#just juggling them. it’s not effective but it’s what the brain wants so i guess it’s what we’re doing

[thecollectionsof]

5. just 5 >:)

evil this is EVIL

5. How many wips do you have?  What fandoms/pairings are they for?

i have 14 ……. yknow what here i’ll list them for you:

hanahaki au (crygi multichap)

soulmate au (crygi multichap)

postcards (crygi multichap)

the girl in the library (crygi)

enemies to lovers au (crygi)

lost cat (crygi)

balconies (crygi)

letters (crygi longfic)

cloud fic (crygi longfic)

scam likely (sportkura)

mini m&m chapter 2 (goodesco)

obliviousness (jan ?????)

leave the light on part 5 (crygi)

jan’s overthinking again (jan and someone)

god and that’s so much crygi too maybe i’ll change one or two up for some flavor

[strawberrybananasblog]

questions

hi

i'm antiship, almost pro para/paraneutral, anti c but i have many questions about those things and i was wondering if someone could answer these for me..in comments/asks i suppose, or dms if you feel like letting me annoy you with additional ones - though these are rather nsfw so no minors would be a disclaimer here, im an adult myself...

im not sure if im comfortable with rbs on this, because of overwhelming amounts of notifs i usually get with rb-based interactions.

english isnt my native language, some things might be worded badly. and of course cw for nsfw, SA, discussion of pxrn, common discourse topics in both communities(from anti side), general triggers. and again, since im anti/paraneutral, I will say things that might tick you off, and i'm not sure how to juggle with it - i'm using examples, stances, and personal thoughts to be able to get more clearer examples, stances and personal thoughts in reply, if that makes sense.

FYI i know those things are different and not directly connected, you can be proship and not propara vice versa.

proship:

fiction isn't reality, though i've been of the belief that it can affect it. Such as effects of porn on violence or worse during sex; The brain not seeing difference from fabrication/reality itself; desensitizing et al... which is half the reason I'm antiship, and i wanted to know if there are any counter arguments to that be it studies or something you'd just want to ramble on?

personal experience question: why are people proship? what interests them in this kind of fiction? dynamics?

is there any misconceptions or something alike you see from the general public when it comes to proship? be it from anti, pro, or clueless people

are there any scientific studies you'd like to share that in general talk about the usage of taboo in fiction or morbid media?

propara:

when it comes to paraphilias, are they something that just..happen to ya? random attraction that isn't happening by will, be it mental illness (paraphilic disorder) or not (just paraphilic)? I know about attraction=/= action, but the inner details of what a paraphilia is itself sometimes confuses me or maybe the research isn't that good about it for me to find info on it.

this is something i have trouble being 100 supportive on - how does usage of fiction or fantasy help, or prevent harm when it comes to paraphilias? such as for ex. usage of fantasy or realistic toys if one has one of The Big 3 paraphilias, etc. Though of course there are More paraphilias associated with attraction to Harmful things if acted upon but I hope yk what I mean

whats complex consent?

is there any misconceptions or something alike you see from the general public when it comes to paraphilias? be it from anti, pro, or clueless people

are there any scientific studies you'd like to share that in general talk about paraphilias, how they are coped with, and other stuff alike?

silly ramble ended with another question:

personally, some of my lack of support for bits of both of those things has to do with my personal view of morality, and discomfort.

raised with a high sense of morality + unfortunate experiences/trauma leading to sour feelings about some communties (proship et al) also played into it. in general, since i was a tween i was around people who said if you like fictional xyz, then you're xyzphile (-phile term used wrong too, meant someone who is willingly attracted/seeks out attraction to xyz and/or attempt at sexually offending them) so that also lead to me just following the flow. though as of right now i feel there is still a difference.

Like, yes, this person likes fictional morbid content, but it does not mean that that interest is sexual, and even if it is it does not mean they will commit a crime of those morbid styles in real life. Its just that that interest is....problematic, i guess. so question

While I still believe that being attracted to fictional likeness of something morbid to be a tad problematic on its own, even if the person doesn't do much or think much about the IRL counterpart, i want to know if there are counter arguments to that too?

I see that a lot of my personal feelings about this are "kinda weird, kinda not into excusing it as just fiction" i guess i still want to know or read more of the Pro argument variation of this stance? i think im repeating myself

I hope all of that made sense despite being rambly, thanks for any responses

[aggressive-almond-cookie]

I've been having some frustration lately because I will goal-set myself something to work on each game, like teammate awareness or checking the map more, but as soon as I get into the game it's like I forget literally everything I intended to focus on and just zone in on what's happening at that second. It's like I don't have the mental bandwidth to focus on more things than I am already focusing on and it's making it hard to learn new things.

But I'm finding that somehow, it's still setting in. Like for example, in several games I tried to focus on getting myself to utilize cover whenever possible, and at the end of every game I would try to assess how well I did at that and note it down (my game logs spreadsheet is getting a little ridiculous but I love it), but most of the time the answer is "I completely forgot that I was focusing on that." It gets a little disheartening after the 8th or 9th time in a row you set out with an intention and completely forget about it. It makes you lose faith in yourself in a 'why am I like this' way, like when you find you've lost your keys, again, even though you have a designated Key Spot they always go into and you never intentionally set them anywhere else and yet somehow they disappear anyway fhdsagfhjd...

...Anyway. The thing I've noticed is that after I give up on a focus and try switching to a different focus, I will often catch myself doing exactly the thing I am no longer focusing on. It's so absurd but it seems to just work that way, for some reason. It's at least heartening to see that all my attempts to improve aren't just going into the void, I guess, but it's just, why are you like this, brain.

Speaking of attempts to improve, I think I've finally found a way to drill both sub-strafing and map-checking into my muscle memory in a way that isn't tedious-- it's by recon-ing clam blitz maps. I play a little game with myself where I just try to get as many powerclams in the basket as quickly as possible. When I don't have other people to worry about, I can just put on drill music and race against my own score, grabbing them as quickly as possible, strafing quickly to turn, flickering my map open and closed to see where the clams are spawning while still making my way to the next location. In the meantime I'm learning map geometry and the fastest paths to places and how to throw the clam in the basket quickly without missing >>. I'm even starting to do some low-level clam juggling which felt completely, absurdly out of my capacity when I first saw people doing it (and it still seems impossible in the chaos of war but who knows).

Maybe that's the real reason I'm doing strangely well in clam blitz-- several mechanics of it are things I actually can effectively drill outside of actual games, which just makes them easier for me to learn, since I can actually focus on just those things instead of the entire chaos of war.

I so wish we had the capacity to like.. design our own little training rooms with targets placed where we want them and moving at speeds we set them to. Failing that I wish I just had more friends who were willing to spar with me.

But I guess at the end of the day, it was mostly throwing myself into the fire repeatedly that me this far, and the fire sure still has a lot to teach me.

[hotwings0203]

I JUST SAW FIGHT CLUB AND HOOOLLYYY-

Bro could you IMAGINE FightClub!Bakugo?

Tw:noncon, language, harassment

Okay okay get this: you’re down in the basement listening to the usual men holler and punch each other around while you do your job as their cute little “accountant”. While many of them have good jobs and a real life, the actual members don’t have time or the intellect to juggle the numbers and money around as fast as you can. You’ve been coming here for a while now, and you’re used to the jeers and wolf-whistles coming your way since you’re basically one of the few or only women who dare to come down here.

But there’s one fighter who just can’t seem to take no for an answer.

Bakugo fucking Katsuki.

The man is ruthless, he’s relentless, he’s a force to be reckoned with on the battlefield. You swear he’s had to have taken a shitload of steroids in his youth, otherwise how else could he have built up that much muscle? There’s no way an average gym-goer has that kinda build.

He’s always the first and the last one out in the rink, swaying back and forth with his fists up, a twisted grin on his face that was so reminiscent of a wolf before it lunges for its prey.

It usually took more than two men to pull him off the unconscious bodies that he had just beaten to a pulp, effectively breaking one of Fight Clubs Rules: get up when someone is down.

But he’s too good to let go, no one has the balls to tell him to take his money somewhere else since they’re all scared shitless of him.

Which leads him to believing that he’s practically a god down here, that he can conquer anything: including you.

No one really calls it harassment because no one really cares. What’s so wrong in a guy having a little crush? What, you came down here seeing all this testosterone but you can’t deal with it yourself? Don’t be a prudish bitch.

“Bakugo, I’m at work right now, I don’t want to.”

“C’mon toots, this ain’t even real work, you’re just fumblin’ my hard earned cash.” He grins slyly and crosses his bulging muscular arms, leaning against the doorway of the little office you’re given to work your magic.

You turn in your rickety seat and glare at him, ignoring the way he licks his lips and lets his eyes roam all over your body. “If I’m so shit at my work then go somewhere else and stop bothering me.”

He chuckles in his baritone voice and shakes his head at you. “Naw, can’t do that sweets. If I did then I’d never be able to see your pretty face again now, could I?” Bakugo leers at you and you turn your face in disgust.

“I don’t wanna go out for lunch, or ever with you. Now get out before I have to call someone in here.”

“Oh, is that so?” He uncrosses his arms and steps through the threshold, his body growing larger and more menacing as he slowly draws closer to you. Luckily a fight had broken out near the office months ago so there was no more door from the aftereffects, but that didn’t mean you felt safe even with open space.

“G-get out. I’m serious, Bakugo-“

“-Call me Katsuki, angel. And you don’t really mean that, do you? Look at you, you can barely look me in the eye when you say such mean things.” His voice drops an octave as he comes to stand in front of your seated form, towering above your wide eyes, clenched fists and trembling figure.

He leans down and you flinch and gasp as his breath ghosts over your face. He places both arms on either side of your chair so you have nowhere to look but him.

“You’re such a nice breath of fresh hair down here, through all the blood and violence. You’re like a flower...” he tucks a stray hair behind your ear and breaths out a laugh when you turn your head and squeeze your eyes shut.

“A flower, so fragile...a flower that smells so fucking good...” you feel like you can’t properly breathe as he leans in next to your ear and inhales deeply.

“A flower waiting to be deflowered herself.”

“What’s going on here?” A lanky body in the doorway appears.

Bakugo pulls back and turns his head ever so slightly towards the dude, growling under his breath at the interruption.

“We’re in the middle of something here, so you can just get the fuck ou-“

“-Well, it doesn’t really look like she’s into whatever you’re doing,” the man scoffs and takes in your pale face and shaking hands.

Bakugo stands to his fullest height, almost neck and neck with the man at the door.

“Yeah? I didn’t hear a complaint from her.” He cocks his head and stretches, allowing his muscles to ripple with each movement, something that didn’t go unseen by your much skinnier savior.

But he doesn’t back down. He only swallows and rubs the back of his neck.

“Well, we’re all being called out to put our bets in for the next match anyways, so you better come out before we get our asses kicked.”

The blond grumbles about weak men and no balls, then casts a dark look at your frozen figure before shouldering past the man at the door, almost knocking him down.

As soon as he’s out of your line of vision, you exhale and relax into your seat.

“You okay?” The fallen soldier scrambles back up and cautiously approaches you, looking over your body in a way that didn’t remind you of Bakugo undressing you with his eyes...rather, it was a protective, and worried once-over.

“Yeah, he’s just...a lot to handle sometimes. Doesn’t know when to quit.” You laugh shakily and run a hand through your hair.

“No wonder the dude’s a menace. He’s used to getting what he wants, I guess.” The man acknowledges this grimly, and for the first time you’re relieved that finally someone hasn’t turned a blind eye to your harassment.

“Are they really calling us down for bets?”

“No, I just said that to get him off your ass. Didn’t seem like you liked whatever he was doing.”

You give him a wobbly smile and he returns it.

“Sooo we should probably run before he comes back up here, right?”

“Oh most definitely,” you actually giggle before leaping out of your seat and joining the man to bound up the steps two at a time to freedom.

You both end up bonding pretty well over the weeks, even going out for coffee and lunch dates here and there. You’ve come to really like him, his shyer demeanor more than a majority of the ragtag men down in the basements, his chivalry refreshing to you amongst the blood and foul language thrown around the ring.

You feel like a woman with him, not some piece of ass like you were used to.

Bakugo noticed all this, of course. You started avidly avoiding him, ducking your head down and hiding behind your new ally before he could open his coarse mouth and stalk towards you. He couldn’t find you in your dingy office anymore either, because your savior was up in a cafe doing the calculations with you, laughing away about the latest matches.

That has to change. Effective immediately.

“Yo, newbie. How you been? Haven’t seen you fightin’ here for a while,” Bakugo claps his meaty hand on the scrawny guy’s back, nearing sending him toppling over.

“Yeah, y’know, just haven’t been feeling it lately.” He rubs the stinging feeling away from his sore shoulders and side eyes the blond suspiciously. He had seen firsthand just how bad-news of a guy he was, and he didn’t wanna get caught up in all that.

But Katsuki wasn’t just all brawn. He had some brains, too.

“Look, I know I prolly gave off a weird first impression with Y/N back then. But it’s all in good health, ‘was just messin’ around like I always do.”

“Yeah, sure...”

“How ‘bout we get some coffee or somethin’? You seem like a solid dude, plus we got shit in common to talk about.”

Like fucking around with my bitch.

“Uh, you sure? I kinda’ wanted to see the last fight,” he trails off unsuredly, scratching his jaw as Katsuki steers him away from the growing crowd.

“There’ll always be fights, man. I wanna show you that I’m a nice guy.”

Bakugo Katsuki was not a nice guy.

And everyone knew that too, which is why when some shifted to give the duo a curious glance he met them with a death glare. Any gazes locked on Katsuki’s hand wrapped around the lanky guy’s shoulders were immediately casted down.

You didn’t see your savior for a while.

It had been two weeks since he mysteriously disappeared from his usual place in the outskirts of the crowd, because unbeknownst to you, a certain fighter was keeping him away from you and convincing him to have a friendly brawl over lunch.

You only found out about it on a Friday night, when a crowd much bigger than before was gathered in the dim basement, voices hushed and whispering.

“What’s going on? Why’s everyone so quiet?” You whisper to one of the usuals.

“‘Heard Bakugo’s fighting some dude that was handpicked by himself. He somehow managed to convince the poor bastard to have some kinda’ match with him.”

You felt your heart sinking.

“Who did he pick?”

“‘Dunno, some skinny guy, a newbie I think. Hasn’t been around for too long so I guess he doesn’t know how big of a monster he’s gonna be beaten by.” The groupie shrugged, and you felt the blood drain from your face.

Without saying another word, you spun around and started running around all over the place looking for either of the two.

You end up stumbling into the men’s bathroom, desperate beyond salvation to stop this bloodbath.

He’s there, he’s at the urinal and he yelps when he hears you barge in. You avert your eyes and let his adjust himself as he sputters indignantly.

“Y/N? What’re you doing in here? This is a men’s-“

“Don’t fight him.”

“What?”

“Don’t fight Bakugo, please, he’s gonna kill you, I know he is-“

“-Calm down, what’re you so worked up about? C’mon, I would’ve thought you’d had a little bit more faith in me to be able to stand my ground.” He teases you but you don’t find it funny, on the contrary you’re terrified out of your mind for his life.

“Did he put you up to this? How could you fight him, you’ve seen what he does to the other guys in the ring!”

“Well yeah, but he knows not to go that hard on me. Actually, he’s not that bad of a guy, we’ve gotten some drinks for the past two weeks and I was wrong about him.”

You gape at him. “Wrong? You saw how he cornered me that one day!”

He shrugs, not put off by the distant memory. “The guy just came back from a fight, he still had testosterone going through him. You can’t blame him for wanting to let a bit of it out, right? You should really give him a chance y’know, he talks about you all the t-“

But you can’t hear anymore, this is madness, there’s barely 10 minutes left until they’re going to call the two down for their death match. You need to find the source of this problem firsthand.

And somehow, a little voice inside your head tells you exactly where you know he is.

You round the corner to your office and there he is in all his glory, seated like a king on your chair, leaned back with his knees spread, carelessly looking through your bank statements and bet papers.

He barely looks at you as he says, “Oh there you are, I was starting to think you’d miss the show.”

You sink to your knees.

He looks up at that.

With a tight chest and burning eyes, your dry throat barely permits you to choke out, “Bak-Katsuki, please, please don’t do this. Please don’t fight him.”

He cracks his neck and leans forward, regarding you with dark vermilion eyes. He looks your position over appreciatively before speaking.

“Why not? He’s so good and great isn’t he? I’m just trying to show you how right you were, after all. I’m sure he’s got a fair chance of beating me.”

You shake your head vigorously, knowing what he’s playing at.

“No, no, you’re better, please. I was wrong about him, I shouldn’t have been friends with him, please don’t fight him Katsuki I’ll do anything-“

“-Oh you’ll do anything I say regardless of if I beat him to a bloody pulp or not. You wanna know why?”

You can barely contain a whimper as he stands and walks over right in front of you, his bulging crotch mere inches away from your face.

He suddenly grabs your hair and you cry out before he yanks your head up to meet his cold eyes.

“Because no one in here is gonna say shit to me. I run things here, toots. And if you want your little boy toy to live through today, you’re gonna watch every blow I give to him, and you’re gonna kiss the fucking knuckles I beat his face with. Got that?”

You sob as he grinds his clothed erection against your tear-streaked face, sniffling when he moans loudly and bucks into your open mouth.

A loud knock on the bare hinges stops Bakugo from pulling the front of his shorts down.

You both turn your heads and see a red-faced side-liner looking down and mumbling something about the match starting.

“‘Be there in a minute. Tell the guys to give my girl here a special front-row seat to this match, she’s gonna wanna see her man win, after all.”

The runner scampers off, leaving you both alone.

He bares his teeth down at you and you cower under his painful hold, the roots of your hair ripping from their strands.

