#dead on the kitchen floor rn

[formula-red]

ppsojdftholjdk'pogjaédgj'sl hello listen to this rn thanks ill be screaming about this until the day i die love you bye

i have never known a silence like the one fallen here // never watched my future darken in a single tear // i know we want this to go easy by being somebody's fault // but we've come long enough to know this isn't what we want // and that isn't always bad

BYE

[buckyalpine]

I'm here for some angst and fluff rn. Bucky being sad no one trusts him after his metal arm is taken off during a fight.

-

Bucky stared at the dark grey metal that fell to the floor with a clank, his vibranium arm no longer attached to his body with just a few pushes to his joint. The fight ended, leaving the soldier lost as he picked his arm off the floor, fingers trembling around the cold material. It felt dead in his hand, the emotional weight of it far heavier than anything else he'd ever carried.

"Did you know they could do that?" Sam asked, eyeing Bucky carefully while he locked his arm in place, readjusting it with a swing. The gold plates shifted to recalibrate, his fingers flexing while trying to silence his thoughts that begin to run a million miles a minute.

"No"

Bucky trudged down the hall, his heart sinking when he could hear the soft humming from inside his apartment, his sweet girl already waiting for him to come home. He usually felt the weight of the world life off his shoulders when you were around.

Not today.

Not when he knew what he really was.

What he had been all along.

He let out a strained breath before rummaging for his keys and opening the door, the smell of tea, sugar and vanilla wafting through the kitchen and living room. He thought about escaping as soon as he toed his boots off, locking himself in the shower and calling it an early night, of course you'd understand but his body won over what his mind was screaming.

Your face lit up as soon as you heard the door creak open, setting down the book you were reading, excited to see Bucky after he'd been gone for days for a mission. Your happiness was short lived as he padded into the living room, the strained smile on his face doing nothing to mask the pain he was feeling. You could see the turmoil in his eyes, waves of emotion crashing over him before he could surface.

"What's wrong, bub" You coo softly, opening your arms for him. Bucky kept his jacket on, avoiding melting into your hold even though he craved it more than ever.

"Do people still think I'm dangerous?" He asks quietly, shifting away from you when he feels you pressed against his arm. Something so soft and sweet as you definitely didn't have any business being near something so terrible, disgusting, murderous-

"What? No baby, why would you say that?" Your heart breaks at the tears that begin to well in his eyes, his nose and cheeks reddening as he suppresses all the emotions that desperately want to bubble over.

"I-I had no idea others would be able to remove it" He whispers, chewing his lip till he nearly draws blood, avoiding your gaze to stare at the floor instead. The fluffy rug turns blurry as tears begin to escape, his throat growing unbearably tight. "M'still a monster" His voice cracks before the first cry slips out.

Your pull him into your chest as sobs begin to wrack his body, letting him lay on you while you wrap him safely in your arms. The feeling of your affection is too much for Bucky, he doesn't deserve it but he needs it; he feels selfish as he allows you to hold him, hiding his face into the crook of your neck.

"What happened, sweet boy" You coo against his hair, running your fingers through his soft locks. He continued to sniffle between whimpers, trying to calm down, fresh waves of emotion holding him down, his metal arm gripping onto the sofa cushions.

His arm was dangerous.

He was dangerous.

"During a fight" Bucky let out a shuddered breath before continuing, shame seeping through his veins. What would you think of him if you knew the people who had healed him still didn't trust him, "We were trying to calm things down. I didn't mean to do anything-I didn't-I was holding back, we wanted to talk things over, she-"

He bit his lip again as it trembled, still feelings the spots that were pushed, sending his arm to the floor, "I didn't even know what was happening. She hit my shoulder in a few spots and my arm fell right off"

You stopped your ministrations, your heart breaking into two hearing the pain in his voice. Bucky sounded so small, like an admonished child scared to tell the truth. He curled himself up further, still flexing his fingers, almost fearful his arm would fall off again without warning. You moved your arms to hug him tighter, wishing you could take away at least half the pain his was feeling.

"I didn't know they could do that" He said with defeat, still softly sniffling while you kissed the top of his head.

"You're not a monster baby" You knew how much work Bucky had put in, how much he struggled to get a hold of his mind again, how long it took for him to learn to trust others, to trust himself.

"Then why" You knew he was desperate hearing the plead in his voice. Why. Why did others still have control over his own body. Why were others still able to do things to him without his knowledge.

Why?

"I wish they'd told you why, baby boy" You brought your hand to gently tip his chin up, making him look at you, "Perhaps they have their reasons. Regardless, your heart is pure, Bucky" Your hands moved under his jacket and tshirt, stroking his bare skin, the feel of your pure hands already soothing his aching heart.

"They don't trust me" He sighed, sitting up again as his mind swirled. You didn't let him spiral for long, straddling his lap while his arms moved on their own to wrap around your waist.

"They do, bub" you shook your head, cupping his cheeks so he'd look at you. "They took you in and healed you because you were worth healing. You deserved it. I need you to remember my sweet Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes is a good man. The opposite of dangerous, a soft, sweet boy"

"Do-do you trust me" His voice was small again, looking at you through his lashes, nervously fidgeting with the hem of the Henley you'd stolen.

"I trust you with my life, Bucky" You took his metal hand, brushing your lips against the gold ridges before kissing each of his cool finger tips. "Every single part of you. Your mind. Your body. All of it"

The mental exhaustion of the day began to take it's toll as his eyes grew heavy, cuddling into you while you rocked him in a comfortable silence. You smiled at the soft snores you heard moments later as Bucky fell asleep in your arms.

"Let's get you to bed, baby" you whispered, gently waking him and taking a quick warm shower before jumping into bed. He was right back in your arms as soon as you pulled the sheets back, the grating voices not so loud any more.

Regardless of what the world though, had you.

A pure sweet angel.

She trusted him.

That had to mean something.

It would be a long road of healing but at least his had his angel to guide him.

[maivolpe]

I'm giggling rn what if reader and bucky go on a mission and reader gets shot while trying to protect bucky but the bullet was actually a 🌟 special 🌟 bullet and bucky has to take care of reader until they feel better (LIKE A BARBED WIRE BULLET omg and they keep bleeding through their bandage and finally find out what bullet it was GASP.)

fun fact: this would probably technically be a war crime! so sorry for how late this is, i appreciate your patience and thank you for requesting ♡

･｡ﾟ: ∘◦☾◦∘｡ﾟ.

pairing: bucky barnes x reader cw: cursing, gunshot, blood wc: 918

“bucky?”

he didn’t respond. he was focused on something sam had said, face frozen in a smile, oblivious to the shadow at the window, the glint of metal in the sunlight.

but you could reach him. you dropped your glass, crossing the kitchen in three steps, planting your hands on his chest. you pushed him, both of you tumbling towards the floor, and then…

“hey, hey, hey…” bucky’s voice floated across the blankness, calm and measured. “don’t move…”

why did he say that? you weren’t moving.

“…didn’t hit anything important, you’re okay…”

what didn’t hit anything important?

“…muscle and fat, jus’ muscle and fat…”

and suddenly it occurred to you what he was talking about.

everything came rushing back, your train of thought screeching back into the station, and you gasped, face pressed against the cold tile of the kitchen floor. pain struck up your leg like lightning, and you cried out, bolting upright.

“easy, now, sweetheart,” he grunted, laying his vibranium arm across your chest while he pressed a cloth to your leg with his other. “can’t have you moving right now.”

fuck, it hurt. you’d been shot before, but this time it was different somehow. it burned with a fierce intensity, ravaging your leg. you felt like you might explode at any second.

“sor- i- i-“ you stammered.

“hey, don’t forget to breathe, doll.”

you bit down another cry, forcing air out through your nose.

“good, that’s good… sam?”

you caught a glimpse of him ripping off a section of his shirt for a tourniquet. somewhere in the back of your mind, you felt sad. you’d liked that shirt. it was a shame he’d have to use it on you.

“buck, it- fuck…”

you really felt it now, warm and sticky blood seeping through the cloth, flowing down your leg. the pain seemed to deepen, spreading up through your calf to the rest of your body, and you gritted your teeth to halt a pained scream.

“sam?”

bucky glanced down at your fear-stricken face with a mix of guilt and shame, but quickly offered you a tight-lipped smile. “nothin’ we haven’t done before, huh sweetheart?”

“feels different,” you groaned. “w-worse.”

he swore, propping your leg up onto his knee. you hissed at the movement, but held as still as you could while he pulled the strip of cloth up to your thigh.

a door slammed somewhere behind you and sam finally drifted into your swimming vision, breathing heavily. “i got him.”

“great,” bucky grunted, pulling the knot tight with his fingers. “help me out, will ya? i think it’s a dum-dum.”

then sam swore, and you knew to be worried. “give me that.”

bucky hovered back over you, lifting your chin with his hand. he thumbed at your cheek, and you leaned into the contact. “eyes on me, doll. sammy’s jus’ gonna tighten that up for you.”

you nodded, but it felt detached, as if you were slowly floating away from your body. his bright blue eyes were getting harder and harder to focus on, your body begging for the respite of unconsciousness.

“she’s going,” you heard bucky say, and you let the darkness take you.

when you next awoke, the pain had faded to a dull throb, and you were decidedly not dead. it was a good start.

you were in bed. not your bed, though. the gentle crackle of a record player sounded somewhere in the corner— bucky’s bedroom, then. sunlight was just beginning to stream through the blinds.

the super-soldier was curled up in an armchair next to your bed, head cupped in his palm. his hair, loose and unkempt, dangled in front of his face. he must have nodded off at some point during the night— that was rare, but then again, you were sure it had been a long one.

“what’s a dum-dum?” you croaked.

bucky startled awake, instinctively checking over your bandaged leg before meeting your eyes. his gruff expression melted into one more sympathetic, and he reached out to squeeze your hand.

“hey there, trooper.”

“hey. what’s a dum-dum?”

he chuckled at your persistence. “dum-dum bullets are expanding projectiles. they’re used to enlarge wounds and increase impact shock.”

your eyes widened, and you pushed yourself up on your elbows, straining to catch a glimpse at your calf.

“we got you fixed up,” he said quickly. “don’t worry.”

“thanks, buck,” you murmured, sinking back into the cushions.

he didn’t respond, and you blinked up at him. he had paled, the grave expression you were so used to seeing returning to his face.

“you shouldn’t have done that,” he mumbled, voice gravelly.

“you were gonna get shot,” you said. “i did what anyone would’ve done.”

bucky shook his head. “you should’ve let it happen.”

“i don’t think it’s fair,” you argued. “just because you’re strong doesn’t mean you should have to take it all the time.”

“i can take it,” he corrected. “i am guaranteed to come out on the other side. you’re not.”

“that’s so stupid,” you sniffed.

“i know,” he said, smiling sadly. “but if it means keeping you safe, i’d take it every single time.”

you sighed, beckoning at him. “get in.”

he gingerly climbed over you, careful to avoid jostling your leg. you threw the comforter over him, and once he was settled, pressed your forehead to his.

“you owe me, barnes.”

he chuckled, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “my knight in shining armor.”

you know he’s teasing you, but you don’t care. “of course, princess.”

･｡ﾟ: ∘◦☾◦∘｡ﾟ.

ko-fi ♡

[astarasstuff]

night crawler

summary: gojo loses his glasses at a frat party. geto loses his phone. they’ll soon find out what happened when geto’s phone is returned to him, with several drunken videos taken of that night on his camera roll, but not by him.

contents: modern!au, frat!satosugu, partygirl!reader, drinking, slight hints to itafushi but it’s mainly in jest, reader is besties with itadori and nobara but they’re only one year below gojo and geto, gojo and geto think ur so hot and fun and they want to get to know u. u have them whipped from literal video footage go you, horny thoughts from the both of them but no smut, still 18+! mdni!

notes: i can’t be bothered to make this pretty rn, so sorry!

