

‘Hey, you.’ The father turned his head towards you, chuckling and flashing a wicked grin. ‘I got a joke for you.’ 

‘Don’t talk to her.’

‘It’s one of my boy’s favourites, he loves it.’ He glared at you through glazed eyes. ‘What’s a woman?’

You just stared back at him, waiting. 

‘A life support system for a cunt.’

With that Bucky seemed to snap, spinning round and shoving his father harshly towards the open door. Unable to stay balanced on his trembling legs, the man stumbled backwards through the gap and landed with a loud thud on the grass outside. Bucky quickly jumped out after him, slamming the door, leaving you alone inside the trailer. 

You heard shouting and crashing, prompting you to jump up from your seat and cross over to the front window. The fight had moved by the time you drew the curtain back, you couldn’t see them but god you hoped Bucky was winning.

You didn’t know why, but in that moment the only useful thing you felt you could do was clean up all the spilled beer. Grabbing a fistful of kitchen towels, you knelt down and wiped them over the puddle, feeling hot tears welling up in your eyes.

You’d almost finished when the trailer door clicked open and Bucky stumbled back in, grazes on his knuckles and blood dripping from his nose. He didn’t look at you, just stumbled over to the couch and flopped down, head in his hands. 

You grabbed a cloth and wet it, moving over silently and sitting beside him. 

‘Let me see.’ It was barely a whisper, you had no idea if he was still volatile. 

To your relief, he dropped his hands and fell backwards into the cushions. It looked like he’d taken a firm punch to the nose, but it wasn’t broken. The worst injuries he had were on his knuckles, you hated to imagine what his dad’s face ended up looking like. 

He flinched as you pressed the towel to his hand, his eyes started searching your face. 

‘I didn’t want you to hear all that stuff. Not like that, anyway. Not from him.’ 

You weren’t sure how to respond to that. You didn’t want to lie and say that his father’s words hadn’t upset you- hearing about his past from someone that actually knew him had just reignited all your worries. You knew people could change but, that much? That fast?

‘Would you have told me if he hadn’t?’ You muttered, keeping your gaze fixed on his injuries, avoiding his eyes as best you could.  

He chuckled. ‘Yeah, eventually I would’ve told you that I used to have terrible taste in girls and jokes.’

You didn’t react, causing his chuckles to fade awkwardly. He moved his hand up to cup the side of your face, gently shifting it up so your gaze met his. He squinted at you slightly, prompting you to speak 

You sighed. ‘Why are you interested in me, Buck? I know you said you like me how I am and everything, but I’m obviously not your type at all.’

‘I don’t know.’ The honesty of that hit you pretty hard. He stroked his thumb across your cheek. ‘I think we’re the same. Your parents chose the bible, mine chose the bottle, both of us got royally fucked up as a result.’ 

‘I don’t know if trauma bonding is a great foundation for a relationship.’

He bit his lip, his voice swimming with desperate sincerity. ‘I just want someone I can talk to, I’m tired of having some pretty face tell me pretty lies.’

‘I’m just struggling to see a happy ending here Buck.’ Tears were welling in your eyes and your voice was cracking. ‘We don’t have any money or support, I don’t even know if I can afford to go back to college.’

He pulled you into a tight hug.

‘I took the good times, I’ll take the bad times.’

---

Part Four

---

@shawnie--jo

---

[breezypunk]

WIP Wednesday : )

I have some major wips in progress, one is close to being done, and will probably be released next week sometime.

That's my big summer themed prop pack.

The photo doesn't show everything, just a few things, but I've been having so much fun learning how to port props that I ended up making en entire themed pack to release for the summertime : ) what mainly was going to be just a beachy thing with a few props ended up growing, and I hope everyone does enjoy it when it comes out.

__________________

Also been working on clothes of course, I have been working on this little minimalist tank top, will be for both masc & fem.

Very simple but I love simple tops.

Also been working on Songbird's jacket which in breezy fashion isn't going to be as is.

No we're cutting and cropping lmao.

So that's what I've been doing as far as wips go and I'm super excited to get this all out for everyone :3

As for VP I don't think I've taken proper VP in a hot second cos I've been so busy with the prop pack, I miss my boys so I'm gonna go take a bunch of beachy pics with them now!

If anyone see's this feel free to show your wips and tag me <333

[ilguna]

Lacuna - Chapters 13-16 (f.o)

summary: they say the odds tend to favor those who need them. well, they were wrong.

warnings; swearing. MURDER, GORE.

wc; 10.3k

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

–

-- CHAPTER THIRTEEN --

If this is what it’s like to be dead, then you don’t want to be dead anymore. 

First off, it’s cold as all hell in here. It’s like when you were younger and your brothers would throw you into the frigid ass water for fun in the winter. Of course, you could swim back then. Like every other person in district four, you had learned to swim at the sprightly age of four, probably younger. You start young when it comes to knots, fishing and swimming.

By the time you’re seven or eight you’re basically blending in with the water. Most kids by then can swim like they never left the water, they’re fish themselves. You used to race the kids back home all the time to see who could swim fastest from dock to dock. And those were like a quarter to a half a mile apart each. Every single damn time, you somehow managed to beat them. The runner up would always be at least thirty seconds behind you. On good days, more.

Fishing? Well, if you’re old enough to hold a rod then you’re old enough to get your ass sat on the boat. You can surely get something caught on the line, and then your parents would reach over and get the fish off of the hook for you. Then, you throw the sucker back in, and the process repeats. Really, they’re doing all the work, you’re just sitting there to keep the rod from going anywhere when something does tug back.

And knot tying is easy. Clumsy fingers get better as time goes on, but you observe until you’re eight or nine. You don’t start the knots until you’re nine to ten because the chances of the kids fucking up a perfectly good line with a bad line, is more common than you think. Even the prodigies are prone to messing up on the simplest ones. It’s fine though, they’ll learn it in the next couple years of their life, and soon they’ll be doing it in their sleep.

When they’re bored, they’ll ask for a rope or a wire to mess with so they can fuck around and tie knots. Practice gets you everywhere in this day and age, so there’s no better way to do it than when you’re bored. If you can do it without looking, then god damn, you might as well be teaching the others. Sometimes, you still catch Reed looking down to tie them, and he’s been doing it for over ten years by now.

The room is cold, and it only gets worse as time goes on. Sometimes, it’ll ease up just a little bit, but that’s rare. Every couple of hours, you’re certain. It’s not a constant feeling of the warmth of a goddamn grizzly bear snuggled right up against your side. You wish it was though, then you wouldn’t be shivering and chattering your teeth. They hit against each other, and you think that you’ll bite your tongue or chip one of your many teeth.

Not to mention the fact that it’s wet. There’s always the sound of water running, every now and then you’ll get a drop of water on your forehead or something. Furthering the fact that you’re cold. Who knew a single drop of water could ruin the temporary warmth that you’d falsely given yourself?

You, you guess.

“I-I-It’s cold as b-buh-balls in he-here.” you mutter, going to turn over.

The stabbing pain in your lower abdomen makes your eyes snap open, a muffled scream tries to leave your mouth, but a hand reaches over to place it over your mouth. Your entire body begins to ache. From your neck to your thighs. The left side of your face is swollen and your nose is very much crooked. It’s throwing you off.

When you raise your hand to grab the arm, you see that your own are littered in purple, blue and black bruises. In a panic, you shove whoever it is off, as you desperately tear off the sleeping bag without actually ripping it.

You know who it is next to you. You can see the wide green eyes staring at you in shock. His blonde hair is stuck to his forehead like he just came through the waterfall a minute ago. He’s in nothing but his pants, probably letting his jacket and shirt dry. You can already hear him asking you what you’re doing and he hasn’t even opened his mouth just yet.