He eventually tosses your head to the side after a few seconds of staring you down, and the second he does you clutch your sore cranium.

“I better see you down there in a minute sweet thing. You gotta get used to it anyways, since you’re gonna be getting accustomed to my rituals before and after matches.”

[onebizarrekai]

random rant about ranmaru under the cut because I spent the entirety of yesterday thinking about him

yttd 3b spoilers

I’m gonna fight. the more I think back on what they did with ranmaru the more it looks like they were trying to dispose of him

like. seriously?? they killed him off during the trial without a second thought and didn’t even make it an option to save him?? I thought he was gonna be the new bastard because sou has the brain cell now

it’s almost like they made him go rogue in order to make the player not like him and not miss him when he dies but it literally had the opposite effect. he’s interesting now and they just weeded him out without a second thought or word, even though he was almost a main character during the whole of chapter 3 since he was hanging out with sara the whole time. he was part of a darker part of sara’s character arc and they just…… threw him out

those two had a really compelling dynamic especially because sara and ranmaru seriously had this brains-in-sync moment that encouraged ranmaru to make bad decisions

they were tied by a string of fate and EVERYTHING and they didn’t even make his death meaningful at all. and it’s not like they killed every single doll either, they decided to give a handful of them the chance to survive and none of them were, y’know, the guy the mc spent the whole chapter with and got attached to

and because they threw him aside like that, some players are calling him a disposable trope aka a yandere, because for some reason, his desire to survive, affection for sara and bad ideas are not worth exploring or taking seriously

in all honesty they barely made ANY of the doll deaths meaningful during the russian roulette game. they just went “all right gotta save gin” (which is understandable but still) and didn’t emote at all besides minor displeasure at killing their new friends that they just spent the WHOLE chapter gaining affection for and learning to team up with

and like yes. it’s true all of the dolls were dead people, but look me straight in the eye and tell me why the doll you’re supposed to care about the most  narrative-wise (besides mai) is a locked death that didn’t even get any attention drawn to it

you didn’t even get to see how sara felt about it. she just went “uh oh! ranmaru betrayed us! what a nutcase” and then kinda wiggled away until ranmaru died in the trial EVEN THOUGH ranmaru was literally becoming her friend before he went off the rails.

it’s like nothing in the chapter happened, it’s like none of them went through a rigorous electric shock minigame in order to save his life

I’d almost say that this is a showcase of how apathetic sara can be when she’s been turned against, but she didn’t have anything to say about it

like why does the stupid glasses guy get surviving rights. like for mai and kurumada it KIND OF made sense because mai got character development and kurumada kinda did too and he also almost died and they charged him and all, but glasses guy? and not ranmaru, who also got character development like the other two? there were 3 dolls that got development basically and one of them got offhandedly killed while being replaced by some rando who got zero development that I can’t even remember the name of.

I mean like I guess gin needs someone to look after him since qtaro died but also am I really gonna take a rando over a fave who MIGHT have the capacity to have some sense talked into him? or hell, even an interesting impact on the story.

dude. I want to see sara juggling not one but two bastards. I want to see sou and ranmaru not getting along. I want to see ranmaru being a wannabe problem but because he’s such a twig he just gets suplexed immediately by keiji. sara gin keiji sou and ranmaru really sounds like a terrible dream team to me

unless of course ranmaru gets brought back as a floor master since midori got wasted ahhahahaha that thought just crossed my mind very quickly

but also it’s very unlikely that they would do that. and it would also be stupid because it would require them to rewrite him into being a floor master and change him entirely. not to mention they could bring midori back at any time since he’s a doll (though there’s no saying they will)

anyway long story short ranmaru was a striking opportunity to develop sara some more in terms of her darker parts but if the way that they handled him is encouraging people to throw him under the bus, is everything really fine and dandy

I’m not even saying he should be a locked survivor (considering that he is very dead and his doll body probably isn’t permanent) I’m just saying he should be taken seriously and maybe even have a chance of living after the russian roulette part rather than just being cast aside

.

this is an unrelated question as well but sou’s 0% survival rate goes unanswered. midori said that everyone was set up to be given an evened out chance of survival but sou still ended up with nothing, somehow. we also don’t really have a team-antagonist either because sou mellowed out so much, despite his burning hatred for sara for making him survive instead of kanna (I guess he met midori again and then backed way down, but that doesn’t change the fact that sou spent the first 2 chapters being an antagonist and even tells the player about majority votes at the very beginning)

I kinda thought that ranmaru was going to replace him just a little even if ranmaru is an impulsive idiot who doesn’t know what he’s doing but that didn’t happen

OH YEAH. speaking of which I know we’re only halfway through chapter 3, which is probably why majority votes haven’t come up again, but doesn’t it seem awfully strange that the deciding factor of who survives in the russian roulette game was rigged, pre-programmed luck?

maybe ranmaru’s desire to win by teaming up with sara and killing everyone was just breaking the system too much

[ilguna]

Lacuna - Chapters 1-4 (f.o)

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

warnings; swearing.

wc; 14.8k

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

– 

-- CHAPTER ONE --

The sound of screaming jolts you awake, enough to get your heart racing, and the grogginess of sleep is completely erased from your mind. Your eyes search the room quickly, looking for some sort of intruder, until you realize it’s just your sister again. Awake before the rest of the house, uncomfortable because of the silence, and probably starving.

You’re not sure how it’s possible to have the same exact reaction every single time she does it. But your brain thinks the same thing without fail, that someone has just broken into the house, and you’re about to get murdered. It’s ridiculous for a couple of reasons. The first, is that they would most likely not go for the back room first. And the second is that no one gets murdered here.

If anything, everyone huddles up together, protecting each other the best they can. To turn against someone else would be ridiculous. There is no reason for murder, when two of you get picked off every single year. If anything, you should be teaming up together to get it stopped. But that would cost thousands of lives, once again.

With a yawn, you push yourself off of the bed, dragging your feet when it comes to taking care of your sister. The second you’re in sight, she seems to calm down a little bit, holding her arms up to you. You scoop her up, holding her against your chest as you shush her slightly, bouncing your steps a little more as you head into the kitchen.

No one else is home except the two of you. Reed and Mox are most likely on a boat in the middle of the water, fishing to fill today’s quota. They’ll be saving a couple for you guys later tonight, and if they come back with enough, you’re sure they’ll send you to the square to trade for bread, and anything else you’ll need for today.

You can take a guess already. It’ll be soaps and shampoos, and if there isn’t a nice enough outfit that you can find in your mom’s old wardrobe, then you will have to go out to buy a hand-me-down from the square. Alyssum--your sister--will most likely fit in to her outfit from last year, she hasn’t grown much since then. Your brothers stopped growing a couple of years ago, and they fit into your fathers pants and shirts just fine.

As you set your sister up on the floor with a little bit of soft, fresh bread, you head to your parents room. Holding your breath when you open the door, because you only come in here once a year. This will be the one time you permit yourself to look over it again. You don't’ stay for very long though, you don’t want to kneel and cry on the floor like you did two years ago. You’re terrified of the never ending onslaught of tears again.

Reed doesn’t have the same reaction as you and Mox do when you come into the room. Reed has to be the strongest, in his mind. He doesn’t want to watch as his younger siblings collapse and crumble beneath him. He lets you guys use him as a platform, and only sometimes do you get to return the favor.

You open the creaky wooden door, looking over the dresses. A frown comes over your face when you realize that last years had hardly fit. And if last year was a bust, then that means that all the others won’t be big enough either, right?

Even though you’re sure that it’ll be impossible for you to fit into any of them again this year, you pick out the biggest one. It’s the closest to the end, one you haven’t worn before because it was too big beforehand. How the tables have turn.

After you lay it over your arm, you shut the wardrobe doors and leave the room. After, you quickly lay the dress on the desk in the corner of the room. Something your father used to sit at every night as he wrote up things for the peacekeepers to send. While you’re in your room, you open up the shutters to see that the sun is higher than you thought. You’d think it to be early morning, the sky not even turning blue yet.

Quickly, you place your black flats beneath the dress, and you also lay out Alyssum’s baby clothes. By the time you’ve returned to the living room, Alyssum is finished with the bread. She chews on her favorite stuffed animal, staring off into space. Not a single care in the world.

Just as you’re deciding to change Alyssum and maybe start up the first bath of many that will happen, the door swings open. Mox is the first to appear in the doorway, hauling the cooler in his arms. When he sees you standing by the couch, he offers you a tight smile, before heading straight for the fridge.

On the other hand, Reed has a basket of bread. You’ll take a bet right now, that Mox had lost whatever game they were playing on the boat, making him carry the heavy cooler, while Reed got the lightest thing in the world. Reed shuts the door behind with his foot, and then he shuffles over to the counter, clearing the cutting board and knife into the sink to make room, before he sets it down.

“I’ve fed her.” you tell him, “And I’ve picked out her outfit and everything. Do I have to run down to the square for anything? Soaps?”

Mox groans out a complaint as he struggles to lift the cooler again. Reed chuckles, smirking at him, before he turns to you, “No, I got them early this morning before anyone else could. Go ahead and take a bath first, I have to help him out.”

“Shut up.” Mox shoots at him, glaring.

You leave the room quietly, picking up the dress from the room, and whatever you’ll be wearing underneath. The bath is a blur as you scrub the salt scent from your skin. It isn’t until you’re nearly done, when you realize that the soap is going to definitely cover it, with the sickeningly sweet smell that comes from it.

You take your time to dry your hair, getting dressed slowly to ensure that you don’t accidentally rip the dress, only to find out that it slips on freely. It’s not tight on you as you expected, you could run and nothing would tear. Once you leave the bathroom, you take your towel and brush with you, going to sit in your own room while you do your hair.

Just as you’ve gotten your hair to stay in place, with it being pulled back as best as possible so that you can see, Reed hands Alyssum off to you to dry off a little more and get dressed. It’s too easy for her, she doesn’t have much hair, you gather it into a tiny ponytail that makes a palm tree on the top of her head. For a cute effect, you add a bow to it. 

Reed and Mox are ready faster than you are. However, just because they’re fast, doesn’t mean that they’re not dragging their feet when it comes to leaving the house. The second you leave, it’s straight for the stage, where you’ll watch this years unfortunate tributes get reaped for the hunger games.

You could say a million bad things about the Capitol, and the games. But instead, you’ll keep it quiet this year. Because if there’s anything you don’t need right now, it’s being pulled in for the games. Your brothers can’t handle another death in the family, you know it.

Your mom had done enough damage on everyone, but your father was still around long enough to stay strong. Those are the only times you remember Reed still being so soft. Your mom had died giving birth to Alyssum, and no one had realized that she was bleeding to death until it was too late. Thankfully, you were too young, not allowed to be in the room until you were forced to say goodbye, before you were whisked away again. The next time you saw her after that was in the casket.

Your dad had done remarkably well when it came to keeping up with work, and juggling you and Alyssum. Mox and Reed were a year shy of not being in the reapings anymore, so they knew they would have to work harder, no matter what it took or sacrificed.

All that preparation had done Reed good, you suppose. Because only a few months later he would die in a fishing accident. Taking out District Four’s best fishers. For a while, there was talk that it was done on purpose, and the peacekeepers were tired of having to deal with every single person on that boat. But that wouldn’t add up correctly, because your dad was almost always a favorite of the peacekeepers, even the new ones.

In your opinion, your family has gone through enough. Too many have died, and honestly, you all were orphaned for a while, but under the radar. The second that Reed had turned eighteen, he immediately filed to be seen as the parent for all of you. Which stopped the community home from trying to snatch you up.

You guys stop to have the quick breakfast that was somehow skipped over by accident. Consisting of mostly bread, until Reed decides that it doesn’t hurt to have a little bit of fish too. When you’re all finished, the table is cleaned, and then you really have to leave the house.

The walk to the stage is mostly quiet. Reed will play around with Alyssum occasionally, but she mostly stares at the people around you. She hasn’t seen this many people gather together before, it’s mainly just you three, and then the neighbor kids. She wasn’t old enough last year to fully realize what was going on around her. Curious, for sure, but not really caring.

On the way, you manage to catch sight of one of your friends. The second that she turns her head in your direction, you wave. It takes her a moment to realize who you are because of the distance, but soon enough she buddies up next to you.

“Hey, pretty dress.” you tell her, and she beams a little bit.

“Thanks! That one’s new on you, did last year not fit?” she asks, she knows that this is your mothers dress no doubt, but she doesn’t bring it up. Instead, she alludes to it.

“It was tight enough last year, so I was sure it would rip by the seams this year. I found this one at the end.” you tell her, and she nods lightly.

The both of you go on like that, going back and forth talking about what you had done today. It isn’t much, but it’s enough to fill the silence, and suppress the sickness that’s beginning to rise in your stomach, like it does every year. You’d call it intuition if it weren’t so common.

She’s a year younger than you, so she has to move to her age group, fourteen. While you on the other hand, move to be in fifteen. As everyone slowly files in to the sections, you look to find Reed and Mox again, to see that they’re standing off to the side. Alyssum is on Reed’s shoulders, making him very easy to spot. He holds onto her hands tightly, not risking the chance of her falling. With them is one of the neighbor’s sons, Caspian. 

Soon, you turn back to look at the stage again to see that the governor is helping Mags up onto the stage. She’s the only victor of this district, and she’ll be the only help to anyone going into the arena. You really wish that the main career districts would stop being so prestigious, and allow others to win too. That they’d stop training their kids illegally and actually have a sliver of a chance like the rest of you.

They must have so many of their victor houses filled, that they’re always creating more. One new one every year, just in case they win again, which is hardly ever not the case. Instead of a single dozen, they must have four or five. 

Soon, the shuffling of feet has stopped, and the anthem plays. You watch for the fifteenth time as they play the same video. Listen as the same speech is given. That this is what the districts have earned, and being descendants from the originals that had thrown the revolution, you’ve automatically been given the same burden. Being alive is simply offensive to the Capitol.

And then the governor closes his speech, and your districts Capitol representative heads up to the microphone. Elysia Fardust--you really can’t believe that they have ridiculous names like that, as if the body modifications weren’t enough--is looking a lot more humble this year. Last year she had outdone everyone, wanting at least one year in the spotlight, you guess.

She wears a blonde wig, you can tell by the way it shines in the sun, reflecting the light off of it. They could have done their very best with it, trying to make it look realistic, and it still would have turned out looking cheap. Her theme this year seems to be blue and gold, since that’s what the frilly dress she wears is made up of. On her feet is also a pair of gold heels. They look like they would be trouble to walk in, but she moves around just fine. Around her wrists are bracelets that jangle and shine the light back into your eyes at the wrong angle.

There’s a huge smile on her face as she stands tall, “Good afternoon, citizens of District Four.” Unlike other representatives you’ve had, her accent doesn’t stand out as much, it’s a subtle thing, almost as if she’s ashamed of it, “Happy Hunger Games.”

You roll your eyes involuntarily, letting them land on the ground as you shake your head softly. Because only to the Capitol people, is this entire event amusing. Watching others fight to the death so that one may be the winner, win his life back. While everyone back home is forced to watch it in agony. A few will take bets, as their hopes for winners sink each year when all they get are dead bodies in the end.

“We’ll start with the ladies.” she chirps, and you feel the swarm of butterflies first, and then the disgust of her tone crushes all of them at once. Except for a few, which cause more harm than good, as they fly around. 

You can’t help but to turn to look at Reed and Mox, hoping that they can see where you’re standing. And miraculously, you’re able to catch Reed looking at you at the same time. Mox catches on eventually and looks over too. He also mouths for you to breathe.

The faint clinking of rings makes you look towards the stage again to see her pulling out the white paper slip. Butterflies swarm, and the only thing you can relate this feeling back to, is when you have those rare presentations in school. The type that means a lot on who you are, and the grade you recieve.

There’s a pain in your chest as you hold your breath to make all those butterflies stop flying and die from the lack of air. You’re not the only one though, you can feel every single girl that’s eligible to be put in the games, collectively hold their own breaths. Eyes wide and staring just like you are, hoping and praying that it’s not going to be you.

Elysia takes her time, unfolding the paper. She reads it to herself first it seems, before a wide smile spreads over her face, and she looks out to you girls, “Our girl tribute is (Y/n) Gallows.”

-- CHAPTER TWO --

You feel lifeless. As the blood drains from your face. As the wind leaves your lungs. As all the strength you had minutes ago suddenly diminishes. Standing is a hard thing to do. You feel like you should collapse, head aimed toward the sky as you stare. Leaving people to wonder if it’s the shock, or if it’s refusal to go up to the stage.

All you can do now is stare straight ahead at the stage. Feeling all the eyes bore on the back of your head. They’re all giving you away, and if they’d just look somewhere else, then they would have absolutely no clue that it was your name that was called. Elysia wouldn’t be able to spot you so easily like she is now, and the peacekeepers wouldn’t have started their march.

You swallow down the vomit, gritting your teeth as you clench your fists tightly at your sides. Robotically, you turn your body, being gentle on your feet as if you’ll fly into the air if you’re light enough. On the way to the walkway, you get a clear look at Reed and Mox and regret it immediately. You didn’t need to look at them, not yet.

Reed’s face is hard, straight and angry. He looks like one of those tributes that get thrown in once in a while. The type that fight really hard and nearly win every single year. Until some brat career district comes around and kills them off. Reed’s lips are pressed in a thin line, and his eyes stare into yours.

Mox isn’t as stoic. His eyes are glossy, you can see them from where you’re standing. You can also see how red and blotchy his face is getting. He’s already been crying, the tears must have burst right after your name had been called. But you don’t remember hearing the sound of him crying.