“dude, where the fuck did my glasses go” gojo slurs snapping his head around the room in an attempt to find them. he has spares, but he’d like to find them anyway.

“i’m kinda busy trying to find my fucking phone?!” geto responds, and gojo throws his hands up defensively.

the party was fucking huge. one of the biggest. the college football team, of which both gojo and geto were a part of, had won a massive anticipated game against their biggest rivals. and as such, a celebration was in order.

there were too many people in this party to count. faces of people the boys had never seen before. they don’t doubt that a good bunch of the guests don’t even go to their college. they don’t care. they end up getting too drunk to care about their lost items, convinced they'll find them soon enough. they get busy with the huddles of women that surround them and before they know it they’re either blacked out or passed out, they don’t care.

they do care in the morning, however, with raging hangovers and girls who have overstayed their welcome, of whom they usher out of their rooms as soon as possible. they meet coincidentally in the hallway and make their way downstairs for breakfast.

“dude, suguru, we found your phone!” one of the bros shouts to him and geto sighs a sigh of relief. gojo then whines about his glasses still being missing. he goes off to check the aftermath of the party for his glasses, and gives up when he decides he can’t see them past the red solo cups and dead disposables vapes that litter all corners of the floor.

as gojo potters back into the kitchen, geto is in the middle of checking through his phone, making sure it's okay and trying to find evidence of what happened that night. he soon finds it in his camera roll.

a string of videos are available that weren’t there previously, all of varying lengths. he taps on the first one, as gojo looks over his shoulder in curiosity.

some guys is recording using the back camera, as the first couple of seconds of the video show just the surroundings. the camera then twists around, and they get a look at who’s behind the camera. at first, they just see the guy with pink hair? he’s singing to the current song playing, which happens to be night crawler by travis scott. the frame then widens to allow one more person into the view. and gojo figures out where his glasses went.

coming into the frame was one of the prettiest girls either boy had ever seen. perched on her head were gojo's signature glasses. your voice is croaky as you shout out to the camera.

“we found this phone on the ground! we were worried it’d get smashed so we picked it up but we couldn’t find the owner, so we thought we’d take care of it instead!!" you scream at the camera and get a little too close, evidently drunk.

the buildup of the chorus begins and both you and your friend look at each other with excitement, beginning to dance and sing along to the song. your friend turns in front of you so its just you in the frame, and you pull gojos glasses down from your head and into the top of your nose, looking through them into the camera as you sing along. more of your friends come into frame, and you're all dancing together.

“i don’t know whose glasses these are!!!! some guy just put them on my head but they're cute so i'm borrowing them for the night!! i'll leave them here though! hopefully…” you mumble and then the chorus is about to start and you both start jumping and screaming and dancing, and all the boys can think about is how fucking hot you are and how glad they were they lost their items to you. you pull the glasses down your nose again to wink at the camera as you and some girl they assume is your friend start dancing on each other. both men gulp at the sight.

“fuck, she’s pretty.” geto mumbles and gojo just hums and nods in agreement, almost in a trance. he urges geto to keep watching the videos

the rest of the videos are like a compilation of sorts, mainly if you dancing and drinking and gojo and geto both think you’re so much fun and so fucking pretty, they feel their cocks beginning to strain in their pants. god, you’re so so pretty, gojo just wants to fuck you silly in just his glasses, and geto can stop thoughts of how good you'd look on camera as you cum all over his dick. they both baulk at the sudden debauchery that forced its way into their minds. they try to shake such impure thoughts of someone they don't even know out of their heads.

the next video catches their attention. it's longer than the last couple, and it starts with you propping up the phone on the counter of a bathroom, with your pink-haired friend and a brunette girl who had been dancing with you the entire night. gojo notes that you've pushed his glasses up back onto your head, revealing your full pretty face to them again, this time in better lighting.

"maaan i wish megumi were here!" your guy friend said, as you take your lip combo from him that he'd been keeping safe for you in the pocket of his jeans. gojo and geto begin to worry your relationship with him was not platonic. wait what? "you know him, yuuji, hell would freeze over before he came to one of these" you giggle as you uncap your lip liner and start applying it in the mirror. yuuji. the boys make a mental note at that name.

“stiilllllllll,” he whines, “doesn’t mean I’ll miss him any less.” the other girl in the room laughs at this. “christ, separate yuuji from his boyfriend and all of a sudden he’s pouting like toddler.” you stop applying your lip liner to giggle at her, definitely finding it a tad too funny. you’re cute when you’re drunk, they conclude. “he’s not my boyfriend.” the boy they now know as yuuji has adopted a tone akin to a child being denied their favourite candy at the store. “that’s what you think.” you giggle and move to apply your lipgloss.

now, gojo and geto like to think they’re not absurdly dirty minded. yes, they’re pretty sex driven, as any boy their age is, but they both felt like a pair of prepubescent boys seeing boobs for the first time when you applied your lipgloss to your pretty pretty lips. The colour compliments you so well, and they just want to kiss is right off you, better yet have it smeared on their co-

christ they both need a cold shower.

“girl I’ll never get over that combo on you.” the other girl in the room with you says. “right? i love it so much.” you say looking at both you her in the reflection of the mirror. “god we’re so hot nobara.” you say and this ‘nobara’ squeals in agreement as you giggle together. yuuji smiles at the interaction, and you turn to the camera.

“hey mystery person, don’t we all look hot?” and you swing your arms over your two friends and you look so happy, you all giggling together. god, you were pretty, fun and your smile was gorgeous. did you have any flaws? the boys both startle when you and yuuji gasp as you begin to hear ‘no hands’ by waka flocka flame from the speakers outside the party. “oh fuck i love this song i am not missing it. let’s go!” you squeal and grab the camera, pressing a kiss to the lens as a goodbye.

it wasn’t a final goodbye, evidently, as there were more videos. they were more of the short miscellaneous dancing ones, though they weren’t complaining. your body was to die for, and seeing you move like that? yeah, absolutely no complaints. they make it to the final video, which is just you in what they think is their supply closet? you still have gojo glasses on, and you speak as loudly as you can, music still penetrating to the room with you.

“we’re about to leave! yuuji got to drunk and is throwing up somewhere and nobara is keeping him in check… i hope. so i came to say gooooodbye! this is kinda sad, this was so fun. sorry for stealing your phone for the night, mystery person. we just wanted to keep it safe, i hope you weren’t too worried! im hoping to put it on the nightstand of a bedroom that isn’t currently occupied by horny college goers, so hopefully one of the frat bros finds it and can keep hold of it until you come to collect it! i hope you had as much fun tonight as i did, mwah!” and you finish by blowing a kiss to the camera with a wink. both of them are pretty upset the vlogs have ended, and it’s pretty evident you ended up going home with gojo glasses. oh well, they’re in great hands now anyway.

“you have to send me those.” gojo says after a beat. “in you dreams.” geto replies and gojos mouth drops at this. “it’s my phone.” geto declares. “well, yeah but she was wearing my glasses. and she said they were cute. cmon man.” and they begin to squabble when they’re interrupted by one if the brothers, calling their attention to a guest who probably lost something last night and came to get it back. they don’t expect to see who’s actually there.

it’s you. less dolled up and in casual clothes but still as fucking pretty. you’re evidently tired, and they can feel the embarrassment radiate from you. they immediately stop arguing, geto turning off his phone and turning to face you.

“um, im so sorry to interrupt your day,” you start and they both think about how thankful they were you did interrupt their day. “i, err, i accidentally took home these glasses last night. i don’t know who they belong to, so i thought it was a safe bet to drop them off here in case someone comes looking for them.” you shuffle your feet shyly and bring forth the glasses for them to see. who knew such a party girl could get so shy. god you were so fucking sweet it was almost bad for them. gojo grins and begins to step forward.

“those are mine, pretty girl. thanks for returning ‘em.” gojo grins as he walks up to you. you flush, and geto comes to join his bestfriends side. the pretty girl they’d been entranced by all morning was now right in front of them. and they’ll be damned if they this opportunity go to waste.

[justcallmesakira]

HIII OMG I haven’t had a good laugh in a while until i came across your fyodor’s sis dating dazai hcs IT GOT ME ROLLING ON THE FLOOR 😭 can i request for dazai’s sister dating fyodor if you’re up for it? fluff crack make it silly if you want i’ll enjoy anything from you for sure!!

"Dazai with a sister dating Fyodor!"

Sypnosis: Uh oh! Looks like Dazais one and only sister he grew up with is dating a rat who the entirety of yokohama is after!

Genre: crack, suggestive? (idk sth is wrong with me)

Warning: More blasting, bombing, terrorrist, rizz,

A/N: AHHH I AM SO HAPPY U ENJOYED IT- AND I AM MORE THEN HAPPY BCS I MADE YOU LAUGH !!! >.<

nahhh like brother like sister :/

NO BCS i feel like fyodor just wanted to temper dazai by using his ugly breedable charms on you

But it backfired terribly! (like his posture)

Though you were his one and oNlY eNeMyS blood relative he just couldnt help but flirt with you and perhaps ykyk do those romantic stuff ppl do

This is so ooc rn ;skull emoji 69x;

However you were extremly LIKE extremly careful to not let your brother know

You literly sneaked off the house as if you were sneaking inthe kitchen to cook a whole buffet at 3am!!

Except you were sneaking off to EAT a whole buffet😏😏

Even the rat himself helped you to sneak to his rusty ahh apartment

Wow! The first thing he actually did for others!!!!!

Honestly dazai would be chill though-

Like oh his sister is dating someone? welp sure! i have exes all around the city hope its not one of them though hehe...HeHe

FUCKING SLU--

You took the risk of rizzing fyodor up infront of him though like:

"I am crime, I am punishment" you: "I know something else you can punish :3"

Dazai woke back from the dead with em bones fish eye when u said that

AYYY DAZAI IN HIS MELANIE MARTINEZ "PORTALS" ERA!!!!1😍

When he find out though.....oh god hes going to give you that light skin stare, with his eyes turning into nothing but a pitch black void

like my soul-- OKAY THIS IS THE LAST ONE I PROMISE--

One day you met up with fyodor and you were so excited that you nearly threw his anemic ass to the ground

"Yaaaah fedya,!! we finally met! dont give me that face do u know how hard it is to come and meet you when my lazy ahh brother puts trackers on me!" "Malyshka, please calm down---''

All of a sudden u could hear shuffling which instantly cautions the both of you only for your eyes to be meeted with your brothers eye turning into nothing but pitch black like the face he gave when he saw mori

your getting grounded <3

"Out of all people...out of 8 billion people, sister😀" "I-i-i-i i can explain"

he then looked at fyodor with the ugliest angry face ever "YOU FUCKING RAT HOW DARE YOU WOO MY SISTER WITH FEHUYOUR UGFLY AHH RATUTILLIE NO RIZZ MANIUPULATION I AM GONNA BLAST YO-"

damn.. dazai become eminem

the shift mood between to u then to fyodor was so funny

LIKE YALL SAW THE ADVICE FYODOR GAVE TO DAZAI IN THEIR CELLS? THATS A BIT--- UM YANDERE??????!!