“Woah--” Finnick starts, the second you unzip the jacket, pulling it off, “Are you cold? You might have hypothermia--”

“It’s not burning!” you snap, pulling your shirt up, and only then do you slow down for a moment. To see the shirt wrapped around your waist and the blood seeping through along with the bruises blossoming across your stomach, “How many of my ribs are broken?”

“I don’t know.” Finnick sits down now, rather than crouching, “I thought you were dead when I found you.”

You look to him, squinting, “When did you find me?”

“The uh--the night that two had died?”

“Very specific.”

“A couple days after Allio had died.” he tells you.

“Three days?” you ask, you’ve barely been keeping track, and now that you’ve been out for fuck knows how long, this entire thing has thrown it off balance.

“Yeah,”

“Who died? I only heard one cannon.” you mutter, zipping the jacket back up, and you notice that the jacket isn’t very breezy in the back.

Motherfucker! He’s tied his shirt around your waist and gave you his jacket. He has to be freezing, and he’s doing it to make sure that you get better. Or Finnick has an ulterior motive, he’s trying to win you back after he pulled that ass move and left you behind.

Finnick’s face twists with worry the second your eyes turn on him, “I’m sorry, okay? I couldn’t just stay there--”

“Like hell you couldn’t!” you shout, shouting hurts your side, but it’s a dull pain.

“Playing pretend? Playing house? I don’t know how you lasted for so long.” he says calmly.

“It was going well until they fuckin’ figured out that I killed Allio,” you sigh, propping yourself up on the rocks behind you.

“You killed Allio?”

“You killed the girl from six?” you mock.

“And Thyme.” he tells you, moving away from you now, and before you can ask, he answers, “Mercy kill.”

“Who died after that?” you ask, running your fingers over your nose. You’re not too thrilled when it doesn’t hurt as badly as you thought it would. It means that it’s setting. Your nose is going to be fucking stuck like this.

“Guys from ten and three.”

You nearly choke on your spit, “Blaire? Blaire’s dead?!” 

“Is that ten or three?”

“Three!” you cry, you can feel the frown on your face before it’s even settled, “He saved me from Lennox. If it weren’t for him, I would have been beaten to death. But I guess he felt like he owed me after I saved him from starving.”

“You saw him a second time?” Finnick looks over his shoulder.

“The day you left I saw him down by the lake or something, don’t remember exactly. Spent most of my time at the pond-lake and he kept showing up. My little bit of company.”

“Leave it to you to make friends in everyone you meet.” he mutters, you glare at the back of his head.

“Leave it to the fourteen-year-old boy to bail on his first alliance to deal with the career pack alone.” you pick up the nearest rock and hurl it at the back of his head for emphasis.

He groans, rubbing it and giving you a small glance over his shoulder, “Like I said--”

“I don’t want another apology.” you tell him, “Or an excuse.”

He doesn’t say anything, staring off into the water.

“Anyone else die?”

“Boy from eight.”

“Any of those kills yours?”

“The girl from eight on the first day, Thyme and the girl from six. Then the boy from ten and also the boy from eight.”

Quick mental math tells you that it’s five. He’s killed five so far, the same as you. Ten people that were in this arena have been killed by the district four participants. Everyone back home must be thrilled. You can’t wait for people to ask you what it’s like being a murder. It happened to Mags, it’ll surely happen to you.

And your response? You’ll ask them if they want to be added to the numbers.

“Damn. You know mine already.” you begin to push yourself up, and with all the noise, Finnick turns.

“What are you doing?”

“Fresh air.”

“You’re going to get the bandage wet.”

“Then I’ll take it off, it’s bloody anyway.” you begin with the jacket.

“Wouldn’t be if you stopped moving.” he mutters.

“I’m going to give you a black eye.” you threaten.

“To go along with yours? Along with that broken nose?”

“Finnick I swear to god, I don’t have a problem with stabbing you to death in here.”

He laughs, “You’re weak. Probably can’t even hold your arms above your head.” it’s quiet for a moment as you debate if you’re willing to prove him wrong, he adds, “That wasn’t a challenge.”

“It’s about to be.” you tell him, grabbing the bottom of your shirt as you very slowly pull it off. It starts in your ribs, and then slowly travels to your shoulders. When the rim--is that the right word?--of the shirt hits your swollen eye, you wince. 

“We’re in the third week, I think. Six people left. Four if it’s just me and you.” he looks over.

Final numbers.

“Well, good.” you say, but it’s not good. You’re covered in bruises, broken bones and a stab wound in your stomach. You’re useless. Finnick could have killed you in your sleep and you wouldn’t have known. It would all have been done for you.

Once you start kicking at your shoes, Finnick realizes that you’re serious. He moves over, untying the boots and then helping with your pants. He carefully unties the bandage, since you hadn’t touched it just yet. And then he takes off his own socks and pants so it won’t get wet. Might as well come back into the little cave with dry things to wear.

It’s daytime, you can see it through the water. You put one hand over the stab place, passing through the water. It’s a little hard on the head, from the gallons of water hitting your head. But as soon as you pass through, you’re heading for the pond-lake water.

“It’s salt.” Finnick says as if you don’t already know.

You slip in, and you can hear Finnick splashing behind you. Probably worrying that you’re going to end up drowning or anything. You can swim even in the worst conditions, he can go fuck himself.

Despite this, he holds beneath your arms, helping you into the water slowly. You want to leave the second that the salt water enters the wound, but you push through it. He can clearly see how uncomfortable you are, but allows you to continue. He’s smart, knows not to try and tell you what’s best for yourself. You need to be up and on your feet, running around like you’re good as new.

Not saying that you want to kill off the last four, but there’s no way that you can stay in here for another week. Another goddamn agonizing week of eating fish, drinking iodized salt water and shivering in a sleeping bag. It has to end, you’re hungry, you’re tired, you’re absolutely exhausted to your very bones.

“Mac, Trink and Lennox and whoever the last--”

“Girl from five.” Finnick interrupts, and you nod.

“Girl from five.” you agree.

“What about them?” his hands are very gentle on your sides, and they eventually fade away in the water.

“They need to--” you try, but Finnick’s hand really is ripped from your arm now, jerking you harshly. You’re about to complain, until he’s pulled beneath the water, sending water flying into the air, “Finnick?” 

How? How has he--you’re standing in the water! You’re fucking standing in it!”

You take in a deep breath, even though your lungs complain, following Finnick under the water. And you see the crevice he slipped into. A ravine in the middle of the pond-lake, and it goes down a while.

He’s reaching up for you, pointing to his ankle, and then making a stabbing motion.

His knife is on the seafloor, so you grab it. Something is holding onto his ankle and he needs you to save him.

You return to the top for air, knowing that it’ll be your last for a few minutes, and then you dive down. It’s probably not smart to have the knife sticking out from your mouth, or for it to be placed there in the first place, but it makes it easier for moving your arms. Before you know it, you’ve hit the crack, and you’re getting closer to Finnick by the second.

You take it out of your mouth, offering the handle to Finnick. His fingers graze it, and then he takes it after. Your lungs are burning, and you wish you could stay, but you’ll only drown. He’s working at his ankle, as you’re swimming up and occasionally looking down at him.

Then, he gets free, and he’s swimming faster than you are straight towards the top. On the way, he makes you wrap your arms around his torso, before he continues. When you’ve broken the surface, he’s gasping for air, you have a pounding headache, and it feels like you’ll never be able to hold air ever again.

“We need to leave.” you tell him, taking his arm as you pull him back to the waterfall, “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, fine.” he tells you, and hisses when you take his hand instead.