You could have easily missed it while your brain threw you in a surprised mindset. It would have been easy to miss the sounds of everyone around you--although you’re sure that there wasn’t much noise in the first place--as you were suddenly clouded by your thoughts. Different escape plans had come to mind, but all of those would have been foolish. You would be laughed at later on for being so cowardly.

When you make it to the walkway, you clear your face as best as you can, standing tall and squaring your shoulders. You force yourself to look tough, even though every single part of you is screaming. As long as you don’t look vulnerable on the outside, you’ll be fine. 

Elysia’s eyes follow you up the steps, taking your hand when you’re within length, and stopping you in front of the girls bowl. From here, you can see everyone, especially your brothers who aren’t looked so hot now. They must be envisioning it now, seeing you in the games. They must be seeing all of the scenarios, knowing that you’ll end up in at least one of them.

Elysia doesn’t waste any time, moving on to the boys bowl. She takes her time like she did the first time, reaching for one of the top ones, instead of digging her hand in the bowl like she did before. Had she plucked one from the top, you wouldn’t be where you are.

Suddenly, you’re glad that Reed and Mox are too old to be placed in the games. Too old to volunteer over some random boy that will be picked. They need to be here for Alyssum, and you know that very well. You’re sure that if it were possible, Reed would most definitely volunteer, so that he would be able to protect you in the games the entire time.

Mox wouldn’t be able to stomach it, being in the arena. He would last only so far, because he can’t kill people. He can hardly stand fish being killed so that you guys can live every single day. So that you can provide for the Capitol. Killing people is absolutely out of the question. But Reed would do it if he could. He’d do it for you because he knows that’s what an older sibling is supposed to do. Protect the younger ones.

Elysia unfolds the second paper, “Finnick Odair.”

You have to stop yourself from opening your mouth when your eyes land on him. And you know that you’re utterly screwed, because this is not an older boy that would take pity on you and hopefully keep you around in the arena because you’re from home. No, this is Finnick, fourteen, handsome, a year younger than you.

You will be expected to look over him, since you’re the older one now. The only experience you have when it comes to fourteen year-olds is the girl that you’re friends with. Who is staring at you with big eyes still, like she can’t believe she was just talking to you, and now you’re going to be sent into the games. She’s also thinking of all the possibilities.

Finnick comes down the aisle with the same hard look on his face that you had. Elysia doesn’t hold her hand out for him. Instead, she lets him walk in front of his bowl, and she turns to everyone that’s waiting below.

“May the odds be ever in your favor.” she says again, the first time was before it had started, “You can shake hands, now.”

She backs up, allowing you to get a look at Finnick. 

You’ve seen him around school, and you’ve talked to him plenty of times. He’s smart, he’s as knowledgeable with knots and fishing as you are. He’ll be a good swimmer, and he’ll know a few plants that are edible. And if he prefers spears rather than the actual fishing pole, then he’ll be able to throw well too. 

There’s got to be some hidden skills in there. But all you know for the most part, is that you’re even on some playing fields. You’re coming from the same district, you’re going to have the same skills. It won’t be like people coming from the main career districts, because they have years of training under their belt with so many things. It won’t be like the outsider districts like ten, eleven and twelve.

You’d consider Finnick a friend at this exact moment, with all of the times you have talked and all of the things you know about him. He’s your friend, and you hope that he considers you the same. Because in the arena, you’ll hope that he’ll consider an alliance. He’s from home, he’ll share the same memories, and he’ll make you feel safe again.

You take Finnick’s hand in yours, shaking it a couple of times. 

And then, you’re ushered off of the stage. You and Finnick are separated from each other as you’re guided and then locked into a room. Here, you pace the room back and forth, because it’s beginning to sink in. You’re going to be sent in an arena with twenty-three other teens your age, and you’re going to be forced to kill them. You’re going to have to survive the best you can, no matter how hard that is.

The door opens minutes later, and you look up to see your three siblings. You only have a couple of minutes to talk to them, says the peacekeeper. Then he shuts the door, and you’re engulfed in arms.

“Remember all the knots I taught you,” Reed tells you immediately, “How to prepare the fish properly, cook it thoroughly. Boil the water at least before you drink out of it. If they have iodine then that’s what you need to put in it, only a few drops.”

Between gasps of air, Mox begins to give his input, “If you can, make a spear. It doesn’t have to be fancy, just sturdy enough to throw. A strong stick, and sharpen it to a tip with a sharp rock.”

You suddenly know why they’ve been teaching you this information all these years. And you know why your dad did the same to them when the time came. It’s because if this had happened, you would be very good at all of the things that they had taught you over the years. There would be no time for hesitation inside of the arena, and there would be no possibility of that if you were so good at everything that would be used inside of there.

They’ve been preparing you this entire time.

Alyssum reaches for you, and Reed passes her over. You bounce her in your arms lightly, hugging her to your chest as you press a kiss to her forehead. This might be the last time you get to hold her. The last fuzzy memory she will have of you.

Mox must remember the same thing at the same time you do, because his arms swarm you again, and Reed follows. You stand there quietly for a long moment.

“Win, (Y/n).” Reed tells you, “Do everything you can to win. Don’t fall to the obvious things, you know how well you are. Don’t mess it up in there.”

“I know.” you whisper, and just before the doors open, Reed presents you with a freshly polished ring.

It takes you a moment before you recognize it, and that’s when your eyes go wide. It’s your mom’s engagement ring. Your mother hadn’t wanted something big on her finger, and so your dad got her something small. Something that represented the district, while also being a very beautiful ring.

It’s a silver ring, with one lone wave in the middle of it. You take it in your fingers, turning it over for a moment before you slide it on your ring finger with shaky hands. By the time you’ve looked up to thank him, there’s tears gushing down the sides of your cheeks.

Then, the door opens and Reed and Mox are scrambling to give you the last bit of affection they can afford. You kiss Alyssum one last time, before Reed carefully takes her from you. And the last thing you see are a fresh wave of tears on Mox’s face. The door shuts heavily after that, and you have to force yourself to sit down, as you wrap your arms around yourself.

You have a chance, you know that. There’s a chance that you will make it out of this, and you have to hold onto that. You can’t accept defeat just yet, because that’ll ruin your entire mindset. You’ll go into the games thinking you’re going to die, and it’ll take away all your fight. You’ll be weak, useless and depressed. Even the most incompetent fighter will be able to take you.

The doors open again, taking you by surprise as you look up to see Capsian. You and him don’t talk much. In fact, you two hardly get along because he’s always picking on you, and Reed won’t tell him to knock it off. You eventually started a grudge on him, and the resentment just grew from there on.

“I’ll take care of your brothers,” he tells you, “I’ll stay with them to help out around the house. My entire family wishes you good luck in the games.”

“Thank you,” you say, curling up on the couch, he takes this as an invitation to sit on the other end.

“You’ll be good at the games, I can feel it.” he tells you, nodding to himself as he stares out the window, “We’ll be cheering you on from here.”

You don’t say anything to this, and the rest of his few minutes is spent in silence. He wishes you luck once more, before he disappears out the doors, and then just like that, you’re left alone again. It isn’t for long, as the peacekeepers escort you to the train station, where you see your brothers standing there for a final time, since they have to see you off, no matter what happens.

You know that you’ll be on camera again here, and so you stop to stare off at the district. Then, you raise your hand to wave, eyebrows drawn together as you’re thinking.

Farewell District Four, you think, it’s been fun.

The second after you’ve stepped inside, the doors shut behind you. The train starts moving, and you can feel the shift in the air. You don’t stumble like Finnick, who has to put his hand on the wall to get a hold of himself again.

You stare at Finnick for a moment, unsure of how to approach this. Because you want to have him as a friend now, and have his back for as long as it will last. Which will hopefully be up until you’re bet against each other.

“Allies?” you ask hopefully, “Until we have to kill each other?”

“You’re start awfully early, don’t you think?” he doesn’t answer you initially, but he doesn’t waste too much time, “Yes, until we have to kill each other.”

“Glad to see you two are friendly,” Elysia says, interrupting us, “Your rooms are ready for you.”

“Thanks,” you mutter, beginning to walk towards yours, but Finnick doesn’t let you go so easily.

“You want to stick together?” 

The last time you’ve talked to Finnick had to be at least a couple of weeks ago. When you have the time, it’s normally clipped, little things. Passing conversations, because there’s never enough time to have full ones. It’s during school, and hardly after unless you accidentally run into him in the square or something.

You and Finnick spend your time doing different things, sometimes. You have been trained in all things with water, with the best of Reed’s knowledge with only Mox to back him up on things. You’ve been tying and retying knots. Throwing spears, and harvesting water plants.

It’s required that Finnick do the same, but he has his own preferences. You see him with his favorite trident all the time, playing around with it. There was only one time you had seen him throw it, and when it had come out of the water, five different fish were speared. You’re not sure about the plants, but he has to know how to cook at least. And he has to know his fair share of knot tying, but you’re not sure what he knows. 

Reed tried to cover every single one that he had heard of, and even went as far as to seek out the elderly in District Four to learn how they do things too. What they remember from the times when they had to fish for the Capitol. And then he would take that information, come home and teach it all to you. You weren’t expected to know all of it, but to absorb most of it.

While Finnick probably didn’t have to deal with that almost every night. You partially know this, because you’ve seen him around with the girls in his class. Finnick looks old for his age, which means that he’s growing into his face. He’s more attractive than all the boys in your grade, at least.

The sponsors will love him, and he has to know that somewhat.

“What do you mean?” you ask.

“At the training, and stuff like that.” So, he means besides the arena.

“I don’t see why not.” you tell him, stopping in front of your room, your fingers find the ring and you fidget with it slightly, not used to the feeling on your finger, “Wake me for supper?”

He nods, giving you a big smile before he goes to his own room. You walk inside, listening as the doors shut behind you. The second that it’s gone, you head for the bathroom, sliding off the ring and placing it somewhere safe on the counter. Just for an extra measure, you pull up the tab that blocks water, so it doesn’t fall in and go down the drain.

You peel off your clothes, before hurrying inside of the shower that you started. You pull out your hair, letting the warm water wash over it. And while you’re standing there, you realize just how weak you feel from the entire thing. You can’t help but to sink into a sitting position, pulling your knees to your chest as you stare off at the wall for a while.

It must have been an hour you sat in there, just thinking about what it’s going to be like for the next couple of days. You’re not going to be thrown in just like that, you’re going to have to be presentable to the Capitol. You’re going to have to earn sponsors, and look like you have a chance at winning the games. You’re going to be forced to grit your teeth some more and smile. Tough it out until you’re finally inside of the arena.

You brush your hair carefully again, pulling it out of your face again. You look over the drawers carefully, and then you decide that a tank top and shorts will do you good. You want to feel comfortable here, for as long as possible. You want to hold on to what you would be doing at home. And then you grab the ring, putting it back on your finger.

Finnick comes to knock on your door, telling you that it’s time to eat. This is when you see he’s changed into something more comfortable too. He’s doing the same thing you are, because both of you are kids. You shouldn’t be thrown into the games, because you guys are so young. People under the age of sixteen hardly win.

Twelve and thirteen are the death years. If you get picked at those ages, you’re dead, there’s nothing you can do. Your body is so small, and you have no clue what to do still. They don’t have those years under their belt, they’re still struggling with the complicated knots.

Fourteen it gets better, but only by a little bit. No one has won at the age of fourteen, the youngest it gets is fifteen, and that year was a miracle. You weren’t able to see it, but Reed had explained it to you, that it was a particularly hard game. But the boy had won by waiting it out, and found a way to make the food and water last long. He killed only one person that year, and it was the girl that would have won

Sixteen and up, they have the best chances. They’re even better if they’re careers, which makes them deadly. If you run into anyone above the age of sixteen you can consider yourself dead, because they’ll overpower you so easily. The only chance you’ll have, is if there’s distance between the both of you and you have some sort of long-range weapon.

In the diner cart, sits Elysia and Mags. Mags watches as the both of you come into the room. Elysia looks over you guys with a squint, like she can’t believe that you’re dressed like that, and then she smoothes over, relaxing her face. Probably afraid of suddenly getting wrinkles. 

The second you two have sat down, the food arrives. And it starts off slow, and all that Elysia has to tell you, is that more will keep coming, so eat slow and don’t take too much. 

You follow just that, taking in all the different flavors, and how it’s so much more different than fish and bread every single night. With the occasion fish stew if the neighbor next door invited you over for dinner if you had brought her family a lot of fish that afternoon. Those nights, you’d think of them as feasts, because you would bring over more food to share and go around if you had it to spare. Eat like kings and queens, even if it was once a month.

After a certain amount of time, Finnick is tired of the silence, “Mags, when will you begin to mentor us?”

Your eyes drag across the table, landing on her. She struggles for a moment, and then she speaks. But the words are garbled, and it takes you a second to decipher them. 

“Tomorrow morning.” 

Finnick seems to understand as well as you have, so he nods and you guys go back to eating. Somewhere along the way, your stomach starts to feel upset, but you keep eating anyway. The more food you eat, the more pounds you’ll be able to tack on. More weight you’ll have on the others that will be thrown in the arena.

Once you’re done eating, Elysia brings you to the couch to watch the recap of the games. As much as you don’t want to watch all the children get reaped—and the rich kids volunteer—you know it’ll help you in the end. Let you size up the other tributes without being there in person. When you do finally get the chance tomorrow or the day after, you’ll see how tall they are and just how screwed you may be.

The girl that’s volunteered has clearly been training for a while. You watch as the muscles in her arms tense, and then release like she’s purposely flexing to show off her strength. She’s taller, and because of how strong she is, it’s made her look bigger. However, that doesn’t stop her from being pretty. You mark her in your mind immediately, Trink is her name, she’s from District One. 

With her is a boy that isn’t as impressive, most boys who volunteer are normally tall and muscular, so nothing stands out about him. For girls, it’s just not the same. They’ve been training for just as long, but most of the time they look harmless. It isn’t until they’re thrown into the games, when they show off their true nature.

The boy’s name is Lennox, and he’s definitely taller than you, because he easily towers over the girl next to him. If you’re taking guesses on ages, then the girl is sixteen and he’s the same age or seventeen. He looks older, but then again, so does Finnick and he’s fourteen.

You look at Finnick to see how he’s accessing this entire thing too. He’s thinking, staring at the screen with a straight face, and then he laughs. When he turns to look to you, he shakes his head, “Careers.”

He says the word as if it explains what he’s laughing about, and you turn to see just in time that Trink and Lennox are grinning at each other. Arms locked around the other, as they turn to their district to wave. Clearly they’re proud of where they’ll be coming from.

Another district to watch out for is the following, two. Another part of the careers, people that you’ll be expected to team up with to hunt and kill.

The girl is taller than the boy this time, and she holds her chin high. There’s this sickening grin on her face as she bares her chest out for everyone to see. She wants them to know that she’s just as proud. Her name is Eytelle, probably stolen from one of the Capitol people. Since two is one of the favored ones as well. 

The boy looks strong though, his name is Allio. In his hand he holds a stick that he’ll turn over in his hand every now and then. You have to focus to see what he’s doing exactly, but when you catch the glint of the silver, you realize it’s not a stick. He’s playing with a knife.

“Are we allowed…?” you don’t finish the question, but Elysia picks up.

“No.” she says gruffly, shaking her head, “It’s supposed to be for safety. What is he thinking?”

You’re not sure if she’s referring to the male Capitol representative, or Allio. Who’s still playing with that knife, and you watch as it gets faster in his hand. Like it’s building up a climax, and then it cuts.

Three is technology, and it looks like the program hurries that up a little bit. Certain districts are going to be expected to do better, this will be one of them. They make the technology, they’ll know how to build weapons. They should do exceedingly well, and if the careers think any one of them have potential, they’ll be called on.

Next, it flips to your district, and this is when it slows down again. You watch as Elysia perks up, and Finnick leans forward, suddenly entranced by the sight. Again, you relive the moment when Elysia calls your name, and you watch as a couple of seconds pass, before you’re heading down the aisle.

What felt like an eternity to you, was only a few seconds for them. You thought that you had frozen to your spot while you were debating the chances of you running. To them, they thought that it was you realizing it was your name that was called or something. You watch as the emotion is cleared from your face the second that you begin walking and realize that there’s cameras.

On that stage you felt so small, but on the camera, you can clearly see that it’s not too bad. You look better than what you thought you would. Four is also part of the careers, but it’s very shaky when it comes to volunteers--hence why you nor Finnick got one--and they hardly ever team up with the pack as far as you’re concerned.

Four is a rich district, so hardly anyone starves, but you’ve had your own months when you were struggling to get used to the fact that it was only you and your brothers that were capable of gathering food. Eventually, you got very good at it again, and there’s always food stocked in the fridge. But you’ve felt starvation. Despite all that, you look healthy and well-fed. There’s no doubt that a few districts are going to be jealous of that fact, especially in the poorer parts.

There’s not much you know, you’re not allowed to talk to neighboring districts at all. But you do know that most live in poverty. And things like starvation aren’t so uncommon.

You hadn’t noticed this before, but your hands somehow found their way behind you, in the time that you had found where you needed to stand, and when Elysia went to call the boys name. Subconsciously, you were also baring your chest, almost like you were proud.

You laugh when you watch Finnick walk down the walkway again. He looks to you, to see what’s funny, “Do you always walk like that?”

Elysia must have lost focus somewhere along the way, because she blinks quickly and focuses her eyes again. Then she also laughs, “You’re almost strutting.”

He grins, face turning a little red as he shakes his head, “Does it look tough enough?”

“You look ridiculous.” but he makes up for it when he stands at the stage right next to you. That’s when the two of you look like real competitors, with you standing tall, trying to make yourself look capable. And Finnick, not even trying and he still looks intimidating.