"BROTHER CALM DOWN I WAS NOT MANIUPULATED TF-" "THAT WONT STOP ME FROM MY MANSLAUGHTER ARC" "WHAT?--"

#siblinggoalsfr

fyodor honestly only glared at him with a smile that said "If they annoy you, go for their sibling"

dazai YANKED Your arm taking you back to you apartment and just stared at you as if you got a B in maths

uh oh...

So YEAH after hours of not being able to calm him down he finally accepted!

Dazai gifted fyodor a dead rat in a helicopter after he accepted you guys😍😍😍

No bcz i think u and nikolai would have matching energy--

Nikolai: "Dos-kun bites his nails!" You: "Real except he bites my neck!"

one day ranpo jolted up from his seat with fisheye and slowly turned to you as if you ate his (dead)mother

"Dazai Y/N, you did not..." "Oh yes yes i just did :3"

everybody was so confused like did you steal his snacks or sth???

"like brother like sister i guess...." -ranpo after finding out his bestie is doing unholy things to his enemy

JKJK-

Dazai acted so overdramatic omg- ugh hes so babygirl

"I still cant believe it... MY OWN SISTER DATING-DAT-DATING A STINKY RAT! Wait- WHAT IF YOU GET MARRIED???????!!!!! WILL YOUR NAME BE D-D-D-DOS-DOE RATVESKY?? sis you better let him take your name WAIT NO I WILL NOT SHARE MY NAME WITH HIM UGFYDUTYFE"

dramatic gossip girlie fr

like its literly like

"I took your victory😈" "I took your sisters viriginty😈😈😈"

i am so sorry-WAHHHHHHHHHH- *gets shot in the head by reader for being so dirty*

during gatherings, they just smile at each other protesting in their minds who can take care of u better while your in a chair rollin around and going :3

kuro kuro kuro kuroooo kuro kuro kuro kuro ding luro kuro ding~

until your silly ahh falls! :D

And its just a second of time to see who can cath you first-

Dazais going to turn your wedding into an arson commitment!

"Breaking news!, Depressed man who half the fandom slanders burns down his sisters wdding venue with soy sauce!"

Well... its a funky ride! but hey its fyodor

A/N: i know its short but i tried okay- ENJOY!! i love doing crack if i cant laugh or be happy i will make others happy!! <33

Divider crds: @nikolaismasquerade

tags! @silverbladexyz @riiwrites @chuuyasboner @heartsfourdazai @atlasnessie @atsquie @tojifile @biscuits-lovely-corner @darling--angst

[loveephia]

you as nekoma's beautiful manager.

content: (🦷) tooth-rotting fluff, kenma has a small crush on you, reader is as pretty as kiyoko shimizu and alisa haiba, karasuno featured in the bonus.

⚠ warning/s: none.

inarizaki ver. | shiratorizawa ver. | fukurodani ver. | aoba johsai ver.

oh dear

now, it's no surprise that the boys have been wanting a manager for the longest time

and you just so happened to stumble into their gym while trying to look for the girls'

you wanted to tryout

but it's okay! you can still walk out and make it to the tryouts—

wrong.

because once yamamoto saw you in your tracksuit, assuming you'd be their manager, all hell broke loose.

guess there's no turning back now

"PRETTY.. MANAGER.." yamamoto falls to his knees and

ok, now, imagine him crying in the jojo artstyle

yeah, that's him rn

you don't know why, but two people in the back did a high-ten and yelled out, "yakisoba!"

yaku is sO KIND AND CARING although lev could say otherwise

kai helped you adjust to the team's stupidly loud antics 😭

kenma just nods at you and goes back to practice

kuroo recognizes you because you're one of the smartest students in nekoma. your report card, from top to bottom, is all filled with lines of 9 (grades from 90-100)

and it's safe to say that he's intimidated

because you're pretty, intelligent, and totally his type 🫦🫦

inuoka gives you a charming smile and you feel ten times lighter than when you first walked in the gym today

"woah, you're really pretty." lev, honey, yk you can think to yourself, right?

fukunaga welcomes you with a joke

"what kind of streets to ghosts haunt?"

"dead ends?" you respond

oh my gosh, is it you? is it really you?

are you the destined one he's been searching for for all of these grim years?

".. yeah, dead ends." fukunaga mumbles.

it's only day one, and you got the entire team admiring you already

nice kill 💯💯

1 point for nekoma 0 for karasuno

you sign the papers that need to be signed, and BOOM!,($!] you're now on trial!!!

everyone was kind!! they politely asked you for tosses, gave you reassurance and encouragement, and they helped you carry a few things to the gym!!

now they're taking a break, and kenma sat on the floor, pulling out his gameboy

you tried to sneak a few glances at what game he's playing, and you recognized it! it's the game you play in your spare time at home!!!

you try to peek at his level, but it's hard to see due to his hair

"you know, you can just.. ask me questions, right?" he asks

you knew that of course >:(

you sit next to him and ask for his level, and it turns out he's a few levels lower than you

sooner or later, you're giving him tips on how to play the game, and WOW HE'S A FAST LEARNER

he went from 15 levels below you to only 3 now

his motions were swift, and you couldn't help but stare starry-eyed as he played

why's kenma feeling warm all of a sudden

it's not even summer yet

maybe he needs some potassium

kuroo notices you two and is happy that kenma has someone he can share his interest in gaming with, like how kuroo shared him his interest in volleyball

BONUS

nekoma welcomed karasuno at the entrance, having been the only school here that karasuno is familiar with.

then suddenly, nishinoya and tanaka are wailing in the background while yamamoto laughs maniacally. "yes, oh, dear, karasuno! look at our beautiful manager!" you stood there idly. you were just trying to carry some fresh produce to the kitchen before yamamoto pulled you aside..

kuroo facepalms at yamamoto's behavior.

© lowercase intended | loveephia

[junibunny]

18+, nsft, minors dni, total perv!seven, voyeurism (it was kinda definitely intentional, but seven doesn't know and its never stated), seven is implied to be a sub!leaning!switch, not canon compliant

seven had started to grow a resentment towards you. he couldn't hate you, or anything that you did to him, but what he hated was how he was so pathetic that he couldn't do anything if he wasn't able to just turn his head to "check-up" on you. and by "check-up," of course, i mean palm himself through his jeans for 20 minutes while you did whatever mundane task you had to complete. today, he's been watching you cook... something for lunch. he has not taken his eyes off of your ass, not something he was proud of, but he really really couldn't tell if what you were wearing would classify as shorts or underwear. which also makes him wonder if there was anything underneath them. that thought makes seven get up out of his chair and take a few laps around his room. he really never thought he'd be this guy, the kind of guy who literally needs a glass of water and a walk to calm down after just thinking of pussy he's never tasted. after downing the rest of a half empty soda can he found on a shelf in his room, he hesitantly returns to his workspace. he couldn't focus with you around, and he couldn't focus when he couldn't see you. he much prefers seeing you, so that's the one he's going with. when he sits back down, he realizes that he made the right decision. in the time between him losing it over thinking about your ass and him coming back down to earth, you somehow forgot that there was a camera pointed towards the stove and that whole counter. or maybe you were just too desperate that you didn't care if seven was watching you use the corner of a counter for a bit of relief. god. how long has it been since you've touched yourself or even been touched? because it couldn't have been that long since you started, and you're already whining and the way you're grinding onto the counter... seven gives up completely on shame, unzips his jeans, and throws them down to his ankles. he doesn't know how long he's gonna last, especially when you're now dropping your... underwear to the floor, or maybe they were shorts. all he knows is that there's nothing under them. how did you forget he was watching you?? he tries to remind you so you DONT forget. he's sure you wouldn't want him to watch this, at least maybe not until you two were closer... fuck he can't help it though, right? he's not sure if you're close or not, but seven is gone when you shove your fingers into your pussy and he can hear the squelch, it's faint because of the distance, but now that's all he wants to hear. he keeps watching and lightly stroking himself, he can't miss the end, and fuck is he happy that he didn't. you're still bent over the counter, one hand inside of you, the other rubbing your clit like a desperate whore. he knows it's aggressive, he wants to treat like the angel you are, but sometimes, especially right now, he wants to choke you and bite you and make you say that you're his personal little toy. but considering that all it takes is watching you cum and hearing you moan loud enough that the neighbors definitely heard it for him to cum for a second time, he's got a small feeling you'll be calling the shots more than him.

A/N: this was in one go, i just had to get out some of my seven thoughts. my hormones are so outta control rn lmao, also thinking about it. it's hilarious to imagine mc jerking off on the kitchen of this random dead woman while there's supposed to be someone dangerous after them 😭

[chiyeko-kurea]

I saw this post:

And LMAO IM TEARING UP

‘lonley’ BFFR😭😭 it’s on the FIRST line too lmaooo

Also ‘dead’ being there is so funny « how are you? oh, im dead😊 » like ‘im dead.’ not even ‘dead inside’ just plain dead. not like im laughing so much im dead🤣, im actually dead.🙁texting from my grave rn😗

Also « wearing a mask »?

-How are you? -Im wearing a mask!🥰

-That’s not what I-

….you asked….😘

« Down ». I’d get it in a « -wanna fu€k kitchen cabinets or whatever? -yea bro im down! » context but in this context? how are you? down. THAT DOESN’T MAKE SENSE (also i’d make a joke but im on the wrong side of tumblr for that i think)

« Forced »? How are you? Im forced! THE SENTENCE IS NOT FINISHED?? Forced to do what???

The person who wrote this just pulls this face on a regular basis:

« DOMINATED » IM ROLLING ON THE FLOOR LIKE BRO ARE YOU IN THE DEPRESSI0N SIDE OF TUMBLR OR THE NSFW ONE🙏😭

So instead of doing sh bingos here’s for you<3

Then just moves on to « crushed »

IM NOT DONE THERES A PART 2

[leonenjoyer69]

Welcome to my big list of Will Wood songs I relate with Jekyll and Hyde/TGS!! Including what character it's associated with (ie, Jekyll, Hyde, or Lanyon lmao)

I also have art ideas for like, half of these songs so that's fun too (I'm so normal about these things)

Front Street- Hyde

Venetian Blind man- Jekyll, with big chapter 8 vibes, BUT SPECIFICALLY the line:

"Feet, don't fail me now the ways my eyes did

Mind, don't snap and heart, don't break, not now

No, not like this, any but this breakdown"

2econd 2ight 2eer- Hyde

Cotards solution- Jekyll and Hyde

6up 5oh cop-out- Hyde, but also big Chapter 14 vibes

Mr Capgras encounters a secondhand vanity- Jekyll and Hyde (and a little Lanyon, being the one to question what you feel and what you do, is that really you? And things of the like, At least in my silly mind)

BlackBoxWarrior- OKULTRA - Jekyll and Hyde

¡Aikido!-Neurotic/erotic- Jekyll and Lanyon

A little bit mine (cover this song)- Lanyon

Red Moon- Hyde

Chemical overreaction/ Compound fracture- Jekyll

Dr Sunshine is Dead- Jekyll (and a little Hyde)

The song with five names- Jekyll and Lanyon

.. And if I did, you deserved it.- Jekyll

Suburbia overture- Jekyll and Hyde

Marsha, thankk you for the dialectics- Jekyll, and I like to think some of the song is Lanyon talkin to him

Hand me my shovel, I'm going in! - Jekyll, making the potion mayhaps, or his little mind escapade where he figures out what Hyde actually is of him

Against the kitchen floor- Lanyon and Jekyll

Outliars and Hyppocrates - Hyde, talking to Jekyll

The first step- Hyde

2012- Jekyll

When somebody needs you- Lanyon and Jekyll

Misanthrapologist- Lanyon

Sex, drugs, rock 'n roll- Jekyll

Laplaces angel- Hyde

The main character- Hyde

Conclusion: the Will Wood/TGS fan relationship makes sense bc this man could NOT stop popping out songs that people can relate a repressed Victorian man with a despicable Alter ego to.