You pull it up to look at, tilting your head when you can’t see anything, but then you bring it closer, seeing all the little cuts on his fingers, palms…

“Are you using vines?” you turn to look at him, he nods.

“How’d you know?”

“Because Blaire had the same cuts.”

“Sounds like you and Blaire were getting cozy.” he mutters.

“No time for jealousy after you ran off with Thyme.” you tell him, “the cuts aren’t poisonous I don’t think. You’ll live.”

“Thanks.” he says, “Hungry?”

“I guess.”

It’s a bummer that the pond-lake time was cut short. You were really looking forward for planning out the future. What you want to do as soon as you’re better. Mags has to send shit now, you’re awake and there’s no better way to heal your wounds than when you’re cognizant. 

You’re ringing out your hair, which has grown a little longer in your time of being in the arena, when there’s a series of chimes, stopping you. Finnick looks to the sky from where he’d been staring off into the water.

“What the hell?”

“Congratulations on being the final six alive.” The gamemaker tells you guys, you feel like this is a trap, and you reach for Finnick immediately, he takes your hand, “There has been a rule change. If you and your district partner are still alive, then both of you may be crowned victors in these hunger games.”

You turn to Finnick the same moment he looks to you.

The gamemaker repeats what he says, as if you guys don’t understand. But you heard him the first time. A loud, crystal clear rule change. Who else would miss something this big?

“We can go home.” You laugh, grabbing Finnick, “Four more people and then we can go!”

“Only four?”

“Only four.” You confirm, pulling him closer.

-- CHAPTER FOURTEEN --

The rule change benefits two districts only. There’s obviously yours, you and Finnick are very much alive. District four has to be celebrating at this exact moment. Mox definitely cried when he received the news, and Reed was surprised. You can see it now.

This isn’t the first time the gamemakers have made this change. Every now and then, when there are districts with two people left in them, they’ll make this change. The particular district that wins, brings home their two kids. Celebrations are grand, bigger and better. And it’s expected that the winners are especially grateful. After all, you guys are supposed to be learning from your mistakes your ancestors made.

It’s only happened ten other times in the last sixty years. It’s not allowed during the Quarter Quells, at all. Because those are the special events. The twenty-fifth they chose the tributes, the fiftieth they got double the amount, and in eleven years there will be a third one. You’re just glad that you’re going to be a victor now. So they can’t throw a huge twist like six kids go in or something.

The rule change is never predicted, it’s a random choice. There have been times in the past where someone was able to guess that it would happen. People found out the system on why they did it, and started to find their way around it. After having the rule change twice in a row, the gamemakers realized that tributes were manipulating it.

They would choose the couples. So when everyone was beginning to cuddle up with each other—except for the huge age gaps like the twelve year olds and the fifteen—it became more common. Again, they figured this out and stopped doing it. Now it’s a once in a blue moon sort of thing.

You got really lucky.

You know that Reed is on the edge of his seat now. He’s cheering you on harder, telling you more advice, even if you can’t hear it. He has to be driving everyone around him nuts, even himself. He’ll be afraid to get on the boat to fish because he doesn’t want to miss anything important, like you or Finnick dying. Reed will be counting on Finnick to keep alive.

However, if Finnick were to die, it’s not an automatic crowning to district one—they have Trink and Lennox still alive, which is why there’s a rule change—they have to survive the other tributes. Kill one of them, Trink or Lennox, it doesn’t matter, then the rules will revert. There will be one victor only.

You could still very much win, it would be a lot more difficult. You’ll be fighting against the four others to make it home. Trink or Lennox would have to be the first to go. To even the playing fields, if one of them is dead, then they can’t team up against anyone. 

District One will probably shower the brats with all the riches they can afford. You wouldn’t doubt it if they got special treatment from the Capitol too. They have so many goddamn victors, it’s annoying. There are constantly houses being built for a new victor each year. They don’t win? No biggie, they’ll win next year.

Four won’t get the same treatment as one, or two. You guys will get the houses, the infinite riches and the celebrations the same as everyone else. But it won’t be as grand, it’ll be like the other districts. Four is a career but four is treated like it’s one of the rich districts but nothing important.

Anyway, the rule change is very important. Keep you and Finnick alive, kill the others and go home. You need to wipe out Trink or Lennox, either or, doesn’t matter. And the others will fall into your hands eventually.

“These vines are insufferable.” Finnick whines, you look from where you’re sitting to see that his hands are completely raw.

“Stop touching it!” You kick his arm with your foot, before going back to the fish.

“I can’t, it needs to be fixed.” Finnick mutters, you get up, yanking the damn thing out of his hands before throwing it through the water, “Hey!”

“Mags will send us rope or something,” you tell him, going to look at his expensive ass gift in the corner of the cave, “And then we can make a proper net.”

“Do you even know how?” Finnick puts his hands into the water to wash them off.

“Didn’t I tell you already? Blaire taught me how. I’ll be able to make a sturdy net with some rope.” You tell him.

You take a moment, deliberating if you want to go through the water or not. But the music from a sponsor makes your ears perk up practically, and you’re stumbling through the water, trying to keep your balance from the force of the water. 

Mags has sent a couple of things since you woke. The first thing is the cream for the wound on your side. You’ve been applying it every night, and it’s done it’s magic. It’s nothing but a bright pink scar now. She had nothing for bruises, or broken bones. So you’ve had to tough it out.

Finnick got his gift a couple days after he had left, sometime during the second week. You hadn’t even noticed it until you and him went back inside after the rule change. To see the silver trident staring back at you. Finnick was all smug talking about how it had to have cost thousands. All you could say was that he could have done just the same with a spear. But he told you that it wasn’t the same.

Whatever, both of you have your respected weapons now. He told you his technique on how he killed so many. You listened as he informed you of the net, that he would throw over the people, get them trapped and tangled. Then he would come in with the trident and kill them just like that.

Unfortunately, with that technique, it meant he kept losing the vine-nets. He’s made four, and he was on his way to making the fifth. Finnick wasn’t too fond of the idea of untangling the bodies of the people he killed from the nets. So instead he just let the gamemakers take them, because they’ll be able to cut it apart and take the body after that. Plus, he didn’t want to take the chance of the gamemakers getting impatient.

But with a rope, no more tiny cuts in the hands. It saves time, it means you guys can kill more people with the light through the waterfall technique. It draws people in, he nets them, kills them, and then the process repeats. But the nets took so much time to make that it would be hard to get two in a day.

Finnick splashes through the water faster than you can. On the way, he steps on the vine-net, and he hisses. Jumping on one foot for a second, holding the other he whines about the thorns. And then he continues, wobbling on his feet slightly.

“This is why you wear shoes!” You tell him, kicking the vines off to the side, away from where either of you would bother to go.

“It’s the hunger games, I don’t need shoes!” He tells you, grabbing the floating sponsor gift. He brings it all the way back over, being careful not to let it touch the water.

It would be fine, if it can float in the water, then it can sink or take in some. It’s probably waterproof, actually. But you can say that you’ve ever seen a gift sent when the tributes were in the water. This is a first for you.

Finnick stands on the rocks next to you, and carefully unravels the parachute, and then opens the lid. It’s a fairly big gift, so when it shows a shit ton of rope, you cheer slightly.

“See! Told you—“

Finnick tilts his head, pulling up the paper. It’s sogs a little in his fingers since they’re wet, but it would be the same for you. Going through the waterfall had completely soaked you like you were swimming in the pond-lake like Finnick had.

“It’s from our district.” Finnick tells you, moving it so you can see.

And clear as day, it says, “This will work better than vines, District Four.”