The rest pass like a blur. District Five fuels the power, so they’re only a little favored when it comes to things. They’re healthy looking too. District Six is transportation, no one stands out. Seven is lumber, which is when you start focusing again. When you see how big the two tributes are again. You mark them off too, Cass--the girl--and Mac.

Eight is textiles, nothing interesting. Nine is grain, which means that the poor districts are starting. Ten is livestock, eleven is agriculture, and twelve is mining coal. None of them had sprouted any interest in your mind, they don’t look threatening to you. In particular, twelve is the worst. With wobbly knees and pale faces, they look like they’re going to pass out at any minute.

And then just like that Elysia snaps the tv off, and you’re left sitting there in silence. She waits for a moment, before jumping up, “I suggest you two go off to bed, tomorrow will be very important.” 

You and Finnick watch as she leaves the room, and right on cue, you two turn towards each other.

“The boy and girl from one are definitely problems,” you begin, and he nods, agreeing, “The girl is bigger than usual, which means that she’ll pose a bigger challenge.”

“They should be the first to go if we can make it possible.”

But how would that be? They’re one person of course, but they’re as good as three. They make up for the districts with people that don’t know what they’re doing, that get killed in the very beginning. In order to get them off, that would mean that a lot of people would have to band together.

“Are you suggesting we gather other tributes?” you ask, almost baffled by the idea. The more people, the more tension and fear that someone will betray the other.

“No, not too many.” he says, straightening his back, “Enough to help.”

He must see potential in the districts you saw nothing in, “We’ll have a better chance at looking them over later.”

He nods, he knows this already, “One, two and five.” 

“Maybe three,” you get up from where you’re sitting, feeling the weight of today suddenly pressuring your shoulders.

“Maybe three,” he repeats, standing up too, “Off to bed so soon?”

You roll your eyes a little bit, “Yeah, I’m tired. Aren’t you?”

“I couldn’t feel more awake.”

-- CHAPTER THREE --

The morning comes before you’re ready for it. You drag your feet when it comes to taking a quick shower, and you throw on the nearest outfit that makes sense. It won’t really matter once you’re inside of the Capitol. You’ll be torn to pieces and then rebuilt at first chance.

You shouldn’t be too far off now. In fact, you probably should have made it there overnight, District Four is one of the closest districts to the Capitol. The only thing between you and them is District One. That one isn’t very surprising, they should be in the Capitol for a day now. The train goes so quickly, there wouldn’t be a reason to keep them from going.

You’ll probably barely have enough time to eat breakfast before you’re being shoveled off the train. 

With that thought, you place the ring back onto your finger as you head out to the dining car, or room. Once you make it there, you see that you’re not the last. Finnick and Mags are still nowhere to be seen. However, Elysia sits at the table, a black coffee in hand as she looks over something in her hand. She pays you no attention when you sit at the table.

Immediately, you’re served food. Most of it you recognize because of the special days the district gets to eat well on. Not like you don’t get to eat things like this all the time, but the special foods like pancakes are something you haven’t seen in a while. You carefully eat like you did yesterday, trying not to overdo it, but also get a good amount of food in you.

Finnick comes in not too long after, taking his seat as he also starts to eat. However, he’s basically inhaling it, as if he hasn’t eaten in days. You’re impressed for a while, until he starts to turn a little green. Only then do you begin laughing at him, and he offers you a sheepish smile.

“Hungry?” you tease, and he rolls his eyes.

“I’ve been up for hours waiting to eat.” he tells you.

So he didn’t sleep last night, and that’s going to show. It took you a couple hours of tossing and turning, trying desperately to just get a little bit of time. Eventually, your body had decided that it might as well. You’re not in any danger just yet, you’re on a train to where the danger will start, but until then you’ll be fine. 

“You need your sleep,” Elysia beats you to it, “But your stylists will cover it for now.”

Finnick offers her a small glance, and then he turns to you as if he’s disinterested with everything she has to say. It takes you a moment to realize that he’s not staring at you exactly, it’s past you. You turn to look over your shoulder to see that Mags is coming in now. She’s slow, and she looks like she’s struggling even with the cane she’s been provided with.

The peacekeepers take a step to help her, but you jump up before they have the chance. The mere thought of them touching her is disgusting to you. They work for the Capitol. They’re hugely ignorant and arrogant. They stand by and let all of this happen, hell, they’re coming from the districts around you.

Mags gives you a smile of appreciation, and Finnick helps out a little bit too when he sees how much trouble it is. With the help of you both, she gets seated and begins to eat. What you didn’t see before, is that she has a pad of paper, which she’s using one hand to write with, and the other to eat. 

Her neat handwriting covers the paper, in a small paragraph. She turns the paper to you, and you tilt your head to read it. For a second, your mind blanks because it believes you’ve never read cursive before, but then it slowly comes back to you. You’re mouthing the words, picking up the paper as you take your time to hand it off to Finnick.

Lesson 1: Sponsors. Looking presentable for the Capitol people will be your greatest chance at survival. In order to do that, you’ll have to play up the act a little bit. Who are you?

It’s a simple question, but you find yourself struggling to answer. When you pass the paper back to her, she writes down one word beside it.

Personality?

Oh.

“What does it say?” Finnick asks, tilting his head, but he can’t see it anyway, he’s on the other end of the table.

“Personality.” you say for him, looking to Mags, “You mean like clever, smart…?”

She nods a little, and you look to the window for a moment, thinking. Allowing Finnick to get the chance to answer before you. What is your personality?

“Well, we have the same personality for the most part.” Finnick starts to answer for the both of you, “Smart with the basic district stuff, strong.”

“Deadly.” you add, and Mags raises her eyebrows a little bit, so you elaborate, “I throw spears, and I’ve seen Finnick with a trident.”

Finnick flushes for a second, but it clears out, “The trident is on special occasions. Mostly spears.”

You sit in silence, she writes, “What else?” you shake your head for a second, trying to come up with the adjectives, and then it comes back to you, “I’m considerate and kind. I have well manners.”

Mags writes all of this down, and you can see the word ‘humble’, and then she writes down damsel.

For a second, you’re not sure what you think of it, but you see it soon enough. Playing the innocent, damsel role and having everyone underestimate you. If they overlook you, then that gives you a better chance at winning.

“I can’t play that up,” you tell her, because you remember seeing yourself on the screen again, how you stood strong, “The reaping--”

Everyone looks like that, she writes, No one wants to be targeted.

And she’s right. All those people you had seen last night were trying to look bigger than they were. Except for the kids, when their shoulders would hunch in on themselves, trying to disappear. As much as possible, you’ll all try to look strong to be picked for an alliance. Those who aren’t picked are left to suffer.

This will throw Finnick’s entire plan off course. If you play damsel, then that means you have to downplay all your skills. Make it look like you’re incapable of winning. No sponsors, no alliance. The only person that’ll be able to save you is Mags and yourself. Maybe your brothers back home will somehow afford to send something your way.

You’ll have to purposely score low in training, to really lower the expectations. Mags might even go as far to tell your stylists not to do too well on yours and Finnick’s matching outfits.

Mags writes again while you’re thinking, and you read it so you can look to Finnick, “She wants to know about you.”

Finnick looks like he’s been waiting for his turn, “Strong, tall. Almost all the girls at school love me, so attractive--”

As he’s listing what he’s made of, you see one word for him. Cunning. He’s going to be playing up the tough arrogant act. He’ll be purposely showing off, he’ll be the one that gets all the sponsors. The alliance he proposed will be his, the careers will be tripping over their feet to get him in their pack. 

Suddenly, you can’t help but to feel a little jealous, and detached.

Finnick is the boy, he’s going to be expected to win. But you have the age advantage, so they’ll also be looking to you to win. At least for some people, for others it doesn’t matter at all. Back home, they’ll be hoping that only one of you comes back in a casket.

“What’s my word?”

“Cunning,” you tell him quietly, invested in your food again. Your stomach has managed to settle, so you try to stuff it again, the more the better. You’re not sure when you’ll be able to eat after this.

The train car blacks out for a couple of seconds, and then light fills it again. Elysia looks over her shoulder, and then her face lights up as she hops up from her seat, “Home sweet home.”

You and Finnick move to the window, looking out it for a moment. Bright lights fill the car, blinding you. When you’ve blinked away the lights, you can see just how many Capitol people have come to the station to greet you two.

A sigh leaves you and for a moment you want to move away. And then, you realize that if you’re going for that damsel type, you have to look clueless. Like you’re always in a daze or something. So, you begin to wave the exact same moment Finnick does. And even through the thick walls of the train car, you can hear the roaring of their cheers.

--

Your stylist’s assistants are very nice, and they try to be as gentle as possible when it comes to what they have to do. For a minute they just stood and stared almost as if they had no clue on how to start with you. And then, they went straight to work. Removing every inch of hair from your body, besides what’s on your head. 

Your hair is now silky smooth, and smells of strawberries. Your body is sore, but soft from how many bathes they’ve made you soak in. Your nails have been cleaned, filed and they have a very thin layer of nail polish on them. Only a little bit, because they were afraid that your main stylist would want to change that later.

Your eyebrows have been plucked, leaving you sculpted. They’ve applied some sort of teeth whitener, trying to make it scary white like theirs. A couple of times they’ve told you to straighten your back to stand tall. Only then did you realize that they were taking measurements, and after that you stood very still to allow the to. 

“I think we’re all done now.” Cleo says, taking a step back to access you one last time, “Laurel is going to love you.”

She says nothing else, grabbing onto the arm of the girl that she was working with. You hadn’t heard much from her, she mostly listened as Cleo babbled on. With the occasion prompt to keep her talking. It’s almost as if she didn’t want to do any of it herself.

You rock on the table, back and forth as you stare at the wall ahead. Trying to imagine yourself winning the games. All that it’ll take to get to that point too. You find yourself regretting how you described yourself, even if you were being honest.

The door opens, revealing a very tall woman. Her hair is held back by a simple hairband, trying to keep it from her face, you’re guessing. It’s the same thing you do when you know it’ll be an irritating day. However, with these people it’s never irritating, they live in luxury. They’re all brightly colored and rich and they never have to worry about going hungry, ever.

She wears a white shirt, and a black blazer. Her pants are ironed nearly, and she has a pair of black heels on. The second she steps into the room, she slips them off though, only lowering her height just a little bit. She’s naturally tall it seems, and she seems proud of it. Not afraid to get bigger.

“I’m Laurel.” she introduces herself, “(Y/n), right?”

She has to know that it’s you, “Yeah.”

“Stand up for me?” she asks, and you slip off the table, standing in front of her. She walks around you, looking at your body, taking all of it into consideration. Laurel will stare for a moment, and then she’ll move your hair. She checks your nails to see that they’re very neat, and she seems pleased with that, “Take your robe.”

You reach over for it, slipping it on and then folding your arms over your chest anyway. You almost want to hunch in on yourself like you saw the kids doing at the reaping. But then, you remove your arms and make yourself stand a bit taller. Reminding yourself that you need to have more worth, carry that energy until it’s not carrying anymore. Until it is you.

“Mags tells me that you’re going for a more subtle look.” Laurel sits down on a nice couch, you make sure to tuck the robe beneath you as you sit, “Humble?”

You nod lightly, “I think she’s going for an underestimated look.”

“And do you feel the same?”

You dodge the question a little bit, “Finnick is going for cunning, isn’t he? I want to be presented the same way he does, but I wouldn’t mind if we did something along the lines of humble.”

She takes this into consideration, nodding lightly, “How would you feel about a two-piece? Almost like a bathing suit?”

You really hope you don’t end up in some skin-showing outfit, “Sure.”

She nods to this, looking pleased, “Blue, definitely blue.”

It’s only a couple of hours later, when you’re standing side-by-side with Finnick. He looks like he’s more in a bathing suit than you do. They’ve completely taken his shirt, and just put on a tunic almost, for his lower half. His designer has gotten him covered with vines, some drawn on and some of them real. It’s supposed to look like he’s came out of the water, like he’s been there for a while.

As a joke, you suggested dying him a blue-green because of how copper fades. His stylist considered it for a moment, even turning to Laurel to ask if it were possible to do it in an hour. But then Finnick piped up that he did not want to be a shade of green, and glared at you. It was all in good fun and he knows that. Didn’t stop him from jabbing you in your ribs when he had the chance.

You and Finnick are wearing nearly the same pair of leather sandals. Yours only goes up to your ankles, as his surrounds his calves, stopping just a little bit below the knee. He has that tunic around his waist, which wrinkles in all the right places, and it’s pinned to keep from falling.

Laurel had already built off of the bathing suit idea, deciding that you were worth more than just a pair of half-naked teenagers. She kept the aspect, but added a couple of things to it. On your upper body, your hair is curled to look more natural, going for the beachy-type but not exact. Macara, blue eyeshadow, the works go on your face. They’d outdone themselves with the white eyeliner, purposely tying to give you a goddess aspect, you guess?

You definitely know they were going Roman, even if it’s just a little bit.

They secured a bracelet around your upper arm, it’s a couple of waves. On your upper half of your body, you have a bra on almost. But the straps are thick, and the padding pushes it all up. It’s tight around the ripbs, keeping it from lifting off your chest, as they tried to show off some curves. It ends somewhere in the middle of your ribs.

And as for your waist, she decided for a high-waisted short bottom. Attached to it is a train almost. The flaps are attached to your left hip, giving it a sort-of leg slit. But the fabric is see-through, so it’s not much. The entire color scheme is a muted sea green. On your wrists are silver bracelets, on your neck is a lone shell necklace. Laurel had successfully acquired your ring, adding it to the outfit, even if the people from the stands won’t be able to see it exactly.

Laurel and Finnick’s stylist have you and Finnick walk around. Making small adjustments to everything so it flows better. In no time, you’re told to get onto your chariot with the blonde horses. Before you guys take off, Laurel makes one very last minute change.

She makes you wrap your arms around Finnick’s left one. Your right arm goes under, closest to his body. That one will stay permanently, and your left arm goes over, which will be the one you wave with and such.

“This is so exciting,” Finnick chirps, a smile already coming over his face, and then, “Oh!”

He reaches into a pocket that you didn’t know he had, and he pulls out a small sugar cube. You laugh, taking it with your left hand as you turn it over for a second. When you look over, the both of you share a look, before popping the sugar in your mouths at the same time. 

The sweet taste takes over your tongue immediately, and you can’t help but grin. As you turn to look off to the ground, you watch as the audience turns to see the newcomers coming in.

The cheering gets louder, and then there’s pointing. You smile with your teeth, giving a wave, while also trying to think of embarrassing things. It takes a moment, but it all comes rushing back, and you find your face heating up very quickly.

“She’s blushing!” one of them yells, there’s a series of screams and ‘awing’ that follow after, and Finnick laughs.

“You play the act well.”

“For you it’s not even an act.” you say through clenched teeth, making sure the smile reaches your eyes. 

Every single time you hear someone yell your name, you turn to look in that direction. If you’re going to get sponsors, you’ll want them to each every single bit of this shit up. You make surprised faces, cover your mouth, cower into Finnick and let him pretend to coax you out. The cheering only gets louder, until their attention is turned back to the newcomers.

When the chariot stops, you feel your face cooling considerably, and you sigh in relief, because it’s hard to keep thinking of embarrassing things. Once you bring up the effect again, it’s almost as if it’s useless. All those memories are so faded, that it’s hard to even think of them anymore. You hardly ever make bad mistakes like that.

You wait patiently as Snow makes his appearance and says his piece about everything. The anthem plays, you guys show up as you watch the flag. And then, there’s one final lap around the little circle, before you guys have vanished inside of the building.

There, Laurel and the other stylist are waiting for you. Laurel nods at you approvingly, probably glad that you still held on even though it wasn’t really necessary anymore. You slide off of the chariot with Finnick, stretching your arm. You cross them back over your chest, as you look around.

Soon enough, your prep teams are slowly distancing themselves, standing off to the side. Which offers a perfect opportunity for the others to see, measure you and Finnick up. You do the same, because the only other times you’ll see them is for training, and then later for the interviews. These moments where you over or underestimate them are crucial.

District one has a clear eye on you and Finnick.

“Trink and Lennox are staring.” You tell Finnick, trying not to look over, but he looks them dead on, almost like he doesn’t care.

He waves for a second, beckoning them over. You’re about to tell him that it’s a really bad idea, but they start their way over. So, you place the mask back on, and take a step back, allowing Finnick to do whatever it is he thought he wanted to do.

“Finnick,” He introduces himself, offering his hand.

Lennox looks to Trink for a moment, almost impressed as he takes Finnick’s hand, shaking it a couple of times, “Lennox.”

Of course, you know their names already, so it seems a little useless to introduce yourselves. But then it dawns on you, that they probably don’t know your names.

You make a feeble attempt to do the same, “I’m (Y/n).”

“Oh, we know.” Trink’s smile transforms into a smirk, “Gallows, huh? Like getting hung from the gallows…”

You hate her already.

You laugh lightly, trying to bring the smile to your eyes again, “I guess! I never made that connection before! It’s only fitting now that I’m in the games, huh? Do you think I have a chance?”

What if you play damsel until it comes to the private session with the gamemakers. What if you show off your skills then, score high, and then see what happens to the tributes around you. See if their sudden interest sparks and they want you on their side after all.

You wonder how Reed would feel about you teaming up with the careers. If he would be telling you to steer away from them, because they’re hostile, and vile and sometimes a little messed up in the head from all that training at a young age. It makes them want to volunteer, no sane person could truly want that unless they’ve been brainwashed.

Trink shares a look with Lennox for a second, and then behind her you see that the crowd is about to have two more people added to it, as District Two comes over here. You slump your shoulders slightly, tilting your head at the newcomers. Eytelle and Allio, the tall girl and the boy who spun the knife in his hand during the reaping.