Also, while on the topic of Will Wood songs, a bonus for my fellow Picture of Dorian Gray fans:

Yes, to err is human, so don't be one is SUCH a Dorian Gray song, specifically him towards Basil, and if I could get my brain to write rn I'd totally write a fanfic of that.

ALSO I'D LOVE TO TALK ABOUT ANY OF THESE SONGS AND WHY I ASSOCIATE THEM IN MORE DETAIL FOR ANYONE THAT MAY BE WILLING TO WATCH ME STUMBLE OVER WORDS AND CONFUSINGLY TRY TO EXPLAIN WHAT I MEAN :33

[slutforsilverfoxes]

Sunrise, Sunset

[A/N: I wrote this in a rush bc there’s some stuff going on in my personal life and I just watched episode 9x10 and I needed a good cry 🥺]

*Warning you rn, sad Stevie ahead

—————

“Christ,” you grumble under your breath, slipping in a puddle and nearly falling flat out on the back porch. You try to adjust the grocery bags in your hands to see where you’re stepping, juggling your house keys between two fingers as you mutter on, “How many times have I told that man to wipe down the deck after a swim? Gonna break my damn face one-”

Your griping comes to a dead halt and the bags fall onto the deck with a series of heavy thuds. It’s not water you slipped on.

“St-Steve?” you stammer out, choking on his name. As you follow the trail into your home, now resembling more of a macabre art exhibit than a kitchen, your voice grows stronger and you yell, “Steve! Steven!” Red streaks and fingerprints are smeared across every visible surface, and the sheer volume of blood on the floor sends your heart leaping into your throat.

You can hear heavy footfalls rounding the corner, and you brace yourself to meet your demise at the hands of the same man who attacked your husband minutes ago. Then panicked blue eyes appear at the doorway, and tears pool in your own as you rush into the familiar security of Steve’s arms.

“You’re okay,” you exhale sharply, hands roaming every inch of skin that you can find. Your fingers graze over several bandages along his arms and chest, across his split lip, down the bridge of his nose, and you repeat again, “You’re okay.”

“Most of that blood’s not mine,” he assures you, tenderly brushing his thumb over your cheek and giving you a moment to catch your breath.

“Is this- Is someone after your team?” you ask, taking note of his harried appearance and red-rimmed eyes as he leads you to sit on the living room couch.

He sniffs sharply and averts his gaze before answering, “Not Five-0. My team from the Morocco op.”

You take his hand and bring it to your lap, squeezing it tightly and running your thumb over his knuckles. “How many, Steve?”

He swallows thickly. “Three.”

“And…” You steel yourself for your follow up question. “And Joe?”

Giving your hand a squeeze in return, he says, “Joe’s okay.”

You take and release a deep breath, then lift his hand to your mouth and press a kiss to the back of it. “Do what you need to do,” you say softly. “Just come home to me in one piece when it’s done.”

“Angel, this might not-”

“Consider that an order, Steve,” you cut him off, lifting your resolute gaze to meet his. “You will come home to me.”

“Okay, mama,” he whispers. “Okay.”

—————

The telltale sound of a key slipping into the lock has you jolting awake in the dark living room. Sitting up on the couch, you rub the sleep from your eyes and glance at the clock to find it’s nearly three in the morning. Steve steps inside and locks the door behind him before dropping his bag to the floor. Even in the dim lighting, you can see the weight of the world bearing down on his shoulders, and you call out to him softly.

He takes lumbering steps towards you, then sinks to his knees and rests his head on your thigh, his arms coming up to encircle your waist. “I came home to you,” he says, haunted, his voice muffled by your cotton shorts.

“Thank you, baby,” you whisper, carding your hands through his hair as he tightens his grip on you, his anchor.

“I came home,” he intones again. Your heart aches at how small he sounds, and you understand in that moment what he’s really saying to you: I’m the only one who came home. Pressing your lips to his forehead, you murmur, “You can let go now, honey. Let it go.”

His large body quakes beneath your fingertips, heaving with silent sobs as a lifetime of loss and sacrifice takes its toll. Drawing in shuddering breaths, he clings to you like you’re the oxygen he’s seeking while you rock him side to side and run your hand along his back.

The sun will come up in a few hours, and with it, a new day. But for tonight, all your husband can focus on is coming home to you and the most beautiful sunset he’s ever seen.

—————

[A/N… again: Writing that last line broke me 😔 If you’ve seen this episode I hope you get the reference; seeing my baby sad breaks my heart and I was ugly crying by that point ngl]

[yae-energy]

ysl productions presents… wheel of fortune: episode one

“what’s in your fridge?”

synopsis: y/n takes a look in gojo’s fridge, and… it’s interesting to say the least

cast: rich nigga gojo! x high maintenance black fem reader! , (megumi is mentioned briefly)

universe: modern au! no curses (i don’t like the canon v much rn so imma pretend she doesn’t exist 😁)

cw: cursing, usage of the nword, gojo and reader are in a situationship? | wc: 883 wrds, 4,823 characters (hc’s at the end are not included)

a/n: y’all this is my FIRST piece of work in a loooonnnggg time, not too much on my rusty ass

[11:11]

was the time displayed on your phone the moment your groggy eyes fixated on the screen. it felt like a scene straight out of a disney movie with the way birds melodically chirped outside the condo, silky, white sheets creating a luxurious sensation on your skin. it's been a while since the last time you even stepped foot inside gojo's place. he's a busy man, you're an even busier woman, it is what it is. but that doesn't mean he won’t make time for you, though!

late night drives in his '22 rolls-royce ghost (his favorite out of his many, many cars,) expensive dates at michelin star establishments, first class flights whenever he wants to treat you to a vacation. whatever you want, whenever you want,

you need it? he got it.

and that's what you absolutely adored about him.

despite you guys not being exclusive or anything, he never fails to show you off. he's your favorite out of your roster, (cause he be feedin you pasta and lobster) so why not try to treat your “man” to a homemade breakfast? - at least… that's what the plan originally was.

upon dressing yourself in the pink, fluffy, satin robe you packed in your “overnight bag” (ignoring the fact you planned on hanging around his place for more than just ONE night.) and freshening yourself up in the bathroom, you head out to the kitchen. pink fluffy slippers clacking against the hardwood floor as 40in water wave bundles swayed against your back. (courtesy of gojo.)

it's been so long you almost forgot how nice everything was. expensive furniture decorating the living space from left to right, with the most notable piece being the fat ass grand piano you weren't even sure he knew how to play. a small framed photo of him and megumi sitting cutely on top.

. . .

it was always so easy for you to get starstruck from all of the shiny trinkets gojo had displayed around his home. you damn near forgot what you even got up to do, leaving you scrunching your face in confusion before you stopped in your tracks. the sudden remembrance of breakfast shaking you out of your daze.

you hadn’t even decided on a dish yet, chicken and waffles had always been a go-to for you- however this was your first shot at proving your “wifely skills.” with the kind of money he was making you didn’t mind being a lil stay at home boo. your boring ass 9-5 wasn’t gonna just hand you a birkin at will.

fuck them jobs.

perhaps something with a little more…elegance then? you were definitely in the mood for waffles so- ….

“now this nigga know damn well…”

you muttered under your breath, sucking your teeth in the process. gojo was a lot of things: loud, obnoxious, an occasional dickhead, the list could go on. but broke was certainly not one of them. so it was a wonder to you on…

WHY IN THEE HELL.

his fridge was empty.

dead empty.

not a speck of food in sight. the only edible thing in there being an old ketchup bottle and 3 mustard packets.

it took you by surprise so bad that you almost didn’t feel the warmth of his hands caressing your waist, the scent of YOUR rose water sugar scrub grazing your nose.

speak of the devil.

“i know you ain’t been in my shit again” you mumbled out. relaxing in the feeling of his arms while he leaned down to your cheek, peppering you with kisses before responding to your comment.

“whatt?? nooo…never…”

making you smile helplessly at his attempt to play coy. he was always so cute with you whenever you two were alone. as much as he wanted to be all nonchalant and suave in public he was a whole ‘nother person behind the scenes.

“mmhmm” you answered, making sure to direct the conversation back to the original concern at hand.

“by the way… do you wanna tell me why your fridge looks like who did it and why? there’s nothing in there. like nothing. like none at all-”

“i- ok, no need to emphasize. you’ve judged my poor fridge enough…but, if you must know, i was spring cleaning.”

“gojo, it’s summer-”

“not the point-…now before you rudely interrupted me, i was spring cleaning- or since you’re getting your panties in a twist about it, *SUMMER* cleaning. i’m not home super often so i had megumi go through and throw stuff out- i didn’t think he’d throw EVERYTHING away so…yeah. now we’re here.”

“so you mean, MEGUMI…was ‘summer cleaning’ then. gojo stop getting that boy to do your dirty work…”

“i- wow you’re just full of assumptions this morning. i didn’t ‘GET’ him to do anything. he volunteered- which!! i personally think is very sweeet, and lovinggg of him to do for his beloved guardian.”

“right, right. my bad…” you chuckled quietly, shaking your head as you did so. “i was trynna be cute n’ shit and cook breakfast, but i guess i gotta lay that dream to rest for today.” you explained. a shallow sigh leaving your lips.

“what? no you don’t. grocery stores exist, i have a car, boom. problem solved.”

“…grocery trip it is then?”

“grocery trip it is”

. . .

grocery trip with gojo! headcannons

forgets he’s even there for groceries and goes straight to anything sweet

touches EVERYTHING

does that thing where you push the cart and ride on the back of it LMAOOO

gets a shit ton of orange juice because he claims it’s for megumi (megumi likes apple juice)

this is the first time you’ve guys have been out together in a more domestic manner so bro is NERVOUS

it makes him smile cause he feels like y’all are a real couple

“whatcha’ smiling at?”