Tears gather in your eyes and you have to cover your face for a moment, “Just a second.”

“Don’t worry, I’m crying too.” Finnick laughs, and you move your hands.

He pulls out the rope, weighing it in his hands, “Can this stand four more?”

“It could stand the entire twenty-two had we gotten it at the beginning.” You laugh, he joins in.

You look to the water, there has to be a camera on you somewhere, “Thank you, it won’t go to waste. We love you, and we’ll both be home soon, I promise.”

Finnick nods along, “We miss you tons.”

“Can’t wait to start fishing again.” You snicker, and Finnick punches your arm this time, “No but seriously, thank you.”

You and Finnick slip into the cave, being sure to cover the rope so it doesn’t get wet. When you get inside, you unravel the coil, and grab your knife.

“Gonna teach me how?” Finnick asks, you grin at him slightly.

“Sure. If you promise to be a good sport about it.”

—

If Finnick says that it has worked four times before, then it’ll work this time too, if the others will take the bait. The singles are probably desperate to wipe out the doubles so they’ll be able to go home. It’s the same tactic that you were saying before. They’ll be able to make it home if the doubles are taken out because they can’t team up.

The fire is like luring them to their deaths, almost. The both of you are prepared to take them down, and they might be thinking that you’re stupid for even trying a fire in the first place. Wondering how you’ve managed to stay alive so long with such stupid ideas. 

Instead, you guys are clever. You guys have got everything on lock. The fire, the net ready and the trident and spears within grasp if necessary. Unlike all the other times though, Finnick has someone to help. All it’ll take is for them to get caught and for him to stab. There’s no reason for him to even bother helping you with the net.

You’ve made it big enough for them to get caught in, and you didn’t cut the string for the rim. You pull it shut, there’s no escape, and they're tangled in the mesh. Finnick can get them within a couple of seconds, send the body off, and stomp out the fire. Make a new net, rinse and repeat.

“How do you like your fish? Burnt or extra burnt?”

“Preferably not burnt.” You look over to see that they’re practically black, “Remind me why I put you on cooking duty.”

“Because you were wallowing in your own misery?”

“Y’know Finnick, it’s really not that hard to not be a dick.” 

“Some girls think it’s charming.”

“I’m not some girls.” You huff, “But I’m guessing Thyme was?”

Finnick rolls his eyes before shoving the burnt fish your way, “I didn't like her like that.”

“Try again.”

“You are jealous.” He looks smug, again.

“Were you jealous when I told you that Blaire, boy from district three that I was hanging out with for a week straight, no supervision. Just me, him, the vines and the water were together? Him teaching me how to weave the vines, me feeding him so he didn’t die? Were you jealous then?” You tilt your head, watching as the smug falls and turns into something else.

“No.”

“Your voice cracked. You’re a fucking liar.” You tell him, “And by the way, it’s your own fault that I had to make friends with other people while you abandoned me. Leaving me to the fucking hounds.”

“You managed it seems.” He goes to eat.

“That’s not the point.” You tell him, “Partners in crime. An alliance! We were in this together!”

“At least we’re in it together now.”

“Yeah,” you mutter bitterly, going to eat.

It has to be only five minutes of silence, before the splashing of water interrupts you both. Finnick jumps immediately, kicking everything out of the way as quickly and quietly as he can. You take one final bite, getting a mouthful before the net is in your hands.

“Dumbasses.” It's a female voice, but it’s not Trink.

“Who?” you mouth to Finnick, and he thinks for a moment.

“Girl from five.” he mouths back, and then shrugs, “Trink?”

You shake your head.

The splashing gets louder as time goes on, and then you can just barely see her silhouette through the water. Finnick nods to you, letting you know that you should do it.

You get a little closer, hands through the water and then you toss it. There’s a yelp, and you yank the rope, trapping her inside. Finnick goes through the water.

“Wait!” the girl screams.

“Who’s the dumbass now?” Finnick asks, and then the cannon sounds.

Crouching down, you cut the rope, “You can send her into the water.”

“The careers--” Finnick barely gets out, you grab onto the spear. Your heart is pounding in your ears when you stumble through the water.

It’s just Lennox in the water, and he’s bearing a sword. When he sees you, he hisses, “Bitch!”

He turns to leave, but you raise the spear, going to throw it. Finnick grabs your hand, stopping you, “Not today.”

“I can hit him.” you reason, and Finnick goes to your ear.

“They’re going to want a show.”

He’s right, Snow will want a show. So, you’ll just have to wait for another time to kill them. It’s a shame, because you could wipe Lennox right off the fucking map, and all you’d have to kill is Mac and Trink.

When Lennox is out of sight, you send the girl from five off. 

“He knows where we’re staying.” you lean into Finnick a little.

“He won’t come until he’s prepared with Trink,” Finnick tells you, and you watch as the girl gets taken away. You wonder how the family is taking it. If you make it, then that means on the victory tour you’ll have to see their families.

For you, five to six--you’re not sure if the five girl will count as the sixth, since you didn’t kill her directly, you just assisted--different families you have to face. Stand tall and bear your chest and try not to cry because you’re guilty to the very last cell. You killed their family. You killed that twelve year old boy from twelve.

You killed the girl from ten, the boy from eleven, Eytelle, the boy from twelve and Allio. And now the girl from six. You’ve got five deaths on your hands, and you’ll have to face them.

Is it even worth it?

Yes, it is. You’ve gone all this way, you can’t just bow out of it now. You’re almost done, three more to go.

“I’ll go make a net big enough.” you turn, leaving Finnick outside.

-- CHAPTER FIFTEEN --

The sound of a cannon jolts you awake. Finnick, who’s beside you, jumps three feet in the air as he suddenly reaches for his trident. He creeps out of the only sleeping bag that you have, and he goes to the water. Before he can cross it, you grab his ankle.

“You’ll get all wet.” you whisper.

“I need to see.” he tells you, but he knows you’re right. So he strips free of his boots, socks, jacket, shirt, and pants.

He leaves it in a disorganized pile off to the side. Out of reach of any water that might backsplash when he walks through. You watch as he winces at the cold water, before disappearing. The faint sound of splashing allows you to calm down a little bit.

It would be a blessing to get up and follow him. So he wouldn’t be going out there alone, you’d be right next to him in case there is someone else. Ready to pounce and strike.

They know where you are, so sitting here, inside of this cave makes you feel like you’re trapped. At any given moment they could show up and you would be fucked. Especially with Finnick gone, there’s nothing you can do.

Whatever you caught while being in here, it’s bedridden you. Getting up and around is painful. It’s hard enough to sleep at night when it feels like a thousand tiny needles are jabbing into your stomach. It took you over two hours to fall asleep, and you can take a safe bet that you only slept for a couple of hours.

It feels like it’s only been a couple of hours. You should be wide awake, ready to help Finnick if he were to call for help, but your eyes are drooping. Begging for another couple of hours before your body realizes you’re awake and starts the pain. You don’t close your eyes, laying your head down instead.

The spashling has long since stopped. It’s almost pure silence, except for the sound of cicadas and the random shuffling of leaves. The water is a constant, you’ve managed to drown it out by now. Not even background noise, it’s silence due to the consistency. However, you can hear the waves, coming up onto the shore of the rocks nearby.

You try to focus on them, hoping that there will be an irregular rhythm, but it turns out that they too have their own system. Before you know it, your eyes have closed on their own. You grind your teeth to keep yourself awake, it doesn’t work. Your jaw will go slack and it jolts your awake almost.

With a sigh, you push yourself up. Your muscles complain, and you’ve already stirred something in your stomach. Ignoring it, you begin pulling off your own boots, following with the socks.