“Are these four?” Allio asks, you take the guess now that he’s going to be the chattier one.

Eytelle is… the only comparison you can make with her, is that she’s shorter than Laurel, but not by much. Her parents must be giants, because if she’s only sixteen or so she’ll keep growing for a while. The height will give her an advantage when it comes to running, but she’ll have trouble trying to hide so easily.

“Clearly.” Trink mutters, looking over you a little more, “So what’s your skills?”

“That’s for us to know and for you to find out.” Finnick answers for both of you, “We don’t give shit away so easily. What are we getting in return?”

Trink measures this, but Allio speaks first, “Maybe a friendship if you play your cards right.”

A smile spreads over your face, as you try to look excited, “Wow! An alliance, that’ll be helpful!” 

Lennox looks pleased at the suggestion, “Only if you want.”

Finnick offers you a glance, and you bob your head, trying to urge him to agree but not look desperate. This is what he wanted after all, and if you careers band together, then there’s no doubt that all of you will get a good portion of the population inside of the arena down before you know it.

You’re already forming a plan in your head. Team up with the careers, get to know all of their skills that they’ll show off inside of the training center. There, you will memorize everything, while also learning new skills. Then, when it comes to the arena, you’ll plot their murders very carefully. You’ll pick them off very carefully, space them so it doesn’t look like your fault.

But this would all work so much better if only one of you were in the pack. Finnick lures them to you, you kill them, injure him a little bit, and send him back to get the others riled up.

It’s not a bad plan, you’ll just have to work out the kinks, and present this to Finnick.

He is your accomplice.

-- CHAPTER FOUR --

This morning, Elysia had come to your room to wake you up. For a second, you thought she was doing it so that you’d be early to the table like you normally are. But she was kind enough to inform you that you had slept in past what she wanted already. Mags has been the only reason you’ve been allowed to stay in bed for so long.

As you got ready, you were a little confused on how you’d managed to sleep for so long. You're normally one of the people first awake, especially here. Once your body decides that it has enough energy to run off of, it sort of just wakes you up. You’ve been sleeping soundly every single night, as far as you know. So the exhaustion is coming out of nowhere.

It wasn’t until you had brought it up to them, where Finnick had informed you that you hadn’t slept as soundly as you thought. After you had eaten dinner last night, you’d stayed awake a little while to bring up the plan to Finnick, to get his opinion about luring them to their deaths. He seemed to like it, and then you went off to sleep in your own room.

He says that it must have been a couple of hours before the screaming had started. The first to the room was Mags, but she wasn’t able to get you up, since speaking is difficult for her. Instead, Finnick had to shake you awake, coaxing you out of whatever nightmare you had been trapped in. 

You don’t remember any of it, it’s impossible for you to recall what happened. Elysia says that you must have been asleep still, but Finnick and Mags says you were coherent. You could hear them, and you listened to them try to calm you down from hyperventilating. Once you were in a good enough state, Mags went back to bed, and Finnick stayed a little while.

He just wanted to make sure that you would go back to sleep, but it had taken a while for you to calm down enough to get your heart to stop producing the adrenaline. Finnick tried to sit in the silence, but he wanted to know what the nightmare was about. What had gotten you to the point of screaming and hyperventilating.

You can’t remember it now, even though you’re awake and most of the time can relive the dream a little bit. It was apparently about you drowning, and that was all that you’d tell him. There had to be more though, because you’re not afraid of the water, you live in District Four. To be afraid of drowning would be so fucking ridiculous.

You have a feeling that it was about you taking your father's place in the accident, again. It’s a common nightmare you have. You’ll be on the boat with your brothers, and everything will be going good. But the boat will rock when one of you try messing with the other. Mox gets knocked off, you scramble to save him only to fall off the side. In the water, he’s nowhere to be seen. And then Reed will turn on the boat, leaving you in the middle of the water. The water only gets colder the more time goes on, and your joints will freeze in place. Swimming back to shore is impossible and you die out there, every single time.

You didn’t bother to explain all of that to Finnick, because you’re not looking for pity, it’s no point for him to know your life story. Instead you nodded along and went back to eating, because you then knew why you had been so exhausted. All it takes is one nightmare and a couple of shots of adrenaline to keep you going for a long ass time apparently.

Mags then transitioned into the training that you’re actually in right now. She pulled out her paper and pen and asked if you guys would want to train together. You told her that you’d already formed an alliance with him, so it would be pointless to hide anything. Finnick agreed, and then Mags went on to explain to hide most of your skills.

Just as you predicted anyway. She had wanted you guys to keep it low on the profile, especially you. Mainly she wants you to play dumb and go around with the stations, fumble with most of the things you do but take your time with learning them. She also knows of the career pack proposal, so she reminds you to keep friendly with them too, if that’s going to be your goal.

Of course, she doesn’t want you guys to get too attached or close. Don’t trust them because the chances of them turning on you at first chance is a little too easy. It will only be a matter of time in the arena before the tension snaps at they make a jump to kill any of you. You already know this. If you go through with the plan, then that means that they're going to be suspicious of everyone in the pack anyway. 

Finnick is supposed to be good at everything inside of the training center. But as you watch him circle and go around the stations with Allio and Lennox, you can’t help but to think he looks like an idiot. Allio is more skilled in combat than you guys are, he can throw just about anything a good distance. Lennox seems to be the same.

You’ve watched as they make him throw spears, knives, axes, swords, just to see how good he is at it. They’re looking impressed, but you’re starting to see through Finnick’s facade. He keeps making a wince face each time he thinks he’s thrown it too terribly, his confident mask is falling too easily.

“Wow, look at her.” Trink says, you look up from the fire that you’re trying to start to see that they’re staring dead straight at the girl from District Eleven. You squint for a second to see what she’s doing, and then you smile.

“Thyme, right?” Eytelle asks, her arms are crossed over her chest, and she hunches over like she’s trying to make herself look like you’re all in the same height range, “She’s showing off.”

“Aren’t we all?” you ask, turning back to the fire, getting it started this time. Trink turns over, and you clap quickly, the smile turning to a grin as you look to the other two girls, like a proud kid, “I did it!”

“Took you a while.” Eytelle mutters, “What are you actually skilled at?”

“Besides fires, and knot tying.” Trink adds.

You have to show off at least one skill to get these people interested, “I can show up Finnick with the throwing.”

Trink perks up, “Show us.”

You push yourself up from your knees, starting your way to where the boys are. On the way, you make eye contact with Thyme. She has dark hair, brown-black it looks like. She’s tan, fairly tall, green eyes. She’s got to be the same age as you, because she looks young.

“I hear that District Eleven and Twelve have the skilled hunters--or at least they know what berries and leaves are safe to eat.” you tell them, “Thyme will be very useful.”

Eytelle scoffs, “Who says we can’t hunt actual food? Like meat?”

“What happens when there’s a storm, when all the fish and forest animals are out of the question? Berries, leaves, bark and all of that will save your lives instead. Turning someone like her down simply because she comes from a poor district is…. Stupid.” you tell them, and then you stalk off to join the guys for real.

“Hey Finnick!” he turns while he’s about to throw a knife, Allio and Lennox give you a quick look up and down. You haven’t really talked to them this entire time. Over your shoulder, you can see Eytelle approaching Thyme, while Trink bounces over.

“Well, go ahead.”

You hold out your hand for the knife that Finnick is holding. He gives you a warning look almost, like you don’t know what you’re doing, before handing it over. You give him a cheeky smile, “Watch and learn.”

You flip the knife around to hold it by the blade. Taking in a deep breath, you slowly let it out because you can’t fuck this up. And then, you draw your arm back, before throwing the knife forward with all the strength possible.

The knife covers the twenty feet in less than three seconds, hitting the dummy square in the head. You tilt your head slightly, “It’s a little off center.”

“Off center? You hit that thing….” Allio trails off, and you turn around to see Finnick with a smirk on his face.

Thyme is standing with Eytelle, and she claps a little bit for you, “Can you teach me to throw like that?”

“Sure!” you turn to look at the others, letting Trink narrow her eyes on you. She might be seeing through the act a little bit, “It’s the one thing I’m good at, I’ve had so much time to learn in District Four. I’ll teach Finnick too if you guys wanna go off by yourselves.”

They agree, heading off to some sort of other place they can show off at. Once they’ve gotten out of earshot, the smile on your face drops and you mock them for a second, grabbing the nearest knife. You throw it, and it hits the chest this time, “Thinking I can understand them just because--god are they annoying.”

Finnick snorts, before turning to look at Thyme, “Finnick, this is (Y/n).”

“I’ve heard.” She chirps happily, picking up one of the knives before turning to you, “When do we get started?”

You spend the next hour or so showing your new friend how to throw. Finnick isn’t so bad, it’s just the doubt that gets him. You tell them both that the less confidence they have in the throw, the worse it’ll turn out. Plus, throwing the knife is better than nothing in most situations anyway. If you have more tucked away, then it won’t hurt.

If the person is within your range, then the best you can do is at least try. It could turn out really well and you end up nailing them like you should. Or it could be horrible, land somewhere close to them. But you could call that a warning and say you did it on purpose later on.

Thyme turns out to be really nice, and she explains how Eytelle approached her. This is when you inform her that it was your idea, no matter what Eytelle had told her. To have her with you guys could put her in danger, but you’re all going to die anyway. She’s an outlying district, the chances of her winning is already slim. You basically just gave her a chance.

She’s already picked up on your act the second that the others come back around to check up on you. This is when Finnick lets them know that you’re really skilled at it, despite failing in all the other stations you’d managed to hit while walking around with them. Except for the obvious ones with knot tying, starting the fire and all of that. 

Lennox jokingly asks what rock you’ve been living under for these past years, as if he can’t believe that you have no clue what you’re doing at all. But you just offer him a smile and shrug, saying that you don’t really have time for other things like that. You muse that if it weren’t for the fact that they’re agreeing for an alliance that you’d probably die in there alone.

They seem satisfied with that, and even though you hadn’t thanked them by any means, they say ‘you’re welcome’ and move on. This is when you and Finnick hang back. 

Soon, you get bored of training, and you’re about to wave Thyme off, before she asks if she’s really included in the alliance. You tell her that it looks like it, and they wouldn’t have let her tag around, much less offered if they were kidding. She looks pretty satisfied, and you tell her to make friends with the others too. If this this fails then she’ll want an escape plan.

After that you leave the training center with Finnick, take the elevator up to your district floor, and go in to see that Laurel is showing off designs to Mags. 

“Oops, are we walking in on something?” you ask, and Laurel looks over with a smile, “Not at all, welcome back.”

“Dinner will be served in an hour.” Elysia mutters, looking over from the tv.

“She’s telling us that we think and should probably shower.” Finnick whispers to you, Mags hears this and laughs.

She nods slightly, before shooing the both of you out the room as soon as Finnick’s stylist shows up behind you guys. It looks like they want to keep your interview outfits a surprise. It makes sense, they’re all about surprises and being prestigious. They think the outfits matter--because they do--but you don’t have that same taste. Neither does Finnick.

Back home you two would probably settle for a shirt and a pair of jeans. The occasion jacket, a nice pair of comfortable boots, and then that would be it. There’s not much to do around four, so there wouldn’t be a reason to dress up besides reaping day. You spend most of your time in a boat or in water.

Which means that you’re not even wearing boots, it would be a pair of sandals. If it’s cold in the morning, then your toes freeze and you just have to deal with it. Either you tuck your feet beneath you or shut up and just be cold. There’s a good possibility that you get thrown overboard by accident or on purpose. Or you’re spearing fish in the shallow, jeans being pulled up to your calves as you wade through the water.

You and Finnick stop outside your doors again, and he leans up against the wall.

“Allio and Lennox are annoying.”

“Stuck up?” you ask, a smile spreading over your face.

He rolls his eyes, “I don’t even think that word fits them. They think everyone inside of the arena is going to be easy to kill. That I’m probably going to be the only one who poses a threat.”

Your eyebrows raise, “They’re buying my act?”

“They don’t even think it’s an act. They think that you’re geniunely stupid and you’re just getting lucky with some of the things you know.”

That’s fair, you’re trying to play up the dumb damsel thing. You have to have one skill that will impress the gamemakers, and that will be just about it. If they keep you around for your skill to kill people, then that’ll be good enough. As long as you’re around.

“That’s good.”

“Anything about the other two? Trinket and Eyeball?” he purposely gets their names wrong.

You snort, “They’re buying it as good as the other two. I managed to convince them to invite Thyme, which I think will turn out handy.”

“How did you do that anyway?”

“Simply told them that if we run low on food and can’t find any animals, then berries and leaves is gonna be all that we have. So, she’ll be our best bet.”

He’s impressed, “Smart.”

“Yeah, I know. Any of the others show potential?”

“The boy from three, he’s been making things in the corner. Saw him make a knife from a stick, some vine and a rock.” Finnick tells you.

So he’ll definitely be dangerous. He’ll know how to make his own weapons from absolutely nothing. You wonder what else he knows how to make. If he can make knives, then there’s a possibility for a bow, spears, axes. Just depends on what setting you’re all going to be placed in.

“The others seem pretty reserved, or they’re not showing off what they can do.” Finnick yawns.

“Finally tired?” you tease.

“After sitting with you all night? Hell yeah I am.” he stretches, and then relaxes, “I’ll see you at dinner.”

“Yeah,” you wave him off, before going to your room.

You sit on the floor mainly, staring out the window, watching as the people below celebrate the games already. All you can think about is your family back home, and how they’re all holding up. You hope that Reed isn’t being too hard on Mox. You’re hoping that Mox hasn’t been crying this entire time, because there’s nothing to be worried about. You wonder if Alyssum notices that you’re gone.

You have a greater chance now. With an alliance forming, with learning all the new things that Thyme had taught you when she brought you to her special station. Showed you all the berries and leaves she could afford to before the others had come around again.

It’s almost like she didn’t want to show them, which is really fair. She doesn’t trust them as much, and you don’t either. But it also doesn’t make sense because technically you and Finnick are careers anyway. It could be because of the fact that you’re playing two different personalities, that you’re actually not stupid and just using them. Or it could be from a different reason that you don’t know.

She’s really nice though, and you’re glad that you suggested her. She shows promise, she learns really quickly. It took only a couple of minutes for her to learn to throw properly. It was just her doubt that was holding her back for the rest of the time.

When you disband the careers, you hope that she’ll stick with you. But when it comes down to the end, you don’t want to be the one that kills her. She’s too nice, she even told you a little bit about her family back home.

The more you get to know someone, the less you want to actually kill them, and that’s the painful part. If you were to get to know everyone that’s going to be thrown in, then you’ll feel bad. Except for Trink, Eytelle, Allio and Lennox, though. They volunteered and they’ve been training for this their entire lives.

It’s hard to feel bad for them. They leave everything they have behind just so that they can get the glory of a victor house. Infinite amounts of money, even though they basically already have that, since they’re rich. They just want to have their names be known for the generations to come. Be the ones to train the next pair of tributes that come on the train.

You don’t know how they’d want that at all. All they do is get the pain of watching the tributes die after they fail to do it properly. Then again, career. Volunteering. They almost always win. The works.

This really is going to suck.

--

LACUNA IS THE FIRST VERSION OF BELAMOUR 

//MASTERLIST//

[nekobakaz]

Well, @not-the-tie-youre-looking-for, @lilac-vode, I spent yesterday trying to get a mod for Mass Effect Legendary to work. Then gave up and spent the rest of the day at my parents, doing laundry and reading.

Right before bed, I finished The Last Command.

Janna's muttering something about Spare the Dying and Counterspell. Also Delayed Fireball. and also why you don't treat your minions too badly. Cause really, when the race you've enslaved as assassins decides to betray you, there's not a hell of a lot you can do. I'm yelling back at her that she's a necromancer; her minions are skeletons and whoever the fuck she decides is useful at that moment. And often are deemed "expendable" once she's gotten her hands on whatever book she's there for, resulting in her minions being set on fire, stabbed, or beaten to death. She shrugs, casually juggling some diamonds in one hand.

Anyways, random thoughts:

- I love Ghent. He's just so wonderful.

- "one of those crazy Jedi things" that... that's a bit of an understatement dear. It's funny, but **gestures everywhere**

- wait... was... was Thrawn being sarcastic there? he WAS!!! :D snarky Thrawn is best Thrawn :D

- Luke trying not to grin as he gets Han adopted

- huh. did Thrawn interact with any of the main three at all? like, they all saw him, but none of them actually had a conversation with him. I'm disappointed (yet hopeful? there's more books)

- the difference/similarities between Pallaeon and Vanto and their growth under Thrawn. I'm not going to go into it a lot, just something I noticed.

Someone has probably written a thing about this, but I can sorta see some of how legends!Thrawn is written differently than canon!Thrawn. and I think some/most of it is due to a shift in scifi and fantasy. When Heir came out, villains didn't have to have too much in motivations. There was this divide between anti-heroes and villains, and most of the time, audiences didn't get much insight into villains' minds. Zahn notes in the 20th ed of Heirs that he purposely avoided writing from Thrawn's perspective because he thought his mind would be too alien for readers (something like that, anyways) But there was a shift at some point; we've realized that people don't wake up and go "I'm going to be a ruthless murderous, power-hungry bastard cause evil is fun." Most people don't, at any rate. A lot of us want to know 'why' a character is doing what they do, including the villains. And recognition that villains can do Good Things (sometimes, for Bad Reasons!! anti-villain, yay!!). And sometimes villains are just People trying to do their best/make the best of crappy situations. Road to hell paved in good intentions, and all that. and sometimes that includes needing to be a ruthless bastard. Which I guess can be seen (bookwise, at least) in how Thrawn is similar/different to himself. **shrug**

I'd like to see more of Thrawn's point of view, but I can kinda get why Zahn doesn't. I've mentioned to Tye; it must be exhausting to be Thrawn (is his eyeliner hiding the bags under his eyes?) The amount of information he must be actively and passively shifting through to reach his conclusions has to be enormous. Plus possibly needing constant research updates... yeah, I'm autistic and ADHD and just thinking about actively processing body language is draining (omg, just trying to think if I messed up an interpretation with my shitty face blindness is so much fun right now). "Does Thrawn actually sleep" becomes such a relevant question. I'm also reminded of L from Death Note, who we also never really get to see his thought process, but notices high levels of details. If Thrawn was human/has similar biology to humans, I'm thinking of how much carbs and sugars he must need to keep up his brain power.