“nothin’ ”

forgets where he parked

carries all the bags inside in one go 👏🏽👏🏽👏🏽

a/n pt2: yall i did not mean to make it so long 😭 its wtv tho. i hope this don’t suck LOL, i actually had a lot of fun writing this like i was lwk kicking my feet and giggling fr

[happyk44]

i started writing this in my drafts weeks ago but didn't continue much farther than the first sentence - probably put it down to do something else and then passed out lmao. anyway after scrolling past last night wanted to continue it but can't be effed to scroll through my drafts rn (i save everything to my drafts to tag and queue later and my drafts ar like over 250+ rn)

anyway percy who becomes obsessed with finding this grim reaper he saw the night his mom killed his step-dad. he was an abusive asshole and percy helped his mom stage the scene to look like someone gabe owed money to came knocking. they don't have much in terms of expensive shit - just the TV and playstation. it's an old old model that one of percy's classmates was going to throw out as he wasn't into the games he had with it anymore and was getting the latest version for christmas.

it was nice that he gave it to percy with only a fraction of the cost in hand and a promise to give him the rest over time. percy paid him off every monday. it took sally weeks to pay it off, percy chipping in by donating cans and glass bottles he found lying around. the games were old and a little childish, but it was the only entertainment percy had aside from sally's old and crappy laptop that gabe hogged with online poker games.

so it sucked to watch sally dump it into an empty trash bag. it's small, she'd said. the tv would be too big to carry out without causing suspicion, even in mind-your-business new york city, but the playstation, her shitty laptop, and gabe's cell and wallet were things that could be dumped into a bag with no one giving a second look. percy crawls out the fire-escape grateful their shitty apartment building doesn't have cameras. he has to use a couple boxes to really rise himself enough to stuff the bag under the other bags. sally walks out the front door and they go have a late dinner at a nearby cafe.

then go home an hour later and scream in surprise at gabe's dead body in the bedroom, still warm from the heater in the corner boiling up the room that sally promptly unplugs.

percy doesn't think much about WHY his mom was so specific about how to clean his blood off the kitchen floor, about how to stage the scene, about moving gabe's body into the bedroom, about pulling him like he had been then letting him fall flat. heating up the room to keep him warm and fresh, while keeping the window cracked open so the heat doesn't stay by the time the police arrive.

he writes it away as her being a reader, a writer. maybe murder mysteries had been on her mind lately. maybe she watched too many cop shows. maybe she'd thought about this so many times she perfected it. his mom was not a repeat killer. gabe was her first time. her only time. and it was fine.

he sucked.

it's sitting in the chair, feigning distress but not too much, talking to a cop about the scene while he stares off into the air when he sees him. the boy is young, dark-haired and pale-skinned. he's startled by the presence, cutting off in his explanation about how people often came banging on the door for money gabe owed them. how he kept his poker winnings in the now open and empty safe in the bedroom. he wants to draw attention to the boy, but no one else seems to notice him.

he watches idly as gabe is carried out the front door in a body bag. then disappears towards the bedroom.

percy stands and mutters something about wanting to see his mom. the cop guides him to where she's sat on the bed crying thick tears. the boy is there. no one else cares that he's there. the boy reaches out and gabe's body shimmers into view. he's a visage of how he'd looked right before he died - the wide-eyed shock, tensing of his shoulders, mouth open wide because he'd been shouting at percy, threatening him.

he didn't realize how much like his mom he was until gabe fell flat with a knife sticking out of his throat. his mom standing behind him breathing hard. she'd squatted beside his head, pulled out the knife. stared at it. then stabbed stabbed stabbed until gabe's chokes turned to wispy gasps and his wispy gasps disappeared.

"four stab marks," his mom had said. "hopefully that won't look like overkill. but make sure to mention how many times people came screaming at the door just in case."

gabe's white glowing form dissipates into a ball in the boy's hands. he pulls out a baggie from his shoulder bag, then dumps gabe into it with a grimace.

he does suck, percy thinks. be annoyed.

the boy steps away. his eyes catch percy's. percy's arm tightens around his mom's shoulders as he looks into the endless void that is the other boy's eyes. flashes of his own death catch his mind. lying flat on the ground, weakly asking for help, and a dark-skinned man with black angel wings standing above him whispering, i'm sorry, but it's time to go.

then the boy looks away and disappears into a shadow.

grover believes him when he tells him about it. that's the thing percy loves about grover. the mystical and paranormal are easily believed. grover's parents are hippie-like green witches. percy doesn't really get it but has surmised from grover and visiting their house it means they really, really like plants.

"grim reaper," grover calls him. "or a psychopomp. collectors of the dead."

he lists a bunch of names from various cultures until percy cuts him off. "are any young boys?"

grover shrugs. "i mean life is bigger than what the stories tell. there's more people, more humanity. atheists even. where do they go? who collects them? there's definitely more gods and spirits than we think these days. it's not like they all stopped fucking just because the stories ended. there are definitely more gods than we think."

percy doesn't know what to do with that. grover asks him a lot of questions about the boy. but it's hard to answer them. they can't find a culture he could belong to, a way to summon someone without a name. the kid was young, dressed normal in black clothes with a normal black messenger bag. there were no signs of culture, religion, belonging.

he could've blended into a primary school playground easily.

"maybe you need to kill someone," annabeth suggests. the conversation arises a year or so after they first met and befriended her - a new addition halfway through the school year, a few months after gabe's unfortunate death. following a CPS check, her biological mother decided to take charge of her. annabeth spent a lot of time grumbling about her family in california while also missing california ("it's familiar, new york is not, i don't miss my step-mom, i miss the comfort of routine") and bitching about her bio mom's obsession with her grades and extracurriculars.

it takes some campaigning but the three of them manage to create an afterschool club in the new school year for her to find some time to chill and relax and get school work done. it took a lot longer to convince her mom to let her join their "magics and mystics club" - some nonsense about how it'll make her stand-out in college applications.

percy highly doubts any college is looking too closely at middle school extracurriculars, but what does he know? he's either lasting until graduation with grover and annabeth, or getting his GED and dropping out to immediately book it to the first basic entry-level job he can find. school already sucks ass, but his barely medicated ADHD and severely dyslexic ass already twaddles the line of a C average. What's the use of hundreds of thousands of dollars in debt that's only growing frantically from interest and a degree he barely achieved with the lowest grades required to shake the hand of someone he's never interacted with?

annabeth spends most of her time in the club doing her homework, while percy gets reeducated on grover's witchy stuff. their club advisor is the drama teacher who only checked in at the beginning of that first meeting then dipped for the drama club. grover's putting together a presentation on the history of mysticism while percy glues pictures to poster board. annabeth will present their stuff. the three of them doubt anyone will care if they did anything productive with their club, but annabeth's mom will so they do their best to make it fancy as fuck.

she already doesn't like either of them.

in the spare times that annabeth isn't doing homework or studying for another class, they talk about the spiritual and paranormal, magic and whatnot. so percy mentions his experience with the reaper.

and annabeth's first suggestion is murder. it's hilarious. grover knows the truth but annabeth only knows the lie. percy makes a note of it in his head. maybe he'll hint around the truth. they're close, but there's still time needed between the two of them. the worst she's told him is about the spiders in her bedroom. but nothing about what kickstarted a CPS investigation and her subsequent arrival into his life.

"maybe he's a murder reaper," she says. she's intellectual, doesn't believe in the mystic magic stuff but tolerates it for grover. "so he only comes around when there's been a murder."

"i don't think reapers are split up by types of death," grover argues. "and even if they were, why would a little kid be sent to deal with murders?"

annabeth crosses her arms. "maybe he's not a kid. maybe he just chooses to look like that."

they get into a weird half-argument, half-civil discussion. to her credit, annabeth doesn't bring science into it. they both descend to the computers and the books grover brought in from his house to search through to prove whatever point they've landed on.

percy is too busy cutting out paper to glue to poster board. and thinking about the murder aspect. he doubts that murder matters. he's pretty sure grover's right, but he likes keeping his balls so he doesn't say. annabeth is probably right too. magical beings are always capable of changing form. maybe little kid is just easy. who would be afraid of going somewhere with a little kid. or a dog.

but death is needed to see the reaper again. percy doesn't live with anyone dying. and he's too young to volunteer at the hospital. besides death is random isn't it? everyone was convinced that their classmate who got diagnosed with stage four cancer was going to die but she returned a year and a half later missing a leg but recovering. and the gym teacher who ran marathons and was known for his obsessively healthy eating habits died of a heart attack over the summer.

and even if he hovered around people on the verge of death, it didn't mean he was going to be there when they died.

but murder? definitely. he'd be right there because it would be his fault.

at that, he dashes the thought away. murder is wrong. he can't kill people just to see a reaper he saw but never spoke to. it's not like he has any questions about his death. he'll die when he dies. dying isn't scary to him. what's scary is dying before his mom and leaving her childless and mourning. but death itself? he's unafraid.

but inside burns a deep need to see the reaper again. not even to talk to him. just to lay his eyes on that night sky hair and porcelain skin. then he'd be satisfied and the need would go away.

maybe.

probably.

hopefully.

it's on his sixteenth birthday that he sees another reaper. it's not the boy he's looking for. he's disappointed. he shouldn't be. he should be more concerned with the dead man lying in front of him.

the letter opener is sticking out just below luke's left armpit. it hadn't killed him. it was too delicate for that, and the spot wasn't vital enough. but it had shocked him enough for annabeth to shove him away in disgust. he fell back, tripping over annabeth's shoes, and smashed into the glass coffee table.

"shit," annabeth breathes. she doesn't notice the reaper - a slender arabic man appear from the darkness and pull luke's soul of his chest with thin hands. he pushes his hands together and the soul vanishes. then he turns into a dog, or... something like a dog, and disappears back into the shadows.

it's take a few minutes to figure out how to stage the scene. they get rid of the letter opener and shove a piece of broken glass into the spot. this time he doesn't escape through the window. just walks out of the room, calm and detached, and sits in his mom's car. when the police arrive, annabeth, crying thick tears, tells them that he had fallen over while she was getting her things ready after percy came to pick her up.

it's not technically a lie. the police wish him a happy birthday when he says he came by to pick annabeth up from her study session because they were going to do laser tag for his birthday that afternoon. when they don't arrest him in the weeks that follow, he relaxes. and considers his options. he googles arab dogs which is an odd search term but brings up jackals and anubis. cool, he thinks. he tells them both about it afterwards. despite the death, grover is excited. annabeth is less impressed.

"i would've noticed, i was there too," she huffs.

"maybe they don't like you because you're a nonbeliever," grover fires back.

is percy a believer? he's not sure. he knows that what he sees is real. if he was suffering from delusions or hallucinations, surely he'd be seeing them a lot more than twice over the course of four years.

"what if i asked them?" he suggests. "to make themselves visible to you?"

"planning on being around another newly dead guy soon?" annabeth asks with a laugh. grover snorts. but percy remains silent and serious so their amusement shifts to concern

grover leans in close. "percy-"

"just bad people," he cuts in with a solemn whisper.

"you can't be judge, jury and executioner," annabeth hisses. "what you think is bad is not always universal? think about jim crow laws or slavery-"

"annabeth," he cuts in before she can go on an historical tangent. "i was hoping you'd help actually."

it doesn't take long for her to click together what he wants out of her. she glares at him. "percy," she snarls through clenched teeth. "i'm not swishing my ass to entice seedy men for you to murder so you can maybe have a hallucination to process death."

"okay, okay." conceding, he raises his hands. "it was dumb, i'm sorry. i just... really wanna see this kid again. sorry."

annabeth watches him carefully the rest of the day. grover doesn't. he knows what percy is, even if he doesn't agree. so it's not too surprising to start seeing grover scrolling through the newspaper on his phone. he startles every time percy spooks him when he's reading. then laughs it off, swats at percy, and keeps reading. it's the obituaries that percy sees the most, but sometimes articles about a death.

whatever he's looking for, some kind of proof it's percy, he must not find because he doesn't say anything. but it's grover, percy's soulmate. so he's sure the slow side-eye that he gets some mornings are a knowing side-eye.

percy doesn't look at the newspapers. if he's gonna get caught, he'd rather be surprised about it other than worrying and getting sloppy.

it's hard to find truly shitty people from first glance. he doesn't have the patience to observe. just slight insomnia that keeps him up until one in the morning prowling the streets. he hovers around in his old neighborhood, where the cameras are for show and shitty people live. it's still difficult. he doesn't want to go around hurting innocent people. less so because he cares, but more because it would disappoint grover and annabeth and his mom. he can't disappoint them.

he does see reapers, including the one who will one day take him, but never the boy. percy tries to envision him older, but even then none of them match. he does try to speak to them, but they ignore him. he wonders if it's some kind of weird curse. he can see them but they can't. sometimes the ignorance seems intentional, but he can't really tell so other than a few short sentences that always go ignored, he gives up and heads home.

some days he wakes up and is certain the police will come for him. but they never do and so he gives it a few days or a couple weeks and head back out again. they're opportunity kills. random and haphazard. he keeps mittens on, which looks normal in the fall and winter, but sketchy over the summer. to counteract his want to see that reaper, he signs up to be a counselor for a summer camp. grover joins him. annabeth is dragged off to university summer classes by her mom. her emails are miserable. percy wonders aloud to grover if annabeth would be happier if her mom was dead. grover eyes him flatly and says he doubts it.

percy gets assigned to the little kids who tell him all kinds of family secrets. some are funny. some are not.

it's not that hard to get into the camp's directory and write down in poor handwriting and with tons of struggle the names and addresses of these secrets. it's not a lot, which is great. but it's more than it should be and come summer's end, he has his start for the fall.

it's clear grover knows what percy's planning. he was there after all when a little secret got whispered too loudly. but all he says is, "sometimes kids get things wrong." the newspaper on his phone comes back into play after summer ends. but he still says nothing, even when glances at percy from the corner of his eyes.

it's two years of scattered kills before he sees him again. the kid is older now. he looks about fourteen, maybe fifteen. but percy knows it's him. he's the only one who makes eye contact. this time percy doesn't see his death. but he sees the endless void.

purgatory, he thinks, before he blurts out, "i've been looking for you." the teen tilts his head and smiles, small, gentle. the sight of it slams hard into percy's ribcage and sinks messy into his heart. "what's your name?"