You strain to hear any sort of sound that would indicate that he’s alive. Water splashing, heavy breathing, the trident accidentally hitting the rocks, but you get nothing.

The clothes come off a little faster now, socks, jacket, pants. You take a breather because the shirt is going to cause more pain that it’s worth. When you feel like you can tolerate it, two hands on the bottom of the cloth, and a quick movement. 

The stabbing appears, and the lines are blurred between your still very broken ribs or the sickness in your stomach. When the shirt is off of you, and you have a moment to breathe, nausea hits you like a truck. You place your hand on the wall to steady yourself, thinking that the cold will jolt your brain.

It works a little bit, but the idea of you puking is at the front of your mind now, unwillingly. You can’t puke, it’s taken you days to work up an appetite. Whatever you have has completely gotten rid of hunger, which is making you drop weight. Finnick can see it, you know.

He gets this worried look in his eyes each time he watches you get up and move. Or try to choke down food, even if it makes you gag. He probably isn’t on your back about it because he knows that you’re trying. You’re not trying to be bedridden, you’re not purposely starving yourself. He knows you want to live, and you guess that he’s waiting for the moment you give up.

It’s charming for him to be worried like that but it makes you feel like a baby. If you wanted to be babied, you would have acted like this since the beginning, even if you weren’t sick. Being incapable of taking care of yourself isn’t a trait that you want in here. Doesn’t get sponsors, at all.

As you get up, you feel like you’ve gained forty years of age. Your muscles are aching, everything hurts in general. The dizziness and the pounding headache comes back. Besides this all, you reach over for the spear, using it as a cane as you hobble your way out of the cave.

The water is cold, and once again, the force of tons of water hitting you nearly knocks you off your feet. On a regular day, sickness and injury free, you would be able to walk through this like it’s nothing. Look at what time has done to you. Made you the goddam laughing stock of the pen.

It’s still dark out, the moon is fairly high, you guess that it’s midnight to one in the morning. It’s an odd time for someone to die, unless Trink and Lennox we’re hunting down Mac or something. Could be the other way around and got himself killed. Mac killed one of them, got away. One of them died of the same sickness you have…

Possibilities are endless here. There’s hundreds of ideas they could have used on you guys. You just want to know what’s so special about midnight, if the gamemakers had done it. Maybe all of you are having trouble sleeping and this is their way of torturing you guys. Subtly, and with sacrifices.

There’s no sight of Finnick, anywhere. Even though you’re already soaking wet, you’re not too fond of the idea of going into the water. The night time is when the creatures come to life. If Finnick had gotten grabbed, then that’s it for him. You can’t go in to save him blind, the automatic right to the win would be given to District One.

You sit in the cold water, knees to your chest as you look over the water, and then the nearby trees. Then to the sky as if they’ll display whoever it is that died. You’ll have to wait tomorrow to see, unless that’s what Finnick is doing.

If he went to the cornucopia by himself then he’s stupid. You get the motive—he goes to see if Trink and Lennox are there, then comes back without being seen—but he’s half naked, soaked in water with a metal trident. The motherfucker is probably slipping and sliding out of his hands. 

You sit out there for another ten minutes, no longer tired, splashing the water onto your stomach every now and then to ease the pain. Eventually, you hear splashing that isn’t coming from you. Your eyes dart over, and you see Finnick, trident in hand as he wades through the water. He makes stabbing motions to keep the creatures away.

“Sorry, I didn’t think I’d be so long.” Finnick tells you, “But it’s hard to leave when they’re talking about an attack plan.”

You perk up, “You’re forgiven, what did you hear?”

“Well, Mac is the one that’s dead.” He tells you, but you guessed that already. The psychopaths from district one are smarter than whatever Mac did to die.

“That’s fine.” You tell him, “A bummer, he was nice. But fine.”

Finnick chuckles, he takes a seat next to you, and then presses a quick kiss to your lips. You scowl, because you’re not looking forward to him getting sick too. But really, he would have had to be sick by now if it’s contagious. What the fuck did you get sick off of?

“They want to attack in two days. Build up on body weight and all of that again. They don’t know if we’re the ones that are dead or killed Mac or whatever. Taking a guess it was Mac that died at least.” He informs, you nod along to it. 

“Two days to plan their murder, huh?” You quirk an eyebrow at him and he chuckles.

“Any ideas?”

“A few.” You admit, a small smirk coming over your face, “Remember how Lennox choked me?”

“Wasn’t there but yes.” He says, crossing his legs.

“And my last name is Gallows…” you trail off, splashing water a little bit.

“Uh huh.”

“What if we take that extra rope, tie it into a noose, lure him in and hang him?” You look over to see him with the same sickening grin that’s covering your face.

“Sounds interesting. Who’s luring and how are we hanging?”

—

Finnick has to watch you way more carefully now. One of your hands are either on his shoulder, so that you may catch yourself in case you stumble. Or it’s in the crook of his arm, where he’ll be able to swoop you into his arms if your legs buckle beneath you. The sickness is eating away at your muscle.

There are times when you’ll be standing, perfectly fine, and you’ll forget about the illness altogether. And then, your legs will give out, Finnick is diving across the room to catch you so you don’t snap anything like a wrist, trying to catch yourself. Your body will slump, like you’re lifeless, but you’re so very aware of it.

It’s scaring him now. He doesn’t think you’ll make it out alive, he thinks that you’ll die in here, from whatever you caught. You’re not hungry, you gag and throw up most of the food you get down. The lack of exercise is diminishing what little muscle you came into the arena with. There’s a high fever, you’re sweating almost constantly, but then the chills will swoop in out of nowhere. Not to mention the round-the-clock headache. 

You want it all to stop. You’ve never got this sick back home, it was the common flu that went around. Only the very, very poor, skinny kids would die to it, since their immune system can’t handle anything. But that’s hardly ever the case, even the poorest people in the district have a fair chunk of change to carry around.

If you’re going to die from whatever Capitol-altered disease, you’d just have it done in a snap. It’s been almost a week of you having it. And the fact that it had gotten so bad overnight is not a good sign. It was just earlier this morning, midnight when you were conspiring with Finnick on how to end this.

It evolved and it’s completely ruined your body within an eight to eleven hour time span. This means that today, tomorrow, or the day after are your final days. You die tonight, it just leaves Finnick to deal with the others. You can’t do that to him, you can’t send him home alone after all that has happened.

You’re not going to give this up.

“Eat.” Finnick shoves the fish into your hands and you take in a small breath, to keep your side from being stabbed. 

“Finnick this won’t stay down.” you tell him calmly, but you pick it apart anyway, using the water to drink it down.

And then you stop as you stare at the water, then back to the fish. There’s only really two ways you could have gotten sick. It wasn’t because of Blaire, he was healthy as fuck, and the only reason why he died was because he attacked Lennox while he was trying to kill you.

You couldn’t have picked it up from Trink, Allio or Lennox--assuming that it had some sort of incubation period--because that means they would have to be crawling with the disease too. From what Finnick has told you, they seem to be just fine. You’re the only one dying in here. 

Finnick is an automatic no, he isn't sick either and he isn’t catching it. Another reason why you couldn’t have caught it from the others, is because it doesn’t seem to be contagious through human contact.

Which narrows down the possibilities. You got it from eating berries and leaves, fish, or the water. You haven’t eaten berries and leaves in a while though, so those have to be out of it.

It’s the water and the fish, they have something to do with it. It can’t be an allergic reaction, because it doesn’t deteriorate the body like this. If it was a reaction, then you’d be breaking out in hives, through closing in and you’d been dead by now. Unless it’s a small allergy, but that’s not the case either. 