Anyways, Outbound Flight is next, cause I wanna get all the feels out all at once.

[mn0tes]

TATTLE GAMES🐮

⚠️May contain SPOILERS of The Promised Neverland (TPN) ⚠️

“Let’s run away together”

What is the “Identity V” mobile game?

Identity V is a survival horror multiplayer game designed for children 12 +. The story revolves around a detective who is solving a mystery behind a sinister game held within an abandoned manor. The game setup revolves around matches between 4 survivors and 1 hunter or 8 survivors and 2 hunters (depending on the mode). Basically to win, the hunter must kill 3 or 6 survivors or at least 3 or 6 survivors must escape before the game ends. The player can level up his/her characters by playing and winning matches. The rewards earned from the games can be used to upgrade the skill of the characters, receive items, obtain costumes, and many more.

Why I advice TPN fans to play this game and participate in the event?

If you are an avid TPN fan, I advice you to start playing this game before the “The Promised Neverland” crossover event takes place sometime in February or early Spring of 2021 but the exact date is yet to be announced. I just estimated those dates based on the deadline of the pre-registration. In my opinion, to fully enjoy this event, you’ve got to be familiar with the controls, mechanics, and intensity of the game before the awaited event so that it wouldn’t surprise you. 😉 Let me tell you, the game is intense especially for gamers who aren’t used to this genre. It’s an adrenaline pumping game that involves a lot of running around, hide and seek, and prompt decision making that will get new users addicted to it. All I can say is, a good battle strategy comes in handy in these games. Sounds familiar? Yeah! Just like in TPN, your practically playing tag with your enemy. Your strategy as a killer or a survivor matters a lot if you want to win and reap the rewards of your victory. For me, this game reminds me a lot of the Goldy Pond Battle Arc but unlike in the Manga, the number of players (hunters and survivors) are greater in TPN. Emma and the other survivor’s task is different compared to the game because they have to stay alive within the alloted killing time instead of just deciphering machines and activating exits to escape the game area. In Emma‘s case though, they are literally trapped and living in Goldy Pond, the bloody arena! They can’t escape! I’m excited to see how this plays out in the event because NetEase Inc. might alter the basic mechanics of the game to follow the main story of TPN so it’s something to look forward to. Another thing to look forward to are the costumes, items, and other rewards that are based on the TPN characters that you all love and cherish!!! 🥳 HOW COOL IS THAT! 🤩 Fans may get a chance to earn Grace Field costumes or maybe an Emma sleeve. 😭 I’m looking forward on seeing an Emma-looking survivor doll running away from a Leuvis-looking hunter doll or maybe a Norman-looking survivor doll rescuing an Emma-looking survivor doll. 😍 Heck, I think it’s the other way around but it’s still soooo CUTE. 🥲

How do I take part in this event?

It’s easy, just bind your game ID number in the pre-registration page. It’s totally free too!

How do I obtain a game ID number?

The game ID can be obtained if your already an Identity V player. The game ID number is shown underneath your user name in the settings menu. If your not a player, you need to download the mobile game first and start the game. Don’t worry, your not going to be thrown in the killing arena right off the bat.

What is the Manor IQ Test?

The Manor IQ Test is a teaser game for fans to enjoy while waiting for the crossover event. It’s a super hard, time pressured IQ Test that enables fans to experience the difficulty level of the test the premium cattle kids have to take every morning. I advice switching on the sound effects because it adds up to the creepy factor and the pressure of getting a perfect score. 😰

How to get a perfect score in the Manor IQ Test to avoid getting shipped out?

If your a fan of the series, you know the importance of getting a perfect score in every test. Perfect score = another day to live (in their case, it’s 3 months to live until the time when they turn 12 and their hard earn scores are deemed useless). 🤬

I feel you Ray 😣 so, I’m sharing the answer key to you guys. 🤫 Following this will ensure you to earn a “perfect scorer” title. 😬

Several Survivors stand in a line. If the Explorer is 15th in line counting from both left and right, how many Survivors are in the line? Answer: 29

Emily is older than Martha, and both of their ages contain the number "2". The sum of the two numbers in Martha's age is less than 4, Martha is two years younger than Emma, and the sum of these three ladies' ages is 74. How old are Emily, Martha, and Emma? Answer: 32, 20, and 22

What number completes the pattern? Answer: 16

There is a box in front of you that contains an abundance of perfume, syringes, and flashlights. You can only get one item from the box each time you open it. How many times do you need to open the box to guarantee two of the same item? Answer: 4

What number completes this pattern? Answer: 3

Figure 1 (front view) and Figure 2 (top-down view) are two views of a structure built with cubes of the same size. At least how many cubes are used to build this structure? Answer: 17

Mike the Acrobat has 6 juggling balls- 2 black, 2 white, 2 red. The Mind's Eye takes 4 random juggling balls out of his room each time and always puts one back before taking another. After four entries/exits, what are the chances of her getting 2 black juggling balls, 1 white juggling ball, and 1 red juggling ball? Answer: 4/27

Which figure completes the pattern? (circle, triangle, and square ver.) Answer: (the first option) square, triangle, and circle.

Fold Cowboy's lasso twice and cut it from the middle. How many sections are there? Answer: 5

Survivors A, B, and C have different professions; one is a lawyer, one is a magician, and one is a painter. The Hunters made guesses about who does what: Hell Ember: A is the painter, and B is the lawyer. Bloody Queen: A is the lawyer, and C is the painter. The Ripper: A is the magician, and B is the painter. It turns out that each of them was right about one of the survivors. Therefore, what is the correct profession for each Survivor? Answer: A. Magician, B. Lawyer, C. Painter

Which figure completes the pattern? (boxes and lines ver.) Answer: (the last option) square with a horizontal line in the middle

Each icon below represents a number. What is the sum of the three icons? Answer: 8

How many sides are there when a tetrahedron is attached to an equilateral square pyramid with the sides that share the same area? Answer: 5

Based on the information below, what is YY? Answer: 0

What figure completes the pattern? Answer: (the third option) The triangle with four triangles in the center

After getting your score, make sure to scroll down to unlock the special chapter.

Enjoy and Be creeped out!

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Because the reality is you’ve been shipped out!

Yes! That’s the hard truth the TPN characters faced. The scores didn’t matter! At the end of the day, their still meat, a merchandise that must be consumed. The demons and caretakers gave them false hope that there is a way out, a chance to have a future but holding on to that illusion and fake happiness will lead the kids to their doom. It’s such a cruel world! I hope that they will be able to capture that sad reality of deception in the upcoming event and I know they will. The other dilemma that’s been perfectly portrayed in this game is “Work together vs Betray your comrades to ensure your safety”. Have you ever wondered why it’s not required for all 4 survivors to escape the game? Well, it’s just practical and realistic that way, right? But it also mean that the three players can offer up their last teammate as sacrifice to distract the hunter while they escape. (Just like what Ray thought during the Jail break Arc, he was willing to be the bait to distract Mama while the others escape.)

I’m looking forward in seeing you in the game as my teammate or AS MY VICTIM!!! Don’t worry, I’m still learning the game so I’m usually a dumb hunter or an airhead teammate. 😓 (Sorry but I’m working on it!)

If you noticed my username “MN0tes” in the game, be kind enough and let me know maybe we can even create a group or something. 😎

[scribeofmorpheus]

Covet of the Wolf  [2]

Pairing: Derek Hale x Reader (Lastname: Markolf)

Warnings: language, references of blood and injury.

A/N: I do love using Peter as a shenanigan plot driver, he’s so dramatic I couldn’t resist. Some characters from the previous series will begin to take backseat because i’m juggling waaaay to may characters. lmfaooo.

Leave a like or reblog if you enjoyed this chapter! It helps ☺

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~

“Peter,” Derek all but growled. You could picture his snarl without having to look at his face.

The dark silhouette stepped out of the shadow, “Hello, lovers.”

It was indeed Peter. Older, silver streaks growing in places that weren’t there the last time you saw him. His eyes were bloodshot from lack of sleep and wide—unsettlingly so. He cocked his head to the side, that shit-eating grin of his lining the skin around his lips. He seemed smaller somehow. Thinner.

You swallowed. The anger you felt towards Derek and your little—or perhaps big—argument was shelved to the back of your mind.

Derek marched down towards Peter so they stood on the same even ground. This wasn’t at all how you’d pictured their reunion. A hug may have been too much of a fantastical notion, but a handshake at the least seemed appropriate. They did neither, simply staring each other in the eye as if speaking through the flinches and blinks.

“What are you doing here?” Derek asked.

“What?” Peter held up his hands to show he bore no ill will. Then he reached into his back pocket and waved a card with delicate calligraphy letters on it. “I was invited.”

Derek snatched the card, “This is my invitation card. Did you break into my loft?”

“Can’t break in if you know where the key is,” Peter walked around Derek and headed for the homestead. “Best go greet the stunning brides to be. Y/N.” He tilted his head at you.

“Peter,” you half-smiled. It was a relief to see he was alright. The current situation, however, not ideal. You didn't know how to react, so you let the Hale's do all the reacting.

Derek grabbed Peter’s elbow, “What are you really doing here, Peter.”

Peter shrugged then winked, “It’s like I said. I’m just here for a wedding.”

 The tub was warm, reminding you of warm summers swimming in the lake as a kid. Your skin had started to prune, but you also knew that once you got out the tub, that meant facing Derek. Facing the tension.

An unexpected knock at the door made you gasp. Derek’s voice had that mix of concern and soft-spoken weariness: “You alright in there?” He wanted to make up. “I got towels.”

You glanced at the stack of towels on the shelf by the soap and smiled, “Come in.”

He opened the door slowly and walked with a low hanging head. He sat on the edge of the tub, not making eye contact.

“I’m sorry about earlier,” he ran his hand through his hand, the curling ends were still a foreign sight to see. They did shape around his face beautifully though. “I guess being here, with all the… I just forgot what it was like.”

“What what was like?”

“Being around family…feeling like a part of one.”

You took his hand and kissed between the dips on his knuckles, “Just so we’re clear, I’m not saying no. I just don’t think we should be thinking about marriage when we still don’t know the full effect of the mark.”

You kissed the bandage hiding his mark. He recoiled subtly, pretending to shift to a more comfortable sitting position on the floor.

“You can’t tell me it doesn’t bother you—”

Derek grumbled, head leaning back onto the tubs walls, “Of course it bothers me. It itches a little.” He smiled warmly.

You rolled your eyes, “That’s not what I meant. If the mark didn’t bother you, why do you get all prickly around Peter? And don’t tell me it’s always been that way…You avoided talking about him the last couple of months and now that he’s here you practically looked like you were ready to tear his throat out. Why?”

Derek shrugged, “It’s Peter.”

“Derek,” you sighed.

“Okay, I just…He never shows up out of the blue for no reason.”

“Maybe he missed you.”

Derek huffed, “I’m sure he did.”

You snaked your wet arms around his neck and whispered low, “I know if I didn’t get to see your handsome face for a long time, I’d be really, really lonely.”

Derek craned his neck so his lips were close enough to feel the heat of his cheeks and lips. You indulged in his open invitation and kissed him, deeply. Derek found your hand and laced your fingers in his.

 Maggie and Caleb were arguing about something in her room, you had been busy checking boxes, making sure everyone was dressed and all the flowers were in the right places. Derek and Peter hadn’t been seen all morning. You imagined they were out in the hills arguing or something.

Jonah needed not one but two shirt changes because he kept getting them stained.  The first stain was jam and the second was a coffee stain. Jonah didn’t drink coffee, but he did like peddling it out as a bribe for something. Esme had taken over Markus’s room for the day and Markus had returned from the airport with Stiles.

“Stiles,” you hugged him warmly, a frown pulling on your face. “I thought you were bringing Lydia?”

Stiles winked and pulled out a tablet, “I am, she’s just going to be a couple thousand miles away.”

You shook your head, “And they say romance is dead.”

“I’ll just go set this up in the barn quickly,” he smiled like a goof from ear to ear.

Maggie looked gorgeous in her dress, you had to run up to her room to drag Caleb by the collar away because they kept fighting over the pettiest squabbles. Derek and Peter reappeared just in time for the start of the ceremony. Neither looked too pleased. Derek made every effort to seem okay. You could tell he wasn’t. Even Stiles was behaving suspiciously around him, whispering with a frown of his own when they were together. Derek’s habit of secret-keeping was getting under your skin.

If you had had time to think, you would have found everything a little strange, but there was barely enough time left to get dressed before the ceremony started.

You couldn’t reach the zipper at the back of your bridesmaid dress. It was green, not a lime green that was too bright or a forest green that was too velvety and dark; the dress was almost deep emerald, not silky in material and tight. Maggie was never one for body-hugging dresses, she enjoyed wide felt skirts, and her preferences showed obviously in her choice of bridesmaid dress.

Out of nowhere, Derek’s warm hands met yours and he whispered something as he helped zip you up: “Green is definitely your colour.”

You blushed, the reflection in the mirror was breath-taking. Derek in a dark suit with no tie and an unbuttoned collar. You in the dress that complemented his human eyes. His large hands on your waist. The flush of your cheeks matching the shade of lipstick.

“I never thought I’d see the day,” you turned around and tugged his suit jacket. “We should take a picture. Commemorate the moment. Something tells me it will be a long time before I see you in a suit again.”

“Hmmm,” he leaned in and kissed you. “You’re hard to forget. Especially today.”

The first bell tolled.

You pulled Derek with you as you left the room, “Come, we should get to our places.”

 The ceremony was small, simple in a delicate and intentional way that could be described as classy. As Deaton officiated, everyone was thrown off when Esme had been the first to shed a tear during the vow exchange. The red ribbon that bound Maggie and Esme’s right hands was the only vibrantly rich colour that stood out. Caleb explained it was a homage to hand-fasting.

Stiles sat next to an empty chair occupied by his tablet, Lydia, who dressed for the occasion despite being miles away, watched through a laggy video chat connection.

The reception was quieter. A few people exchanged jokes and Caleb got hilariously drunk on white wine. You were a little tipsy yourself, snuggled next to Derek who smelled of a rather expensive cologne you weren’t used to.

Peter looked bored, so you ventured over to pick his brain a little.

“Peter,” you announced yourself as you sat down on the empty chair beside him.

“Don’t you look radiant today,” he sipped whiskey.

“Where’d you get that?”

“You’re family has quite the collection of alcohol in that alcohol cabinet of yours.”

You leaned close to whisper, “We aren’t supposed to steal from Dad’s cabinet.”

“Well,” Peter sipped his whiskey slower, savouring the taste. “I won’t tell if you won’t.”

You noticed he wasn’t wearing a bandage to hide his mark.

“You want to see it?” Peter raised a brow.

“What?”

“The mark.”

You looked over at Derek, he was in the middle of having a one-sided conversation with Jonah. You felt guilty but you didn’t know why.

“Yes,” you nodded.

Peter rolled up his sleeve. The mark was still—no longer moving under the skin. A raw colour, pinkish-red like a rash. The symbol was familiar to you. You’d seen it somewhere, or at least an iteration of it.

The crows from Deaton’s photograph, you realised. A double spiral.

You were drawn to the symbol, wanting to touch it, hoping it would hold all the answers if you just reached out…

Without warning, everyone’s heads pulled up, nostrils growing larger and then smaller. A werewolf tick. It was only the non-supernaturals that didn’t react; you, Stiles, Deaton, Maggie and Caleb. Them and Peter.

“Right on cue,” Peter took his final drink of whiskey.

Derek stood from his chair, an accusatory stare burning imaginary holes in Peter’s skull.

Peter reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a stake. He tossed it at Derek, “You’re gonna need that.”

“What did you do?” Derek’s eyes glowed blue, the stake shaking in his fist. The commotion drawing everyone’s attention. Your stomach churned and you felt nauseous.

“I may have run into some trouble,” Peter shrugged. “You weren’t answering my calls. I needed a little help.”

“So you led them here?” Derek moved quick, suddenly Peter’s shirt was bunched up in Derek’s fists. You sat back down. Vertigo getting the better of you.

“Can someone explain what’s happening?” Stiles asked the room.

Derek hissed, letting go of Peter’s shirt to grab his arm.

“It’s the order…” you whispered in realisation.

Stiles threw his hands up in the air, his next words coming out loud and exasperated: “I thought they weren’t a problem anymore.”

Peter frowned as if innocent, “See, I thought so too. But apparently, something crawled out of a very old box when we killed the old man walking around in my little nephew’s brain. And Astrid tells me it’s a sign of the end of days. Blah, blah, blah. So naturally, some wanted revenge. I—I may have overestimated my…ability to handle things and…well now I’m here.”

Maggie stood up from her chair, anger turning her skin a terrifying shade of red, “So you used my wedding as bait?”

Esme grabbed Maggie’s hand as if to hold her back.

“Safety in numbers,” Peter winked.