"what's yours?" the teen fires back, turning away from percy and collecting the pulsing orb into a little baggie like before. his voice is enchanting, smooth and crystalline. there's an edge of an italian accent in it.

"percy," he says without hesitation. "jackon. percy jackson." he shakes his head. "perseus, actually, but everyone calls me percy."

the teen laughs gently. the sound is haunting. somewhere in percy's subconscious he knows the sound should scare him. but instead he just craves it more. "well, perseus jackson, my name is nico."

nico, percy thinks. in his head, the name is surrounded by hearts like a schoolgirl writing out the name of their crush in a movie. "that's really pretty," he says aloud. mentally he slaps himself. that's really pretty? that's stupid.

but nico just laughs again. "thank you." he steps over the dead body and touches percy's face. "perseus was a quite the soul when he was collected." his fingertip ghosts down percy's cheek, leaving light phantom tingles behind. "will you be?"

then he dissipates into shadows, leaving percy with a heavy craving for his ghostly touch and hauntingly enchanted voice.

[blacklegsanjiii]

Nephew!Sanji but he has parents that aren't Zeff so it's similar to the Trafalgar!Sanji ASL+Sfriend au but somehow worse.

Like Golden!Sanji having a bunch of marines correct his form as a teenager at Baratie and Mihawk watching from his table. Sengoku is the worst marine recruiter he's seen. That new captain Kidd is really getting on his nerves and Crocodile is fine but Sanji has more important things to be doing than watching him do books as he explains things. Also why is the clown trying to talk to his kid? Wait is that the guy Shanks kept telling him about? Why is his kid smiling at the clown? Mihawk has a list of people he doesn't mind and people he minds a lot and he sends his list to Zeff regularly who updates him on who is and isn't allowed at the Baratie.

Shirohige!Sanji who comes to help out when Zeff needs it for whatever reason when Zeff needs it. Maybe the commanders switch out who it is with him depending on what's going on in the New World but one time it's White Beard himself and he's watching Tsuru correct Sanji's form kicking some dickweed across the room because he dumped food on the floor. He nods at Mihawk who nods back and is then served wine without ordering by Sanji and has head pat next time he passes the warlord. Capone Bege stays for hours and when Sanji, dead on his feet from serving all day, is stopped and Bege keeps trying to convince the thirteen year old to join his crew White Beard walks over and picks him and is like 'sorey, my kid needs to sleep he's been serving since seven in the morning and it is currently nine at night, piss off' as he takes Sanji to the ship and lets his kid fall asleep on him.

Clown!Sanji who is shone unmitigated support and care serving Garp who keeps trying to convince him to become a marine and Buggy telling him to quit because Sanji will do as he pleases. He watches Law try to tell Sanji no bread and Sanji ask him if he knows what the fuck he is asking for and disregards the guys order completely to bring the guy something he'll eat. Buggy is going to ignore the emblem the guy is wearing because woops that's too much for the clown rn if Rosinante actually adopted someone before dying too. Fucking Rayleigh comes in and Buggy hides in the kitchen and hide his haki and Sanji comes back and goes out the back door of the kitchen and screams so loudly about that fucking asshole old guy. Buggy trying to calm him down but his son catches fire so he pushes him in the ocean instead. Rayleigh coming outside as Buggy helps pull Sanji out and give him his cigarettes. Sanji going 'Dad, why' and Rayleigh going 'tf does that mean' and Buggy yelling at Rayleigh that he pissed his son off so much he set on fire. Zeff peaking out and telling Rayleigh to behave or piss off and then having a very old wanted poster put under a "banned" section of the cork board they have.

[rainofthetwilight]

Silly question but what is by far the stupidest thing you headcanon for the ninja?

HII ALIZIB!! TY FOR THE ASK!! <3333 (staring at every pixel of ur art rn)

hoo boy you're in for a ride, i have alot of them lmao

here we go:

-

lloyd has road rage, i am forever standing by this headcanon 😎 he also has his '3 am' days where he randomly goes out of his room at midnight to the kitchen just to eat some dry cereal, lord knows how many times he's scared someone from his glowing eyes

kai steals nya's eyeliner, also has road rage, takes long ass showers (and sings in em) and 100% wears those long acrylic nails for fun (he has so many scars on his hand bc of the amount of times he'd scratch on it)

yknow that annoying beeping noise for censoring swear words? zane has a switch entirely for that, it makes the team laugh their asses off especially when he goes into a fit (purposely just to make them laugh), like it's just constant "BEEEEEEEEEEEEEEP" while theyre all already dead on the floor from laughter 😭

jay BARGES into lloyd's room whenever there's ANY update about starferer, and they go batshit when they rant about it, he's (canoncially atp) the MASTER of videogames and loves trolling random people, and he totally plays tomodachi life on his switch

nya's hoodies? theyre all stolen from everyone and she NEVER returns them (only under special circumstances), and she calls kai's stubble ugly while she goes crazy over jay's

cole dances at the most random of times, like he could be walking normally and then all of a sudden he just. V i b e s. one time he stood infront of jay's room and just started dancing out of boredom

pixal playfully fights with zane over what they should make for breakfast, only for her to lecture the ninja over how her blueberry pancakes are much better than zane's chocolate waffles

wu just. glows. at the randomest of times, and cringes at that moment he sang 'shake what ur mama gave you'

-

YEEAAHH i dont know if these count as stupid but AUGAHSHA I LOVE THESE IDIOTS SO MUCH <33 (i really should make a hc post bc i have alot of em)

[opticfile]

hi there! i absolutely adore your writing it's so scrumptious !!!!!!!

i was wondering if i could request an alfred x depressed! gn! reader drabble? where reader has just been stuck in a major depressive episode for weeks and yeah, you can take it wherever you'd like. thank you so much! :))

✧ thank you?? for the req?? this is the first one I've gotten and its not for genshin YIPPEEEEE,,,,, also warning my only point of reference for a depressive episode is my own experience so I'm sorry if this doesn't represent what its like completely accurately!! i also didnt want to like be too heavy in "you're so sad rn!!1!!!1! and depressed!!!!1!!111!!!!" so i tried to make it like,,, moreso implied? I'm doing my best here D: also had no clue how to end it LMAO

—✦ 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐬 // insinuations of depression, self loathing, fluff, bathtime teehee, completely sfw

1.7k words

Alfred wiped his feet on the welcome mat in front of your apartment’s door. He transferred a few of the grocery bags from his right hand to his left and fished his keys out of his coat’s pocket, humming gently to himself. The air was humid and chilly; he just wanted to see you but when he walked into your home he did not find the warmth he usually found.

Your apartment was like a warm hug to Alfred. On cool fall days, you’d have a space heater on low in your living room and a candle burning in the kitchen. He would walk in and take a deep deep breath and smile. Your couch was plush and there were countless pillows adorning your bed and no matter where he was sitting he felt encompassed by warmth.  He found comfort in your home, and in your arms.

But today, he did not hear your voice call out for him when his boots hit your crooked rug.

The first thing his eyes found was days-old take-out boxes on your coffee table. He frowned, browline creasing as he suddenly felt this unease in his soul. It wasn’t like you to leave take-out boxes just sitting on your coffee table, especially not for days at a time, and the slight smell of old, possibly rotting, food was only deepening his frown. 

He ventured deeper into your kitchen and was met with dishes piled in the sink and grains of sugar still lingering on your countertops. The kitchen towel that was usually hooked over your oven’s handle had fallen to the mat below it and was piled upon itself. He gently placed the grocery bags in his hand on your floor, turning from the sheer mess in your kitchen to find you. He just wants to see you, he just wants to see you, he just wants to see-

You were curled up in your blankets dead-center on your bed. There were pillows discarded on the floor and clothes sprawled out across it. The corners of your room were collecting dust bunnies that looked as if they were huddling for warmth and shivering in the cold atmosphere of your home. Your phone was held loosely in your hand as your chest rose and fell.

Alfred turned on his heel.

Alfred was always told he knew how to lift someone's mood. He’s been called a golden retriever, a ray of sunshine, cheer incarnate. He’s always been able to make people laugh with any old joke he threw out, and he’s always been able to have a good time no matter what obstacles stood before him. Some people thought his joy and optimism were extreme, too much, annoying, obnoxious. Alfred has always been sunny, but even the weather got cloudy for him, sometimes. 

(and for you it was storming, and he wanted to be your umbrella)

But he was always told he could make anyone smile, and for you? He would give everything to see you smile.

So he grabbed your sponge and pumped it full of dish soap and got to work.

Your eyes were reluctant to open. 

Rain pounded against your bedroom window, your phone buzzed with the sound of a random YouTube video you weren't watching as you removed your hand from it and turned over in your bed. Your legs were tangled in the sheets—the ones you probably should wash soon—and the air was musty. If it weren't for the obvious shuffling you heard in the rest of your apartment you would stay like that and wallow in self-pity.

Your feet hit the cold hardwood and you made a mental note to find your slippers after you figured out who was in your home (you already had an idea of who it was judging from the light humming). You felt the grime and dust beneath your skin and you frowned. You really needed to sweep.

Your door opened with a creek.

You hated seeing the disgusting state of your home, you were ashamed of it frankly. You needed to clean and yet had none of the motivation to do it so you just sat in your dirt and grit your teeth. The smell in the air was heavy and stuffy and only reflected how you felt inside. You had been getting nothing done, no work, no chores, not even your little hobbies you did for fun were bringing the joy they usually did. 

But by far the place you avoided the most was the kitchen. The kitchen was nothing but one big chore. Dishes piled up and stains on your counter and spills down your cabinets were the only things you could see in that disgrace of a room. You didn’t even want to cook, it's not like you even could with the messy state of your stove, either. So the takeout boxes on your coffee table (which were now missing) stood as evidence of your laziness and poor habits and frankly you were sick of yourself can you do anything right-

“Y/n?” An all too familiar voice called out from the kitchen, “Are you awake?”

“Yeah,” You responded, voice groggy and mouth thick.

You rounded the corner to see Alfred drying his hands off with a fresh kitchen towel. Your kitchen was… spotless. Alfred flashed you that bright grin of his, pearly whites lined up perfectly straight, and you let yourself relax a bit as you waddled over to your lover.