“Finnick, what are some diseases passed through water?” you ask, slowly setting the food down.

He tilts his head slightly, “Uhh, E coli, Cholera, Typhoid, Salmonella--? Why?”

Typhoid is the one you recognize, because of the few cases some of the neighborhood kids back home had. With the right treatment, they wouldn’t die, but for the few who let it go on for too long, or didn’t have the money to pay for it, their kids--or themselves--would die. 

“The symptoms to…” you lean back, “What’s the--?”

The headache seems to increase, stopping you from thinking any further. You press the heels of your hands to your temples to ease the pain. Of course, it does nothing, but it feels better than just sitting there. You clench your teeth and squeeze your eyes, rocking back and forth.

Think, think!

What the fuck is the cure to Typhoid? Hell, what are the symptoms? What’s it related to? How can you get it?

“(Y/n)? What’s wrong?”

Few cases back home. Parents who go down to the sea to collect water. Use for baths, and the kids accidentally drink it. It’s not the salt its--its the bacteria.

“Water,” you look to Finnick, “Have you been treating the water?”

His face twists, and then he pales, “I--I forgot once--”

That’s enough for you to catch it. Just a little bit of contaminated water will get it going. Your body has been fighting off this sickness for a week, and it took you this long to think it over. 

That’s not the matter, though. The matter, is that if you don’t get medicine, you’ll die from it being untreated.

“Mags, if you’re listening--it’s Typhoid fever,” you tell her, “Untreated it’ll kill me. Please, please send me something. Whatever it is that’ll cure it. One pill or sip is better than none, please.”

Finnick looks guilty, but you don’t care. It was an honest mistake, he didn’t know that the water was carrying the disease. None of you would have ever knew if he hadn’t accidentally skipped it. You’d still be up on your feet moving around like none of it ever happened.

This must be what he’s thinking, “Finnick, don’t punish yourself for this. Not now, do it later when we win.”

“What if we don’t win because of my mistake?” he asks, you point your finger.

“Hope. You have hope now, because I can’t carry it for the both of us. I forgive you, we’re going to win.”

Silence, as you wait for the sound of a sponsor gift. But the chiming never sounds, letting you know that you’re on your own. It must be far too expensive, or they just can’t hear you.

“We have better things to worry about, Finn.” you shake your head, “We need to do it tomorrow. We can’t wait until the end of the week.”

“I know.” he whispers, “Are you sure?”

“We have to.”

-- CHAPTER SIXTEEN --

There used to be a song that your mother would sing when you had caught the cold. It was more of a poem, but she would sing it like a lullaby to ease your headache and get you tired. It would always be the first couple nights of the cold, which are the worse days, and as it got better, she would stop. A bedtime remedy, to getting you to fall asleep quickly instead of letting you toss and turn through the night.

As you lay awake most of the time now, you think of it all the time. Reciting the words back to yourself softly. You can’t necessarily sing it without waking Finnick, so instead you turn it from a chant to a couple of lines at a time. You decipher the words, find meanings and then you’ll repeat it back to yourself when they make sense. 

It tires you out a lot quicker than you thought it would. Lately, it’s been working like a charm. Tonight, it offers no comfort though, because later today, you’ll be luring the last two tributes to their deaths. You’ll be using the last of your strength to win the games. If today doesn’t work, you give yourself permission to fall over and croak.

You’re in the final hours of your life. Finnick might be seeing it, but it’s not as clear to him. He’s not feeling all of it directly, he’s watching you pretend. He’s not seeing the way that you flinch and wince when his back is turned. If only he saw how much pain you’re in. 

The second you win, you’ll be fine. You’ll be on that hovercraft, they’ll be feeding you to doctors as Finnick has to watch. They’ll be hooking you up to water and liquid food, and medicine that stops the pain and diminishes the fever. They’ll be working their best to save you, because they can’t have a victor die on the craft. 

Finnick wouldn’t need anything done to him. They’d probably take him and marvel. They’d have to fix up a few scars but that would be it. There would be no reason to save him from anything. Unless something goes wrong today, he gets stabbed or something. Not going to happen on your watch, even if he doesn't like it.

The sun rises a little faster now, and you come to terms with the fact that you'll be working off of nothing today. There’s a few things to do to set up the scene, and then you’ll be able to execute it perfectly. 

“Finnick.” You nudge lightly, he opens his eyes slowly, “It’s time.”

“Did you even sleep?”

“An hour or two.” You tell him, “Woke up an hour or so ago. Not much.”

“Okay,” he says, you slip out of the bag first. Your muscles slowly stretch, making a low groan come from you. You’ve been stiff for long enough, your body thinks that you’re a statue.

Finnick slowly starts pulling out food, you make the last fire you’ll ever have to make in your life. When it sparks, your hands go over it immediately, the fever might be burning your forehead, fueling your headache but it’s also controlling the chills. The truth is, is that you’re cold as fuck. When you leave, the water will make it worse. But you’ll get there when the time comes.

The both of you heat up the food, watching as Finnick uncoils the rope, trying the noose. You don’t ask him how he knows to tie it, you just watch, and then you prod yourself a little bit. Taking in an assessment of how you’ll be able to turn your body.

Your ribs on your left side are still very painful, turning that way is like getting stabbed. It’ll take a while for them to heal, unless the Capitol has something for that, to get it to speed up and get placed right back where they need to be, not floating around in your body, causing more harm than good.

The bruises are almost gone, they’re just a very light purple now. Pressing on them doesn’t hurt anymore, it’s nothing compared to everything else that you’re feeling. Your body as a whole is weak, so there's no worry about specific knees or arms, it’s just the both of them. Not good, but you won’t have to catch yourself before you use the wrong one. You’re always taking a chance.

All cuts are now scabs, there’s a few more scars here and there, but besides that, you’re ready to go. Finnick finishes eating pretty quickly, you guys finish off all the food that you had set aside. You feel absolutely sick to your stomach, since it was hard getting it down in the first place. Overfeeding isn’t helpful by any means, until you’re trying to put on weight.

If you guys get hungry later on, it’s possible to grab something from the pond-lake or whatever. You’ll be inside of the woods, near the middle, but it won’t be that far from the pond-lake if lunch would be needed. But by the look on Finnick’s face, he’s not that hungry either. He stuffed himself just as badly as you had. 

He shoves everything into the backpack. The rope, what water you guys have, which he still looks guilty about. Small meaningless knives that you don’t need, the works. After that, he helps you onto your feet, you both take your weapons of choice, and leave the cave.

There was no point in stomping out the fire, you guys won’t be back. Which is why you guys left the sleeping bag, and all the other little things that came with the backpacks when you got them. For all you care, they can burn up in a blaze. The fire will put itself out before it reaches the water.

Finnick leads the way through the water. Instead of going straight out of the waterfall, a little to the left, you guys go right diagonally. If you were to go straight, you’d head right for the cornucopia. You guys want to do it in one of the big ass trees, out of sight of them in case they were to come looking.

You hold Finnick’s trident, as he holds the backpack above the water since it isn’t waterproof, and you guys don’t want the rope to get wet. You’d rather it be dry, it’ll be more harsh when it gets around Lennox.

“Almost home.” 

“We should have built a treehouse. I mean, it’s been a month, we had the time.” You laugh, he snickers.

“Gamemakers would have had a fire.”

“Wouldn’t have been smart. I’m sure that the tourists would have loved to stay in a personalized treehouse! Oh Finnick, do you think we have time?” You bat your eyelashes when he looks to you, he rolls his eyes.

“Don’t be ridiculous. You can hardly stand.” 