The barn doors flew off their hinges. Everything happened so fast. Snarls, slashing claws, a few curse words exchanged like it was Secret Santa. At one point, one of the last remnants of the order got close enough to Caleb to slash at his belly while he shielded Maggie. Out of the blue, two other people arrived, both men and both friendlies from what you could tell. One had a greying beard and short sandy brown hair. He was holding a shotgun because it would seem the Hale's didn't have any friends who baked or had a more domestic hobby than werewolf hunting. The other younger of the two was handsome, with sad eyes that drooped like a puppy's. They were a werewolf yellow, a colour you’d only ever seen on Jonah. His were more intense. Brighter. At one point, you thought you heard Stiles mutter the name, “Isaac.”

You didn’t care, there was no time to care about anything other than Caleb. You rushed over to Caleb’s side to tend to his wound. It was then, as you held his stomach and had trouble breathing that you realised just how beautiful he looked in his blue velvet suit.

 The ringing in Derek’s ears was superficial. The sharp stabbing pain it brought to his ears meant nothing next to the chaos unfolding in the room.

The white cloth on the joined dining tables was soaked on one end, a deep red, almost black under the candle light in the barn.

Derek’s heart beat rapidly. He hadn’t felt like this in a long, long time. Was it hopelessness? Fear? Dread? All of them at once?

Instinctively, his hand sought after yours. He could feel you, smell the faint scent of your perfume, behind him. But you didn’t take his hand.

Derek glanced behind him and saw you there, applying pressure to Caleb’s gut wound. Shock in your eyes. A look he swore to himself you’d never wear again. Not while he was by your side. But there it was, wide eyes and quivering lips failing to stay shut behind a clenched jaw. And this, all this destruction. The blood. The weeping brides—one out of anger, the other out of desperation. The blood soaked table cloth. And a severed head held in Peter’s hand. All this happened because of him.

Derek looked down at the mark that could pass for a rash on his arm. His claws extended and he tried to cut it out. But it simply healed back to normal.

This was all because of him. Him and that damned mark.

Standing beside him, unseen by all except Peter, was Alyster.

Dead Alyster living in Derek’s mind. Incorporeal, but all the same there, knocking about in his grey matter.

“Today was meant to be a happy day,” Alyster spoke with a faint shiver of regret. His voice contained to Derek’s consciousness. To the supernatural mark. Alyster’s face held a sadness permanently plastered to his drooping, lined eyes. “It would have been. If you had listened.”

Blood meandered from Derek’s nose to his chin. That smell. He knew that smell. It was pungent, earthy. The smell of decay. And it was coming from the severed head in Peter’s hand.

Suddenly the head began to mummify, skin turning leathery, cheeks sunken to the teeth.

Someone screamed, maybe it was Jonah maybe it wasn’t. A retch or two, some disgusted sounds. But Derek couldn’t focus on anything. His senses were running rampant.

Peter dropped the head. It didn’t land with a squelching sound. It didn’t land at all. Before it reached the ground, it turned to dust. Millions upon millions of finite skin particles reduced to a puff of dusty brown.

“You’re an asshole, Peter,” Derek was panting, his words wheezy.

“You should have answered my calls,” Peter’s face was glistening with sweat. “Jerk.”

Peter’s nose bled too. He didn’t seem to fight the pain. But Derek did. He held out, for as long as he could. Then, like lead balloons, both Peter and he fell. The mark burning like hellfire.

A connection severing from the collective. One of many considering the other dust piles on the floor.

Members of the Order of Sagittarius had just been killed.

And it was by their hand. Again.

[sxveme-2]

blueberry pancakes // bucky barnes

MASTERLIST

Description: A single mother. Juggling being a mom, a full time pediatrician, and a difficult ex who believed now would be the best time to finally be a father. A soldier ripped out of time. Ex-assassin turned superhero. Learning how to balance a new domestic life with handling demons of his past, while facing the trials of the future. a love story began over something as simple as chocolate chip pancakes with hidden blueberries.

Disclaimer: I do not own any original Marvel characters! All canon plots and canon characters belong to Marvel Comics and Marvel Studios. This is an original work. You may not publish it anywhere else

Status: Edited

Note: Takes place after endgame. I have elected to ignore Tony's death and Steve's leaving. Did not happen. Quick Reminder! My works are only published here, AO3 and on Wattpad, thank you.

Chapter Eighteen: The One With the His Job

Warnings: N/A

Word Count: 3054

He told her there was a danger with him. That there was always going to be a threat. He warned her what could possibly come if they went further. But neither cared. Neither wanted to stop. There were such strong feelings between the two that if they stopped, Lily would be left with something missing in her life. She didn't want to let him go, despite being hesitant to let him in. He created this new feeling of safety for Lily, yet here they sat. She knew what her parents were doing. It was recorded in studies that the Winter Soldier was unlocked through a series of Russian words, triggers that would set off the chemicals in his brain.

And for the first time, Lily felt scared around Bucky Barnes. But it didn't last long.

With his eyes squeezed tight, Bucky made his way towards Lily and Hunter. Fluttering those steel-blue eyes, Bucky looked at Lily, and she knew he was still there. He turned his back to the two, blocking the view of Lily's family. And he spoke, cool, calm, and collected.

"For two of the smartest scientists, you don't do a lot of research," Bucky began, "I don't work like that anymore. Now in about two minutes Captain America and the Falcon are going to walk through those doors. Do us all a favour, and just sit. And wait."

The clicking of a gun made Lily's heart stutter. It came from one of the three Osbornes. She whispered a quiet prayer, despite her lack of religious beliefs, and tugged the young boy closer to her. Her breathing was rapid and tears brimmed at the mossy iris of her eyes, creating a glass-like effect. It made her look like a real doll, just as Bucky called her. A small shuttering breath escaped her lips as she pressed a kiss to the soft tufts of blonde on Hunter’s head. If anything, she just wanted to shield Hunter from all of this. With what he had been through at such a young age already, Lily felt her heartbreak at the idea of him having to witness the events that would follow.

"Lily go to the car," Bucky whispered, glancing over his shoulder, "Please."

She didn't hesitate. Most people she was sure would try and stay and help, but Lily would be damned if she had Hunter stay in this cafe for a second longer. Without skipping a beat, the blonde tugged her son away from the booth and darted with him towards the car they had brought here that morning, rushing him into the back. The moment the doors closed, both Lily and Hunter let out a breath of relief. Leaning her head forward, Lily placed it on the top of her steering wheel, blinking away the tears that threatened to fall as everything began to settle in.

The sound of her phone ringing made every hair on her body stand on edge.

Glancing up, Lily sniffled while answering through her car. It was Rose. And dear God was the elder sister glad to hear from her. But nervous at the same time. She wasn't sure if Rose knew about what was happening, she could only assume so, seeing as the younger sister had been in the cafe not too long ago with Lily's best friend.

"Lily! Thank god you answered are you okay?" Rose's panicked voice quivered as it rang through her speakers, "Do you have Hunter? Please tell me you have Hunter?"

"Yeah, yeah Rose I've got Hunter. We're okay. We're in the car." Lily responded, her own voice barely above a whisper, "Are you and Gen okay?"

"Yeah...yeah, we're at Gen's apartment. I tried to take Hunter, I tried. But they...they ju- "

"Rose stop. It's okay...listen I'm with Hunter right now I'll call you back. Make sure Gen's okay, and just stay there." Lily finished, "I love you." and with that, the blonde ended the call, turning her attention to the clear shell-shocked boy that was sitting in the back seat.

"Mom is Bucky gonna hurt grandma, grandpa, and uncle Cedar?" his voice whispered, shaking and cracking halfway through.

Lily felt a ton of bricks smash against her chest. She herself didn't even know the answer to that. She trusted Bucky, yes. But this was also his job. To take down the people who do these sorts of things. Bring them to justice, by whatever means needed. And a part of her knew that there was a possibility she could lose her parents and brother within the next few minutes, but the other half of her knew that Bucky wouldn't. She felt deep inside that if it came down to it, he would let them live and be brought to legal task instead of violence. But Lily didn't know...but she couldn't leave Hunter hanging. If she did that, then he'd know her own thoughts on the matter. And it wouldn't help either case.

"No." she stated, tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ear, "No I don't think Bucky will."

And she was right.

Not too long later, the doors to the cafe swung open after the police screamed down the street. Lily watched with pain in her eyes as her parents, unscathed with a mere bruise or two were walked from the building, Bucky, Steve, and Sam following close behind. No one looked injured or hurt, and a sigh of relief escaped from Lily. Bucky glanced over at the car and excused himself from the trio, jogging towards the car. Lily watched as he opened the passenger side door, sliding in.

"Hey, Hunt buddy," Bucky whispered, shifting to turn.

"Hi, Bucky." Hunter returned, a sense of relaxation in his tone after seeing that no one had been injured, "Is everything okay now?"

Bucky's eyes met Lily's, and the two shared a moment of silence before he began to speak once again, "Yeah. Everything's okay now buddy."

-----

"How're you feeling, hun?" Lily whispered as she took a seat on Hunter's bed after tucking him in for the night, "Lots happened today. Is there anything you wanna talk about?"

"Why'd they do it?" the boy whispered, looking up at his mother, "Why did they do it, mom, I don't get it."

Lily let out a soft sigh, running a hand across the boy’s forehead, "I don't know bud. I don't. I wish I had an answer for you. Bucky's taking care of it. anything you need to know I'll tell you, okay? I promise." the blonde hummed, reaching her pointer finger out.

Hunter nodded and wrapped his smaller finger around hers. Pressing a kiss to the boy’s forehead, Lily stood from the bed. Flicking off the lights, she smiled gently at Hunter curling under his blankets before she shut the door to his bedroom. Digging the heels of her hands into her eyes, Lily walked down the stairs where Bucky, Sam and Rose were sitting in her living room. She smiled gently when they looked up at her before she took a seat next to Bucky on the couch.

"So this is a daily thing with you guys, hm?" Rose asked, sipping her water, "Like what do you guys do when people aren't trying to blow up the city or take over the world?"

The room fell silent except for the late-night news playing in the background. Bucky and Sam looked at each other with frazzled expressions as though they didn't even know what they did when there wasn't an imminent threat to the city or the world. Lily couldn't help but laugh at that fact. Out of the four of them, she lived the most basic and mundane life. Rose was a world-famous stylist and designer, Bucky and Sam were superheroes. Lily was just a children's doctor living in suburban Manhattan with a family and a dog. The other three had travelled all over the world, and Lily hadn't. So learning what these fantastic people did in their free time did seriously intrigue the girl.

"Yeah I mean there aren't always people trying to take over the world," Lily continued, sipping her glass of wine, "Do you like...go bowling?"

Bucky let out a laugh, his head rolling backwards, "Bowling? I guess so, I mean there is an alley in the compound. But we mostly just hang out at our own places really. Wait for the next mission. I help at the retirement home, Sam hosts a veteran support group. Steve never stops working." the man hummed, his arm draping across Lily's shoulders.

"Speaking of bowling," Lily sighed, readjusting herself, "Hunter's birthday is next week and I still have no idea what to do. He's getting older and it's harder to come up with ideas."

"How do we go from talking about Bucky and Sam being literal superheroes to Hunter's birthday," Rose chuckled, "But I'm not sure Lil. Maybe take them bowling I guess."

"Or bring him and a few of the kid’s friends by the compound," Sam suggested, "If the kid’s friends are anything like Hunter, I'm sure they'd love it. Run a watered-down version of a training thing to be an Avenger."

"I'd love that Sam thank you. I just want to give him something to take his mind off of everything going on." Lily shrugged, leaning further into Bucky.

-----

November seventh. The faithful day that Lily welcome her baby boy into the world around her. Into her arms, into the life of New York. Despite her not wanting kids for quite some time, she wouldn't take back having Hunter. She just wished he was the son of someone better. For his father was the person Lily wouldn't even wish upon her worst enemy. Every year since Hunter was born, Lily wanted to make his birthday special. She'd pull out all of the stops if it meant seeing her boy smile brighter than she ever had before. And in the times they were experiencing now, she knew he needed it, as did she, more than ever.

"So how do you know the avengers?" One of the kid’s parents, Jill, asked as everyone unloaded from the cars when they arrived at the compound, "Because Hunter's story seems a bit far-fetched, hun."

Lily sighed and rested her hand on her son’s shoulder and looked over at the woman, "What did he tell you, Jill?"

"That his mommy's seeing the Winter Soldier." the woman hummed, placing her own hand on her son’s shoulder, "Sounds like a fantasy."

"Fantasies can come true." A deep voice hummed. Lily couldn't help but grin at the feeling of a metal arm wrapping around her waist. Bucky. The small group of parents went silent as the man pressed a kiss to Lily's temple, "And only seeing? Here I was hoping we could refer to it as something a little bit more, doll." he teased, earning an elbow from Lily.

Lily felt her face heat up and her breathing catch in her throat. As much as she wanted to rub all of this in Jill's face, she still had that massive bundle of nerves inside of her that held her back. All of the parents here weren't exactly Lily's friends. She knew them from the PTA at Hunter's school and a few from her neighbourhood, and they were all very much those cliche suburban moms that would be seen in movies. Stuck up, believed themselves to be perfect with the perfect children. And Lily quite liked their children, but the mothers? Ugh, Lily couldn't stand them. However, they were insistent on joining the kids for the tour.

"Nice to see you finally have a man in your life," One of the other moms, Gina, hummed as the group began to walk towards the compound, "And a strong father figure for Hunter."

Lily glanced to the side, scoffing at her remarks, "I'm both Hunter's mother and father. And I don't need a man, Gina, I've raised Hunter alone his whole life essentially." she muttered, resting a hand on Bucky's arm to relax the tension.

Ever since the night Cedar attempted to break into Scott's apartment, something inside of Lily grew. A new side of her, she supposed. Growth, almost. A part of her knew that if she were able to stand up to Scott, the man who had destroyed any ounce of confidence she had throughout their relationship, who were Gina and Jill to hold her back. Of course, there was only a certain extent she would go to, for she was still nervous to even speak to people most of the time.

"Welcome to the Avengers compound!" Tony boomed as the doors opened for everyone to walk in, "If you'd like to join the little kiddos on the tour Just keep to the left here with Mr. Sam Wilson, aka the Falcon. and if parents would like a few drinks, follow me, towards the lounge."

A few of the parents joined the group of kids as they wandered down the hall. Hunter waved goodbye to Lily as she and the other parents made their way towards where Tony Stark was leading them. The small group of mothers and fathers whispered as Bucky tightened his grip on Lily's waist. The last thing Lily actually wanted to do was spend time with these parents, however, she was willing to sacrifice her sanity for a few hours if it meant giving Hunter the best day ever.

"Alright, Cyborg go help Nat bring out the refreshments while I get these people situated, hm?" Tony teased, patting Bucky's flesh arm, "Lily come, help me entertain your friends."

When Bucky's arm left Lily's waist, Tony took over by looping his arm with hers. Lily raised her eyebrow at the man as he took her over towards the rest of the group, sitting next to her on one of the couches. Lily gave the billionaire a quizzical look but he just nodded, as if telling her to simply go along with it. Lily and Tony had only spoken a handful of times, but he seemed fairly persistent about letting Bucky go get the things from the kitchen.

"So Lily," one of the fathers, Thomas, started, "it's really nice to see you get back out into the field. Not even just romantically, socially too. Maybe you'll actually come to the PTA group date nights, with someone other than Genevive." he chuckled, leaning backwards on his seat.

"She wouldn't attend anyway, Tommy. Lily isn't one for fun." Jill chuckled, crossing her legs, "What is it you do, Lily? Stay at home with your dog and kid. Come on, no one wants to see their kid that often. The only time I see you out is with Joey!" the woman continued, shaking her head.

Despite it being somewhat truthful, the woman's words stung a bit. Lily knew she didn't go out often and never really tried to connect with everyone around her. The only time she really did was when she was essentially forced, and she figured that's why Jill figured to go for a sensitive part in Lily's life. But then again, Jill was also a two-faced gossip who could never stay out of other people's business. Lily seemed to be her favourite topic of discussion, and her favourite to pick on. The blonde felt as though she were back in high school, or hell, even middle school. Jill was always going after Lily's insecurities, as though she could see right through her. It terrified the young mother, but Lily knew how much Hunter loved Jill's son. So she went through with it and sucked it up so her son could enjoy himself.

"Interesting comment...uh what was your name?" Tony commented, leaning forward slightly.

"Jill. Jill Reinhart." the redhead hummed, tilting her head to the side.

"Right. Jen, so like I was saying. Interesting comment. Lily here is actually quite in tune with fun. She attended a party I threw not too long ago and was an absolute hoot." Tony chuckled, squeezing the blonde’s shoulder, "And just because she actually enjoys spending time with her kid, who is a saint, doesn't mean she's any less fun. So."

The room fell silent. Lily looked over at the man with wide eyes as she took in what he had said. Jill always managed to find that soft spot, but Tony was quick to the jump. She figured this was why he had sent Bucky off, so he could deal with the clear teenage drama that was taking place inside of a group of adults. It probably didn't help Lily was the youngest of the entire group and was clearly the most vulnerable.

"W-well I was just- "

"No, jenny I really don't wanna hear it. Ah! here come Nat and Bucky with refreshments." Tony hummed, wiggling his eyebrows at the blonde before taking a seat next to nat as she sat down.

"you alright doll?" Bucky hummed as he walked over, reaching his hand out, "Mind joining me in the kitchen for a quick second?" he continued.

Lily nodded and took the man’s hand, standing from the couch. She glanced over her shoulder to see Jill sitting there with an absolutely shocked face. Lily smiled gently to herself as Bucky tugged her out of the lounge and into the hallway. A giggle escaped both of their lips as he spun her into his arms, leaning her up against one of the walls just outside of the kitchen. shaking her head, Lily wrapped her other hand into the man’s hair, enjoying the soft feeling of the dark tresses. He hummed softly, before bending down and pecking her lips.