You found comfort in Alfred’s smile, in his arms. In that sunny warmth of his that he always carried with him. It felt like the skies were clearing up when he wrapped himself around and nuzzled into your hair, kissing the top of your head and ignoring the fact your hair was a bit greasy and unwashed. Alfred didn't care. That’s why you loved him. Er, that’s not the only reason, but it sure did help that he could hold your hand as you puked your guts out from food poisoning and he would still kiss you after. 

“Hi.” You murmured into his chest as his arms tightened around you.

“Hey, baby,” He laid another kiss on your head, “I missed you.”

“I missed you too.” 

“Feelin’ ok? A little stormy?” He ran his nails along your scalp and scratched a metaphorical spot that no one else could even find in your soul as you nodded into his chest. “D’ya wanna take a bath?”

“Mhm.” You spoke weakly, eyes filling with tears at the sheer amount of care in his voice as he rubbed your back.

“Hey, look at me,” Alfred pulled back gently, hand now finding your cheek, “No crying, the hero’s here, remember? I’ll save you.”

You frowned. The hero. Alfred always was your knight in shining armor no matter what the issue was. When you got fired Alfred was the one to buy your groceries and pay your bills and help you with your resume. When you got food poisoning from a seafood restaurant he took you on a date to he was the one to buy you medicine and rub your bad when your stomach was killing you from the inside out. And now he���s the one who’s squeezing shampoo into his palms and rubbing it on your scalp while you choke on your own sobs.

He raked his hands through your hair and rubbed circles into your head and down your neck to try and soothe you as you fell apart in his hands and let everything out. It was the kind of breakdown that was snotty and ugly but Alfred still saw nothing but perfection in every part of your face. From the tear droplets caught in your eyelashes to the curve of your nose to the shape of your chin, he saw nothing but the love of his life.

He took the showerhead down and returned to his knees by the tub, water soaking through his jeans and socks as he kneeled next to you to wash your hair. He had you sit up a bit and put his hand on your forehead to shield your eyes from the water as he rinsed the shampoo from your hair and whispered nothing but love. Hiccups bubbled from your ribcage as you came down from the peak of your crying and let your nails scratch your legs, peeling dead skin away in red stripes.

“Feel better?” Alfred slathered some conditioner on your hair. 

“Mhm.” 

“Why didn’t you call me?” He raked his hands through your hair gently, “I would’ve come over sooner.”

“I wanted to, I just forgot.” You frowned, “Sorry.”

“It’s okay, I love you.” Alfred took the shower head and started rinsing out your hair again.

“I love you too, Alfie.”

He grinned at the nickname, heart fluttering against his ribs.

He stood from his place by the tub and stretched out a hand to help you out of the bath, handing you a fresh towel. He took one of your hand towels and draped it over your head, smiling brightly at you as you wrapped the towel around yourself and pulled you into his arms. Your skin was still damp and the air was hot and foggy as he wet his t-shirt with the water dripping from your hair.

The door opened and in flooded crisp, cool air as the steam fluttered out of the bathroom and the smell of a burning candle invaded your senses. 

You rummaged through your dresser and found a t-shirt and pajama pants, pulling them on before making your way into the living room to see Alfred fiddling with your T.V. remote.

“What’d’ya wanna watch?”

“Something funny,” You responded, plopping yourself down onto your couch and laying back on it. 

“Sounds good to me,” Alfred murmured as he crawled into your arms, sprawling himself over you as gently as possible so he wouldn't smother you.

“Do you wanna order takeout?” You ran your hands through his hair as your attention was grabbed by the T.V.

“Sure.” He nuzzled into your neck and finally relaxed in your arms, “I love you.”

“I love you more.”

✧ navigation.

[loganlermanstanaccount]

Just to kiss me (Part 5)

pairing: Finnick Odair x reader

(AO3 mirror)

Part One, Part Two, Part Three, Part 4, My Hunger Games Masterlist

summary: Life goes on. You get a message from Finnick. 

warnings: some light angst, but other than that, none.

required reading: The song "We'll never have sex" by Leith Ross &lt;;3

a/n: ....I'm gonna stop making promises I can't keep lmfao. It's exam szn rn and uni wants me dead tbh. But I promise I'll finish this fic if it kills me sooo… enjoy!

taglist (comment if you'd like to be added <3): @agent-grey-fics, @starhastoomanyfandoms

wc: 3.8k

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You look perfect, you look different

I don't wonder about your indifference

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You arrive to a quiet house.

Not that it was out of the ordinary. Whilst you weren’t the type to party from dusk till dawn, arriving home after a late day at work, or a night in with Vonnie, was fairly by-the-by. You liked the routine: kicking on your slippers and closing the front door with a quiet click . Your mother, of course, nowhere to be seen. Not that you’d complain.

This morning, however, feels different. Your body burns with the aftermath of the night before; and you practically float into the house. Your heart is heavy with what’s left after Finnick’s touch - you can’t forget him whether you wanted to or not. And you didn’t want to forget, the last couple hours on replay during the journey. You feel like a teenager again - giddy with the thought of seeing him again. You had given Finnick your number, as promised. Waiting for the buzz of the comms on your wrist would be agony, you’re sure of it.

You pad through your house absentmindedly. Past the grand double staircase, through the pristine rugs and floors of a parlour not oft used, and into the kitchen. You place the bag Finnick gave you on its floor, rummaging through the cupboards. Murmurs from your mother’s office, a room just beyond the parlour, break the spell. It stops you in your tracks: the distorted mumble behind the door. Your mother’s voice is distinct but you can’t hear what she’s saying. Is there someone else? Yes, you think, a man. There’s rustling, the swish of people standing up and then you hear it: a gravelly voice. 

Plutarch Heavensbee - Uncle Heavensbee - opens the door and you duck behind the counter, just in time. Your mother follows close behind him. There’s no predicting  what your mother would say if she saw you like this - clearly in someone else's clothes after an eventful night. 

“...and we need to move faster than anticipated.” Plutarch says. Your mother shuts the door to her office and shakes her head, seemingly frustrated.

“You know that’s not up to me.” She chews her lip - like you do when you think. “I’ve moved up the dinner, putting as many resources as I can afford into the campaign. I’ve been forced to recruit an idiot from Snow’s court, for God’s sake. I’m going as fast as I-”

“-Snow’s court?” He interrupts. “You don’t mean…?”

She brings a hand up to pause the white haired man. “...I know what it sounds like. You need to trust me.”

He nods. “I have my reservations, but I suppose-”

“We don’t have a choice.” She slaps a hand on his back, good-naturedly, and you almost keel over from your vantage point. She laughs - a genuine, hearty laugh - in the white and bronze of walls dripping in paintings. She walks him towards the door. “It was a pleasure doing business with you, old friend.”

“If anyone could do it, it’s you; Arachne.” He nods, warmly. They move out of earshot. In the distance, you hear the click of the door. 

You flop against the cool counter’s side, in relief. You know better than to internalise her words, curious; but knowing better than to pry. It had become second nature: flattening, playing the fool, turning a blind eye. Better blissfully unaware than dead. 

You brush yourself off, rummaging through drawers yet again. You look for something, stashed in the crevice of a drawer long ago. When you find it, you almost leap for joy - the silvered charm of a necklace heaped against the side. You clutch it in your palm and its stings, bittersweet.

~~~

You wait for a while, locked up in your room for the rest of the day. You’re restless; bouncing on the walls as you desperately try to fill the time. At first, it was the paperwork piled high on your desk - work you’d been putting off for a couple of weeks now. Steadily, you chip away at the files.

Trawling through them like the net of a fishing boat - some of it was for your own personal project, the rest were pages and pages of notes needing to be processed and uploaded. Your job was hardly exciting; preening in front of a desk for 8 hours. But, it was a job done all your own. It was the one thing you and your mother had agreed on fresh from the Academy - that you’d make your own way. Top marks, an early graduate, a brilliant academic record: you’d turned down other offers in lieu of a stunning career as a… glorified secretary. Not quite the plan, but it would do for now.

A buzz comes and you leap towards the comms long placed on your desk, out of sight. You shift in your seat to adjust your hair. If Finnick calls now, you want to look like you’ve slept a full 8 hours. Fumbling, you accept the call.

Vonnie’s face materialises on the desk in front of you. She's outside; an obnoxious hat flopping in front of her face. You recognise her background: the manicured back deck of Vonnie’s home and the buzz of her younger siblings clattering through rosebeds. 

“On a scale of 1 to 10, how hungover are you?” You groan at her glee. “1 being fresh as a field of daisies, and 10 being doubled over, shitfaced-”

“I heard you the first time, Von. I’m choosing to ignore it.”

She laughs, flashing pearly white teeth. Something mischievous brewing behind her smile, your sure of it. 

“How was last night, then?”

You pick at the pens on your desk. “Nothing special, I suppose.”

“...Is that all you’re gonna give me?” She’s exasperated at your nonchalance. “I’ve seen the videos! I want to know everything - who was there…”

“It was a masquerade-”

“What everyone was wearing…”

“I don’t know all the designers like you do-”

“The guy you spent the night with…”

That one catches you off guard. “T-That’s not… there wasn’t a guy … Von, c’mon-”

She tilts her head and gives you a look that says you should know better. You’d known one another for more than a decade and she can read you like a book: your facade was paper-thin and peeling, frankly. “Then where were you this morning?”

Fuck.

“I called, and no-one answered. You always answer.”

“I was… asleep?” You offer. She rolls her eyes.

“...and I’m best friends with Finnick Odair.”

You splutter. “It doesn’t… it’s not like that.”

Vonnie almost leaps out of her chair. “But something happened? There’s someone you’ve got your eye on?”

“...maybe.” 

She whoops and hollers so hard it makes you laugh. She’s up on her feet, dancing on the concrete, pulling one of her brothers to join her. Their joy is infectious - melodious giggles ringing around your own room. It’s like an old nursery rhyme: some-one’s-got-a-booy-friend, some-one’s-got-a-boooy-fr-

“It’s a dream come true! God, you’ve mean-mugged every single eligible bachelor this side of Panem,” The gap-toothed giggle of her brother comes through the call and she darts out of frame. 

“That’s unfair…”

“ Shut it, Val, or I’ll tell Dad you’ve been eating his-” There’s rustling on the other side as she pops back into view, flushed and panting. “D’you remember the guy you humiliated in Upper 6th?”

“He was a prick!”

“He was flirting ! That’s what people do, nowadays - they flirt.”

The Incident, as you’ve come to know it, happened a couple years ago. You were both in your last year of school, invited to your very first houseparty. Well, Vonnie had been invited - easygoing and friendly. You were like her shadow even then - sticking close to her in the pulse and thrum of the sprawling grounds. Too much money and time, you’d thought, dressed quite plainly in comparison to everyone else. Eventhough she had talked you through it on the pod there - who to look for, how to make small talk, the best places to avoid Jupe and his boneheaded antics. And it was going well, at first - you ate and laughed and drank - feeling like a normal teenager for the first time in years. Like people enjoyed your presence and didn’t shirk at you like they would in class. Like most things, the reality was much more mundane. It wasn't cruel, cold-hearted malice. They simply hadn’t noticed you were there.

Back then, in the kitchen of your classmate’s house; someone had pulled you to the side. Confident and sidling up to you with a glass of something in his hand. He stinks with the air of entitlement, the first son of such-and-such: attractive, sure, but not enough to warrant the reaction from Vonnie across the room, you think. You can barely remember the conversation; something about how good we’d look together and a clammy hand kneading at your thigh. The rest was a blur: a sharp right hook, and he’s on the floor clutching a bloody nose. You don’t regret it, honestly. You do regret the storm stoked by his asshole father, however.

“Did your mystery guy flirt? No, no. Not your MO. I bet he’s funny. Smart. He probably said something snarky and you fell head over heels for him.”

“Von-”

“You two, in the corner, whispering about how much everyone sucks, I suppose. Have you replaced me? Found someone else to talk shit with-”

“Vonnie!” She stops, eyes wide and innocent through the screen.

“If you want to shut me up, you need to give me something. Or I’ll keep going - and you know I can talk for the houses,” She threatens.

“We’re just friends, right now. I-I think.”

“...you think?” 

“He’s funny, of course he is. And kind. Perceptive, as well. I like being around him.”

She swoons, pressing the back of her hand to her forehead in faux shock. “You like him. In all my years …you like him.”

You groan again, head in your hands.

It’s nice, like this. Laughing with Vonnie about boys again. Like the last 24 hours were the plot of some soap you’d watch on the network when you were younger. She has a knack for this sort of thing; putting you at ease.