“So? It won’t be so hard.” You reason about the hypothetical treehouse, daydreaming about having one. What would go inside, how much time it would take. How you would replace materials like nails with vine and all that. Or very thin rocks that you can hammer into the wood.

“No treehouse.” Finnick tells you, and then the both of you laugh at each other.

When you reach the land finally, you guys take the time to ring out your clothes. Then you continue to the place that Finnick had picked out last night. When you get to it, you’re thoroughly impressed to see that it’s a big ass tree, and there’s plenty of land around to run around in. This is a place you could build a house, raise a family and all of that.

Finnick unpacks the rope, you take it, throwing it around your neck to keep it from going anywhere. You tuck your spear between your pants and belt, with the blade down. You take your water and put it in your jacket, Finnick kisses you quickly, wishes you good luck, and then you turn to the tree.

Spear, rope, water, a good luck kiss. Now, to climb the tree without falling. Your body will complain and give you hell for this, but it’s all for the greater good. 

You climb the tree slowly, being careful of your left side. Right hand, left hand, right foot, left foot. Occasionally you’ll reach higher than you should, wobble, but catch yourself the next time around.

The spear gets in the way and you have to keep moving the water to where it needs to be. You take a break on the sturdy branches, and continue when it’s just enough to make it to the next one.

Before you know it, you’re at the one branch that stretches over Finnick below you. You wrap your legs around the branch, and even go as far as to tie the non-noose end of the rope to your body. Then, you strip free of the jacket, dropping it for Finnick. The boots follow, and you’re disappointed to see that he dodges where you tried to drop it on him.

“Pants too?” You ask, Finnick shakes his head.

You take a long drink of water, since the sun is in your eyes. And then you take another before dropping it for Finnick, setting up the scene where Trink and Lennox will come along just to die.

Lennox is going to be heavy, he’s had plenty of food to eat from because of the middle. He’s going to weigh what he normally did when he came in. Maybe a few pounds shorter. You however, aren’t at all where you need to be. 

The big breakfast helped, but it wasn’t perfect. You’ve got one, two, possibly three pounds more than you had originally. You’ll fail when it comes to pulling Lennox up with the rope using just your muscle strength. To actually hang him, he’ll need something to balance out his weight, almost.

He’s going to be below you, you get the noose around his neck, you yank and what? Choke him for a split second? Finnick will be fucked.

You didn’t propose this part of the plan to Finnick because you knew he would say no. He won’t ever say yes to something this dangerous and risky, which is the exact reason why it’s going to work. Risky, but odds in your favor.

“I’m ready.” Finnick tells you, you nod.

“Let’s do it!”

You cut yourself free quickly, then you measure out just about what you’ll need to fall through on this. Your eyes keep darting to Finnick, worried about when he’ll yell.

You drape the extra rope across the branch behind you, out of sight out of mind. The noose rope is shorter, but still long enough to reach Lennox. Finnick comes over now, standing right next to it, and nods up at you. Perfect length.

It’s going to get shorter though. You tie a constrictors knot, which will be impossible for the Capitol doctors to get off of you, but they’ll manage. They have to save you, and your leg if it’s possible. If there’s no reason to cut it off, then they can’t. It’s not a medical problem, it’s rope.

You dangle your leg, seeing how it reaches the same height as before presumably. Then, you draw some of it back up to keep out of sight of the others when they come in.

Just in time to listen to Finnick give a blood curdling scream. You clench your teeth together, eyes on the direction the others are going to be coming in at. Listening as Finnick continues to scream for your placebo self to wake up. Yelling for Mags to send in some sort of medicine, to save you.

“Please! Please!” Finnick screams, and at the first snap of a branch, your eyes flicker to Trink and Lennox, “No—!”

“She’s not dead yet?” You think you hear Trink ask.

You wonder if the Capitol can spare a false cannon to see what happens. If they’ll attack him immediately, like a bunch of rabid dogs.

“Leave her alone,” Finnick seethes, he’s crouched over, backing up which is drawing the others to walk over. You can see the smiles on their faces from here.

“I’ve got him.” Trink chirps.

“No!” Finnick lunges forward slightly when Lennox gets close to your body, you begin to lower the rope little by little.

Lennox jumps for your body, you can feel your heart pounding in your chest when you free the rope. Only to see it come up short.

“Shit.” You curse, and then you dip your leg over, getting it right around Lennox’s neck.

Finnick attacks Trink, who’s caught up watching the rope. She goes to warn Lennox, but Finnick shuts her up.

Before Lennox can do anything, you take a deep breath. Feeling the fear try to paralyze your body into rethinking this. You don’t let it, you throw your body the opposite side, to the left.

Lennox chokes, you feel the air on your skin as you watch the branch of the tree get further away. Until the momentum comes to a slow, and you’re dangling in the air by a rope from your foot.

You look to see Lennox, face turning purple as he grabs onto the rope to relieve the pain of choking, you curl your body slightly, pulling him up a little, and his eyes bulge. The sound of a cannon startles you, because it’s clearly not Lennox, who you’re staring at, and he’s staring at you. Still alive.

You go to yell Finnick’s name, but it gets caught in your throat. The blood is rushing to your head, the headache increasing in power. The pain just seems to skyrocket the longer you hang here.

“I’m alive.” Finnick tells you, and then you watch as his trident flies through the air.

It misses Lennox by an inch or two, getting lodged in the tree. You sigh, reaching for your spear now. You don’t want to get yourself free. You want to kill Lennox, and you’re sure that it will be a sight to behold, him hanging from a tree, with you suspending him on the other side, a spear through whatever you can get. 

With it in hand, you lean forward, your left side aches from the sit up. You and Lennox lock eyes, and he shakes his head slightly, beginning you not to even though his face is a deep purple and blood is coming out of his nose, trickling down his lips.

You draw your arm back, waiting for the rope to stop swaying, and then you launch it forward, the very last of your strength going along with it. You’re not even able to see if it goes through anything. The sound of a cannon gives it away.

“You did it!” Finnick yells, but his voice is drowned, you can hardly hear it.

You can feel your body relax, arms going past your head. You try to blink away the spots, but they don’t go anywhere. In fact, they take out your vision completely. 

—

I told her so, and if she say,

That she was wrong,

Then may it be,

A quick little bug,

That will come and go.

—

She will lay,

In clean, white sheets, 

A full tummy,

And a cup of tea,

She will rest,

And she will think,

How this will be,

The very last time.

—

But here comes grey,

Water-filled clouds,

She pulls on her shoes,

And her coat,

So that she may,

Go in the rain.

—

I will come,

To the porch,

To warm her of,

What may come,

She will laugh, 

She will splash,

But she won’t listen.

Then she will come later with;

Rain-soaked clothes,

Not feeling good,

And beg me to care for her.

(the poem is a circle).

--

LACUNA IS THE FIRST VERSION OF BELAMOUR

//MASTERLIST//

[thelonestrider]

Photo dump! Coffee props pack by Breezy Retro Bathing suit by Wash

[walkingshcdow-a]

Prompt: Anger Character: Masha Summary: Masha gets some shocking news from her younger sister. Piffling Verse, Mashap. @hcpebelief Rating: K+/T TW: Pregnancy, domestic violence mention, fertility struggles/infertility, some sexual content.

“Actually, this isn’t my first pregnancy. I gave a baby away for adoption when I was in art school.”

The smile on Masha’s face flickered, candle-like, stuttering in the breezy way Yelena spoke. She watched as her baby sister stretched out on the sofa luxuriously and propped her swollen ankles on the armrest. Reaching back into her memory, Masha pulled out memories of Yelena in art school. Eighteen and beautiful, round-cheeked, still a baby, she had embarked to New York with a vintage suitcase and a cheeky smile. From the airport terminal, Masha and her mother watched her go until she disappeared in the line to have her baggage checked. 