~~~

The first message from Finnick comes at work. You spend the first half of the day convincing yourself it doesn’t bother you; that you’re not at the beck and call of the chime of your comms. Not that you had many suitors vying for your attention, but there had been a few too many false alarms you'd jumped at. 

You're dropped off at Hadrian's offices; buzzed into the building by the Peacekeepers keeping guard by its entrance. 

"Mornin' Miss." You're greeted as you step through the doors, handing your keycard through the gaps of the glass by a desk. 

"Good morning, Dill." You nod as they scan it through. Dill, beaming in a crisp grey jumpsuit (standard issue), was the first person you met when you started the job 6 months ago. They were the closest thing you had to a friend in here - warm and kind as they took you around the office. You were quick on your feet but the unexpectedly fast-paced nature of the council had caused you to stumble, at first. 

"Didn't realise you were at the party."

You shrug. 

"I saw the pictures. How'd you get in?" 

"Hadrian invited me personally."

Handing back your pass, they snigger at your theatrics. "Must've lost my invite, then."

"Such a shame, Dill. You missed quite the party." Laughing over your shoulder, you tap your nose as you walk away. 

Your cubicle is simple, stationed at the mouth of Hadrian's personal chambers. He wasn't here yet, of course; oft preferring a 'graduated start to the day' . The speech he gave you on your first day sounded just as ridiculous as it did in the subsequent months: nattering on about responsibility and duty whilst he twiddled his thumbs for the best part of a couple hours. On the other hand, you were privy to his every move: every meeting, every phone call. On paper, you were responsible for data processing and handling: intending to overhaul his systems and software, like you had gone to the Academy for. In reality, you waited on his every whim and whine. A glorified secretary with the meagre wage to match. 

You were one of the lucky ones. As District 2's overseer, Councillor Hadrian had the workforce to match - most employed as security, button-pushers, or data entry. The man himself had the temperament of a spoiled cat, fancying himself a general, a commander, Snow's right hand man. A fool failing upwards, you thought. 

You perch at your desk, adjusting the tight collar at your neck. Your employer had strict standards and you were dressed as such: grey pencil skirt down past your knees, a starchy blouse with a straight collar and modestly heeled pumps. You itch at your stockings and stew at the screen, tapping away. 

When a buzz comes at your wrist you don't think anything of it. It's probably Vonnie, with a message about her dress; or your mother, stark and cryptid about her whereabouts. Another buzz comes. And another. And another. You tap at your comms and almost jump at messages. 

From: unknown

hey! 

From: unknown

think u forgot to return my sweater :p

From: unknown

this is finnick btw

From: unknown

not some creep or anything

Sent: You

You probably should have opened with that :) 

From: unknown

probably 

From: unknown

what r u doing rn? 

Sent: You

I'm at work, haha. 

From: unknown

the fancy office one, then

From: unknown

shit. is this a bad time? 

It makes you giggle, imagining Finnick on his comms somewhere. You can hear it in his voice: teasing, lilting. You peep out from your desk, hands darting to respond.

Sent: You

I’m doing a whole lot of nothing right now.

Sent: You

So no, not really.

From: unknown

slacking already…its pretty early, no?

Sent: You

It’s mostly fine… 

From: unknown

mostly?

Sent: You

Nothing’s exploded just yet.

There’s a rapping on the floor from the corridor over, which makes your head snap up. Hadrian, sharp and lithe, grey donned chin first into the room. You tuck away your comms, scrambling for his itinerary on the pad in front of you. He knocks on the lip of your desk.

“Anybody home?” His face curls into a grin: oozing pomp and ego. 

You force a smile, its edges terse and tight. You stand, tapping at the screen that's made its home in the crook of your elbow. “You’ve got a meeting this morning about arrangements for this years’ reaping, I’ve got the minutes for your call with Elland and-”

He gives you a wave as he makes towards his office. “I need you to push it back a couple of hours, I’ve got other… uh… business to attend to. And I needed those minutes yesterday, the situation’s changed: we need to double peacekeeper presence in 8-”

“With what money?” You scoff. He pauses, hand wavering over the handle of an ornate wooden door. It’s heavy, and takes up the span of half the room - gilded and embossed with glossy script. He cranes his head towards you like you’ve asked him to compete in the games, instead.

“With t-the… we can find money. Move things around.” He strides through the doors into a plush office. "It's what I pay you for. And I expect a revised budget by the end of the day."

He closes the door in your face and you scowl at the wood. Your skin crawls with the thought of the minutes you'd have to rewrite, the hours you'd need to spend sifting through the accounts. Move things around? On whose authority? The new budget would have to be approved by Snow, and there'd be questions, not to mention the tight turnaround-

With a deep sigh, you take a breath and unclench your jaw. You take a seat at your desk: Finnick's last message blaring at the band of your comms. 

From: unknown

famous last words, love

~~~

It sets the tone for the rest of the day, you think. You barely get a minute to yourself, putting out fires left and right. There's a stack of paperwork on your desk that grows and grows in your absence; it peers at you like a small mountain whenever you walk past, guilty. 

You send Finnick small messages here and there; the broken bits of a conversation spread between any spare moment. That ends up being a handful of times within a couple of hours; even less as you rush to finish a budget plan you've been expected to pull out of your ass. He makes you laugh. Between the haze of exhaustion and anger you find yourself wandering in and out of; it's a much needed break from your own head. He stops you from clattering about like the tinny ricochet of a pinball. You're convinced; if you shook your head around, it would rattle.

But Finnick is there, grounded and steady, to stop you from floating away. 

You don't expect it, when it comes. Later at night, after you've rubbed your sore feet and propped them up in the comfort of your own home. Swallowed by blankets and the comforter; plush and warm and swaddled like a newborn. Almost dozing off as you hear the dull buzz of your comms. A call. From Finnick. 

You don't hesitate to accept. It's voice only, and he speaks clear and calm between the walls of your bedroom. 

"Hey," 

"Hi." Your own voice is heavy with sleep, but it feels good to hear him. 

"This isn't a bad time, I hope? I know you were busy with work and everything-" 

"God, no. Like I said before, a whole lot of nothing."

"Good." He sighs. "I-I mean not good , per se, I just didn't know if you wanted to talk or-"

You scrunch your brow. He can't see you of course, but the way he's stumbling with his words, it's almost like he's… "Are you nervous, Finnick?" 

"No." A pause. "Maybe… a little. Just a bit."

You giggle. "Why? I don't bite."

"...this isn't weird? Not too much, too soon?" 

"I don't know what it's like where you're from. But around here, if you can believe it, friends call each other. They catch up over the phone. It's allowed." You say. 

"Fuck, okay. Okay," You might be going crazy, but you think you can hear him smile. "Then, as your friend, I don't believe you. For the record."

"What did I say?" You laugh. 

"That you did nothing all day. Don't believe it." 

"Slanderous accusations, Mr Odair. Where's your proof?"

"Well… the first is that you barely responded to me all day-"

"Maybe you were boring me, Finn."

"Highly unlikely." He waves it off. "I was doing all the work, by the way: riveting conversation - provoking, really trying to make you think -" 

"With such stunners as: 'Did you miss me yesterday?' and 'I'm so hungry I could eat a horse' -" 

"-absolutely gripping stuff, like I said. But that's not the point. The point is that you gave me nothing to work with. One word answers: brief, snarky - quite discouraging, honestly. And the only possible explanation is…"

"...is?"

"You were swamped at work." He seems pleased with his conclusion. "Up to your neck in paperwork, probably, putting out fires left and right. And, stop me if I'm wrong, left to clean up Hadrian's mess-"

"-that's all?" 

"Of course not. My second piece of evidence, ladies and gentleman, is: Hadrian's a prick. A self-righteous, pompous fuck who doesn't know up from down. There's no way he's got someone a-as competent and brilliant as you are, and not putting you to work."

You hum into your blankets, feeling your face flood with warmth. 

"And taking you for granted, stealing your ideas, etcetera, etcetera…"

"...but that's more implied." You finish for him. 

"Exactly. The third thing, the really important third thing, is… that you sound… tired." 

Your eyebrows shoot up. "I sound tired?" 

"I've got a hunch." He sounds more sincere. "You okay?" 

His gentleness catches you off guard. You're stumbling over your own words when you finally manage: "Y-Yeah. Just had a long day, s'all."

"You can talk about it, if you need to let off some steam."

"Not… not today. But thank you." You sink deeper into the covers. "What did you get up to, then?" 

"Not… much."

You squint. "Don't believe you."

"Wasn't very eventful, I promise." He clicks his tongue absentmindedly. "I just helped out Mags, not much else. "

"Mags?" It sounds familiar, but you can't quite place the name. 

"She's, w-well, she was my mentor." In the games was silent, implied. "We went over strategies and then I helped move some furniture. Fixing things up, doing what needed doing."

He didn't know where to put his hands all day. Restless, unable to keep still. 

"Like what?" 

"It's boring stuff, you don't want to hear it - trust me."

"Don't be stupid, I'm curious. Didn't take you for a handyman."

"Haha. It wasn't like that, anyway. She had these rips in her curtains, made from a while back. I spent most of my afternoon sewing them back together."

"...you can sew?" 

"Of course I can sew. Needlework, crochet, knitting. It's like tying a knot on a fishing hook; or making nets."

It's like breathing, you're sure of it. As simple as walking up and down stairs for him. Skills that stay with him well into adulthood; that outlines every step even this far from the sea. Rich with community and stories, and you envy him. In your house with stark white walls, you envy him. 

"I'm not really good with my hands - can't sew or anything to save my life."

"I could teach you." 

"....really?"

"Only if you want. But we'd start off slow; maybe some knots first, and then simple weaving patterns," You can hear the gears turn in his head. He's completely serious and the thought makes you dizzy, for some reason. 

"You don't have to, you know." You say, quietly. 

"I want to. It'll be fun, give me something to do instead of sitting around all day."

"Fun? That's one way to phrase a couple of hours with me." You laugh. 

"What does that mean?" His tone makes your voice die in your throat. 

"Just," you chew your lip. "A joke, mostly. I know I'm not the easiest to be around. So you don't have to… pretend or anything."

He doesn't speak for a bit. You check to see if he's still there, your only indication light breathing in the background. 

"I know what it's like to pretend, but this isn't…"

There's rustling, the creak and bustle of something, like he's sitting up. 

"Fuck… I wanted to see you again. I want to spend time with you. I mean it."

Soft, you whisper. "Okay."

Shakily, he repeats it: like a chant, a prayer, a spell. 

"I mean it ."

_

_

_