“She’ll be great artist someday,” Mama had said as she and Masha walked to the car. “But art doesn’t pay rent.”

Masha had, at the time, been a new nurse, and worked long hours in a London ER. She came home with an aching back and swollen feet. She would cook dinner for her mother and tuck her in when she fell asleep in front of the television. Wash the dishes. Study a little, if she had the energy. Repeat the day as necessary. For a while, the letters Yelena sent, including photos of all the great monuments Masha longed to see, were a gift. They broke the monotony with pride and jealousy intermingled. Masha studied the application to Doctors Without Borders that sat on her desk every time Yelena wrote and thought, Someday. Just when she would tuck that hope away in her heart, the letters would come again. 

Then the requests for money began and the pictures stopped. 

For nine long months, Masha worked harder and longer to earn overtime. Her hands, rubbed red and raw from constant washing, drank in bottle after bottle of lotion. She enrolled in a program to become a nurse practitioner to earn more money in the long-run. She slept little and worried often, seldom hearing from Yelena the way she heard from her brothers and Galina. When she asked them about Yelena, they all said she knew more than they did. Maybe that was true. Maybe. But after nine months, the letters sounded more like the Yelena Masha had always known - flippant and fun, excited about life and school, gossipy and a treat. She’d lost her taste for sweets, though, in that time and the day she signed the final check to FIT on her sister’s behalf, Masha took off for Africa, Asia, South America, Eastern Europe - anywhere her family was not. She sent Yelena letters, disclosing what she could when she could, but she never had kept secrets from her. Never. But Yelena…

“You never said.” Masha crossed into the kitchen and pulled out her cutting board. From her refrigerator, she retrieved vegetables from the crisper. Then, from the knife block, she pulled out the biggest, sharpest blade. 

“I’m saying so now,” Yelena said. She propped herself up to look at Masha. “Would it have made a difference?”

Masha made the first, sharp slice. The bright scent of green pepper hit her nose and cleared her sinuses. This, she blamed for the tears pricking her eyes. 

“You wrote to me the whole time,” Masha said. “You never mentioned it at all.”

“What would you have said if I told you? You’ve always seen me as a baby. You would have given me some sermon about babies having babies.”

“That’s not true.” 

Masha began to chop faster. Seeds spilled onto the cutting board. 

“Mama would have, then,” Yelena said, “when you told her.”

“I wouldn’t have.”

“You would.”

Masha pushed the bell peppers aside. Did it matter now that she would have told their mother when she was twenty-four? At thirty-four, just now learning that her sister had given birth and never said a word about it, Masha could only think of one person she might tell about her grief at the news. Her thoughts curled around the image of her husband - the last time she’d seen him asleep in their bed. She’d wanted to disturb him then, so badly. It had been the right time of the month to conceive and the sight of his supine body, chest half-bared from a sloppy, sleepy job of undressing, made her ache to straddle his hips and press her palms against his pectorals for balance. But he was so tired and so was she - too tired to make love, too tired to try again for another negative pregnancy test, too tired, even, to talk about the feeling in Masha’s chest now, mangled and ripped as the core of the bell peppers she chopped. Didn’t Yelena know that if she hadn’t wanted the child… Masha paused. It must have crossed Yelena’s mind at least once to ask Masha to raise her baby. After all, she asked Masha for everything else. Now, some stranger was the child’s mother and had been for ten years. They had no claim to the child. And, even for all Yelena asked of Masha now - to house her and to cook and clean and work and provide - Masha had no claim on this new child, either. Masha cursed Yelena’s ex-husband - for putting his hands on her, for failing to provide a home for his wife and child, and for giving Yelena the one thing Masha wanted most. She set the knife down heavily. She stared at the counter, the floor, her flat belly for a silent moment. 

“I need to go for a walk,” Masha said tightly. “You can finish making dinner.”

“Masha…”

Yelena heaved to her feet and plodded towards Masha as she went to the little bowl with her keys in it. Who knew how long she’d be gone? It would be nice to get out of the house, to see something or someone other than her sister. Maybe she’d go to the funeral home and find Eric. Schedules be damned: they could try again today, even if it was in the coat closet during the Settership funeral. Even if they failed yet again, it would give Masha just a little relief to feel pleasure and be exhausted by something other than her sister and her goddamn bombshells of news. Yelena’s hands grabbed Masha’s wrists.

“You can’t run away from everything you feel, Mashka,” Yelena said.

Mash yanked her hands away. The violence of the motion knocked the bowl to the floor and it shattered into a hundred crystalline pieces. Yelena flinched, tripping backward.

“Lena, I’m sorry,” Masha said as gently as she could, trying to put her feelings back on the shelf and remember that broken glass meant something more than a need for a broom in Yelena’s world. 

“It’s fine,” Yelena said, unconvincingly. “I’ll sweep this up. Maybe it’s better if you go for your walk.”

“I’m so sorry-”

“Just go.”

“No, this is my home and my mess, I’ll clean it up-”

“I can leave by morning. Pack my things and go to London.”

“Don’t be ridiculous-”

“I’m not the one who’s being ridiculous,” Yelena said. “What does it matter to you that I’ve had another pregnancy? It was a long time ago.” 

Masha opened the broom closet and stared into it. She inhaled the musty scent and exhaled slowly. 

“You never told me,” she said dully. Then, like the chopping knife, her voice sharpened with each word. “And now I know I know why your “studio fees” were so high. And why you stopped sending pictures. And I worked so hard for you and I never knew and you never cared. And I never got to meet my niece or nephew. And now we’re just doing it all over again. And you get to be the selfish one. Again. Always.”

“If you don’t want me here-”

“It’s better than the alternative.” Masha emerged from the broom closet and began to sweep up the glass. “What would you do without me, Yelena? Give this one up? Get rid of it? Raise it?”

Yelena narrowed her eyes at Masha. 

“This is exactly the kind of judgment I would have expected from you ten years ago. I thought you’d grown up since then.”

“That I’d grown up?”

“You were always jealous of me, always the martyr, always the savior. Christ, Masha, why do you think I didn’t tell you about the first one?”

Masha dusted the shards of glass into the bin. She sucked in her cheeks.

“You wouldn’t have been supportive of me, not really, so I gave him up, closed adoption, and hoped it wouldn’t happen again.”

“It takes more than hoping.” 

Yelena shot Masha a withering look. Masha tossed the broom and dustpan into the closet and slammed it shut. 

“Does the idea of being a mother even make you happy, Yelena?” she asked. “Be honest. Please.”

Yelena’s lower lip quivered.

“I don’t know,” she said. “I thought it would keep my marriage from failing.”

“You’re better off without that bastard,” Masha said. “But how do you feel about motherhood now?” 

Yelena started to cry, noisy cries that Masha was sure the neighbors could hear. If she could unclench her fists, she’d embrace her sister. Instead, she offered her a paper towel to wipe her eyes with and sighed. Sniffling into the towel, Yelena looked up at Masha.

“You’d be better at this than me,” she said. “You were made to be a mother.”

Masha laughed bitterly. “Don’t I wish.”

Yelena’s eyes, so like Masha’s own, widened with understanding for the first time. 

“... oh.”

Masha sighed.

“I really am going for a walk. I can’t… Lena, I can’t talk about this anymore.”

“You should try crying about it,” Yelena said as Masha walked towards the door. “It helps me.”

“Don’t tell me how to deal with this.” Masha gritted her teeth and opened the door. “But I’ll keep it in mind.”

She wouldn’t, of course. Not in front of Yelena. Not until she was truly, truly alone.