"I was about ready to absolutely rip a new one off of that woman." Bucky chuckled as he pulled away, resting his forehead against the shorter girls.

"Mmm, that's Jill. Just a PTA woman. A real handful." Lily cooed, letting out a deep breath, "Now what can I help you with?"

"Well..." Bucky hummed, leaning back gently, "I was just wondering...seeing as we may as well be. And I absolutely adore spending time with you and Hunter is the sweetest boy...Do we want to I don't know...make it official? Basically, what I'm asking, Lily Osborne, will you be my girlfriend?" he finished.

A new sense of fear settled deep within Lily's stomach.

[stones-x-bones]

The Zombie Talk || Morgan and Bex

TIMING: Last Night PARTIES: @mor-beck-more-problems and @inbextween​ SUMMARY: Cooking Lessons With Morgan turns into Undead Life Lessons With Morgan. CONTENT: Domestic abuse mentions, Death mentions

“I know they look too tall for the pot, but trust me, you don’t need to snap the noodles to make them fit, okay? Just drop them in and stir them around a little. They’ll soften up in a few seconds. Then we just set a timer for seven minutes--” Morgan did just that. “And we’re almost done with dinner!” She gave Bex a gentle squeeze around the shoulders. This was only her second cooking lesson, so they were keeping to the easy stuff. Bex took instructions well, even if she distracted herself easily too. “Let me just flip over our assorted meatballs…” There were fish ones for Mina, mushroom for Bex and Deirdre, and brains for herself. “And you can check on the sauce! Not too shabby, right?”

Bex looked at the pasta in her hand and then to Morgan, before dropping the pasta in the boiling water. Boiling water she’d watched this time to make sure it didn’t burn. Morgan had made sure of that, too. “Just like this?” she asked as she set it in and started stirring it around a little. She looked over and watched as Morgan stirred the meatballs, smiling fondly. “Oh, right! The sauce!” She dropped the pasta spoon that she’d been shoving it down into the water with and went to stir the sauce. “This is easier than I thought it would be. I think I just get really distracted when I try. I don’t have a uh, good attention span.” She looked over at Morgan. “Am I doing good? What else do we need to do?”

“I’ve noticed,” Morgan said with a soft laugh. “But timers are your friend. And if you ever want to make something like this on your own, you certainly don’t have to have all your stuff going at once. Spacing it out so there’s less to juggle can be good too.” She took her eyes off the pan to look at the girl, how her excitement burst through her nerves, her fear. Her curiosity was the most wonderful thing to see. One day, when the worst of her parents’ work had fallen away, she would have so much joy in discovering the world she was really a part of. The magic she could learn, the supernatural beings she could know. She was so wrapped up in admiring Bex, she didn’t notice her hand coming down to rest on the side of the hot pan. “You are doing so good,” she assured her. “Keep this up and we’ll be moving on to breakfast and flipping pancakes soon. Just turn the heat for the sauce down to the last couple of notches, cover it up, and get back to stirring the pasta! It doesn’t need to be moved non-stop, but if you let it stay too long, it gets sticky.” She nodded encouragingly, her zombie senses too numb to even notice the steam rising from her flesh.

Bex tried her best to remember all the things Morgan was telling her, but sometimes her mind wandered. Blinking, she nodded. “Timers are good, got it. Except usually I forget to set the timer. So that’s what I’ll have to um, try and remember most.” Sometimes her brain just got ahead of her hands or what she was trying to do. “Oh, no, flipping pancakes sounds way out of my wheelhouse. I was still trying to break pasta, I don’t think that’s really--” but she stopped mid sentence because it smelled like something was burning. Something not normal. Her eyes wandered down to the steam, and in the next moment, she was crying out. “Morgan! Your hand!” Reaching out and grabbing her by the wrist as if to pull her away from the burning pot. But when her hand pulled away, the spot on her hand was raw and red, and before Bex’s very eyes, it seemed to start patching back up. Bex stared, wide eyed, but didn’t let go. Couldn’t. She was transfixed.

“Shit!” Morgan pulled her hand away, but it was too late to keep Bex from seeing her body...do what it did now. Bex was still staring, and Morgan was too at a loss to come up with any clever denials or light gaslighting. She laughed uncomfortably. “Stars, I haven’t done that in a while. Um, good catch. Thank you.” She flipped the last of the meatballs, covered the pan, turned down the heat. “I can take over the stirring if you wanna sit down, or text Mina to get here soon.” She took up the spoon and started stirring, her gaze consumed by the thin spaghetti swirling around. Maybe if she just didn’t say anything one way or another, Bex would dismiss it on her own. No lying, no explanations. This would be normal and not worth talking about with anyone else in the house. Maybe brushing this off as a non-event was technically a very honest thing to do. 

Bex could only stare. She registered Morgan talking, she knew that things were happening and that this was real, but she could only stare. Her body hadn’t caught up to her mind yet. “I already texted Mina,” she said, transfixed still. She didn’t know what to think. Maybe she didn’t think anything. Maybe she thought too much. But the only reality that she was aware of at the moment was that Morgan had burned most of the skin of her hand off and it had healed almost instantly. She reached out tentatively for her hand. “How did you do that?” 

Morgan didn’t say anything at first, just stirred the pot and checked her timer. But the seconds wouldn’t fall away any faster just because she wanted them to. “It’s just something my body does now,” she muttered. “I heal, fast. From anything. Literally. There’s only a couple of kinds of harm in the world that have any long-term effect on me. Of course, they’re fatal or almost-fatal. And as you’ve probably noticed, my senses and my body temperature are uh…” Morgan hung her head. There wasn’t an easy to dismiss way to say this, was there? “Not what someone would generally consider standard for a human. It’s okay,” she added, maybe more to herself than to Bex. “It’s just something that is.”

Bex was confused. Morgan told her bits and pieces about herself, about who she was in the past, and who she was now, and how her body had changed. But she didn’t understand. The pieces didn’t quite fit together in her head. “Does now?” she asked, looking down at Morgan with confused, but contemplative, eyes. She wanted to understand, she wanted to know why Morgan’s body was the way it was and how it was possible that someone could heal instantly from a wound like that. “Is it...magic?” she asked tentatively. That was all she knew, that Morgan believed she was magic and her family had been cursed and so, therefore, that’s what this was then, right? Could magic really do that? 

“Yes,” Morgan said quietly, still stirring the pot, still not looking at Bex. “It’s a kind of magic. But it’s...different from witch magic. It’s not something that can be controlled or taken back. I’m uh…” she paused, steadying her voice in advance. “I’m immune to spellcasting. It won’t work on me, and I don’t work on it. Not anymore. It’s just been a little less than a year now. Of me being like this. I’m still getting used to it.” Her voice dropped as she spoke, barely above a whisper. “Please don’t worry. It just is, okay?”

“Immune? That-- that’s possible?” Morgan said not to worry but Bex was beginning to. There were so many things about this world that she didn’t understand. “I--” she started, stopped. She didn’t know what to say. She could tell Morgan was struggling with answering her questions, but she wanted to know. She needed to know. “I’m sorry. I don’t want to pry, I just-- I wanna understand. How-- your hand it--” She didn’t know how to ask it. She didn’t know what to ask, she didn’t know what answers she wanted. “How did you...get like this?”

At this point Morgan realized that she had already consigned herself to explaining the truth as soon as she chose to acknowledge Bex’s questions. She didn’t want to, exactly, but she didn’t see how she could keep the lid on this much longer. Bex would only ask again after dinner, or the next morning. And whatever time it came around wouldn’t feel like a good time to do this, because Morgan would just see the people she’d told, running away and never coming back. Morgan set aside the spoon and checked her timer. Then she said, “It was because of my...accident, last April. I don’t generally tell people about it. It tends to frighten them, having the whole truth. And it was frightening at the time. And it led to some of the hardest days I’ve ever had. But that’s not why it frightens people. I can tell you it’s probably not something you want. And not just because it’s permanent.” She took in a deep breath, reminding her body what calm felt like, and exhaled. “Are you sure you want to know about this right now?”

Bex remembered Morgan had mentioned an accident before, and that it had been bad. But she hadn’t thought that an accident could change someone so drastically. She wasn’t that oblivious, she understood that whatever had happened probably wasn’t normal, especially with the way Morgan talked about how she was different before it and after it. But she didn’t know enough to make any guess as to what. Concern furrowed her brows and she inhaled nervously, wringing her hands together. “Yes,” she finally said, “I...want to know about you, too. You’re...important to me, and even if it’s scary or hard, I want to know, too. I mean, Nell already told me about demons and not quite human people, which I’m a little concerned about but--” now wasn’t the time. She licked her lips. “I want to understand, if you want to tell me.”

Morgan laughed, breathless and humorless. If Bex was concerned about hypothetical not-human people, what was she going to think about living with one, or being close to one? 

The timer went off. Morgan jolted and turned off the alert, then shut off the heat and put the lid on the pasta and checked the other burners, making sure things were in stasis, just warm, not burning or separating. When she ran out of tasks to do with her hands, she folded her arms over herself and picked at the pills of lint that had gathered on her shirt. “I am not-quite-human people, Bex,” she mumbled. “Not always. I was like you before that. But—come on, let’s sit down.”

She didn’t know if she was stalling or admitting the truth of the matter to herself, but either way, it would probably be better. Morgan got each of them a cold glass of water from the fridge and grabbed one of the bar stools at the kitchen island and sagged slowly into place. “There is a lot of supernatural bullshit tied up in this, but...I was looking for the ghost of the witch who cursed me. And I did, but she got away. But she was following me, making sure I knew she was around. And then one day, I was out...getting fucking ice cream with my best friend of all things, knowing there’s an angry spirit trying to kill me. An ice cream stand on Main Street. And then...I don’t remember what happened first. She was very clever and elaborate about it, I’ll give her that. But the next thing I knew I was on the ground and there was a pole running through my insides and there were cars honking and steam and exhaust coming from places they shouldn’t, and I was bleeding very fast.” She held herself a little tighter. “Deirdre came. And she was the last thing I saw before I died. What I didn’t know was that while I was trying to talk to her while bleeding out like that, my best friend bit me.” She unsnapped the leather cuff she wore over her right wrist to show Bex the scar. “And my friend was, is, something called a draugr, or revenant, or more in more common parlance, a zombie. They didn’t want to watch me die. Not for good. And so they didn’t. I woke up differently a day later. Like them. A zombie.”

Bex made her way over to the table, suddenly worried that the food was going to overcook or burn or something. But Morgan seemed resigned, and she covered everything, and she was motioning for Bex to follow her, which meant whatever this was, it was going to be hard. She’d had many talks like this, but across the table had never been a comforting face. She sat slowly, watching Morgan closely. Her eyes went down to the cold glass of water in front of her before drifting back up to listen to Morgan, hands fidgeting in her lap. And she listened as best she could, really, she did, but there were so many things that were making her head spin. Ghosts, curses, a ghost witch, and dying. Morgan had died. But she was here, right now, sitting in front of her. But she had died. It made sense. Didn’t it? Cold skin, hard time sleeping, healing instantly. It made sense, but it didn’t. Because people didn’t die and come back to life. People just died. They just died and that was it and if they were good, they got to come back and do it again. But this-- this was different. This wasn’t real. Bex reached out and grabbed the glass of cool water. It made her shiver. This was real. She took a long sip. She opened her mouth to say something, then stopped. Closed her mouth. Tried again. Nothing. She didn’t understand. “You...died. And now you’re...not a witch. Because a...ghost killed you.” Her hand tightened on the glass. “Zombies are real?” Her gut twisted. “Are you-- do you-- are zombies like vampires?” Are you dangerous? Are you going to hurt me, too? 

Morgan laughed dryly into her water as she tried to drink. She could hear Bex’s fear in her voice, the library of horror movies her brain was flipping through, the macabre guessing games her anxiety was playing. Slowly, she set her glass down. Her eyes caught on her hands, a little greasy from cooking, but otherwise pristine. They didn’t hold the story of the teas she made or the pies she baked or the letters she’d written. There was no trace of the times she’d nicked herself working on her art projects or the gardening she did or the people she’d hurt. They were as ordinary as they were empty, but one name could change all of that in someone’s eyes instantly.

“Yes, zombies are real,” she said at last, careful and quiet. “A lot of things humans think exist only in folklore in horror movies are real. Werewolves, selkie, nymphs, ghosts and poltergeists, pixies, gnomes, leprechauns, and yes, vampires and zombies. It is a great big supernatural world out there and there are probably secrets in it even the oldest scribes don’t know.” She breathed slowly. She suddenly wished very hard that she could get drunk just one more time. “I’m undead, like a vampire. And I can’t get any nutrition from your average human food, like a vampire. I’m…” she shrugged haplessly, unable to meet Bex’s eyes. “I’m still a person, like most vampires. Not all, not spawn, but the rest of us...we’re just people who died and came back different. I don’t know if that answers your question. You’ll have to be more specific, honey…”

“But if--” Bex started, stopped. There was a lump in her throat. If that woman had been a person, then Dani had murdered her. Her chest felt hollow. That woman had attacked her. Out of nowhere. For no reason. “But if they’re people, too, then why would they attack someone?” She knew she wasn’t making sense, but none of this made sense in her own head. It was all jumbled. The problem was that there were too many questions. She couldn’t find the words for them. Her head was spinning. She wanted to go lay down. She wanted to pretend she’d never asked. She wanted to go back to her old life, where she didn’t have to worry about blowing things up, or demons, or not-people people, or zombies, or vampires, or werewolves or whatever else Morgan was telling her existed. Her hands were shaking again. She was still trying to wrap her head around the idea of magic. And now there was this? “Do zombies do that, too? Eat people?” Her hand went up to her neck subconsciously, resting on the cloth of the turtle neck. 

Morgan was silent for a while, trying her best to keep the rising tears out of her voice. “Why does anyone hurt anyone, Bex? Either they’re making cruel choices for their own reasons or they’re desperate.” She cleared her throat and drank more water, trying to play off the cracks in her voice as something ordinary. “Zombies are born...wild, like many vampires. No higher cognitive function, just impulse and hunger. If either of them don’t receive immediate care and attention when they wake, there is a high risk of people getting hurt. But as long as they have resources and take care of themselves, they’re both able to choose for themselves. I expect humans starving to death sometimes face a version of those questions too.” She didn’t know how to be impartial about this. How was she supposed to look at Bex and watch her entire view of her dangle by a thread? How was she supposed to keep from begging her to understand, to see her, to put everything else she knew about her first and know it was just as true as the rest? “I eat brains. Cows and pigs and deer, mostly. Sometimes smaller animals. It doesn’t have to be people, so I don’t. I don’t eat people…” At last she let her head fall into her hands; she couldn’t stomach the weight any longer. “Are you afraid I’m going to hurt you, Bex?” She asked. “Please tell me. It’s--” Not okay. Because none of this was okay. All her life she’d ached and struggled, searching for the right people she could be honest with, safe with. And now every time she tried to be honest, she had to have conversations like this. “It’s really important that you tell me honestly. I...I can move away from you, if you are.”

“But that doesn’t--” make sense. That woman hadn’t seemed feral. She knew exactly what she was doing when she grabbed Bex, when she threw her to the ground, when she bit her. Bex’s face screwed up into a look of confusion and fear. She didn’t know the answer to that question. She listened to Morgan talk, and it made sense, it did, really-- but she couldn’t ignore what had happened to her, either. She looked over at Morgan, saw her hunched over, head in her hands. Morgan was good to her, she always had been. Bex had no reason to believe Morgan would hurt her. And like Morgan had said, supernaturals were like humans-- some were good, some were bad. That had to be the case. That had to be. What else was she supposed to do, other than accept it at face value and ask questions later on, when maybe, just maybe, she could understand a little more, a little better. If that day ever came. Would that day ever come? She grabbed the water glass again. Took another long drink. “I don’t...No. I think. I--” Her hand tightened around the glass. “So you don’t have to...eat people? Do vampires have to?”

Bex’s indecisive stuttering was close enough to a ‘yes’ for Morgan to peel herself off her stool and walk to the end of the room until she could lean against the fridge, holding herself tight. “No,” she said, voice flat. “I don’t have to eat people. Vampires don’t have to eat people either, mostly. Although at least one species eats misery and suffering, so it might depend on how strict your definition of ‘eating people’ is. They can’t exactly get feelings from something after it’s been killed.” She swallowed thickly. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I know this is a lot.”

Bex watched Morgan get up and walk away. She didn’t know how to make any of this better. She didn’t like this. Why couldn’t things have just stayed the same? Why couldn’t she believe Morgan when she told her she’d never hurt her? She turned herself to face Morgan again. This world sometimes felt like it was going to open up and swallow her whole, but through all of it, Morgan had always been there. From the very beginning. She sat in that cafe with Bex and she watched her fall to pieces and run away and she still decided Bex was worth it. Somehow, for whatever reason. Didn’t Bex owe Morgan that same kindness? She swallowed, reached up, and pulled the neck of her shirt down to expose the two scabs. “I’m not afraid of you, Morgan,” she said quietly, “I’m afraid of this world. And you--” she let go and turned away again. “You were safe. You were always safe.”

Morgan looked up and gasped when she saw Bex’ bite. “Stars above, when was this? Oh, Bex, you need to--” She was rushing forward already, wanting to help, to care, but she remembered why she was so far in the first place by the time she’d closed half the space between them. Her hand, outstretched, faltered. She was stranded, and lost for which way to move forward. “W-were?” She repeated. Did that mean she wasn’t anymore? Did Bex feel betrayed, because Morgan hadn’t wanted the girl to see her as a creature? “I don’t-- D-do you not want me to, um--” She shivered. “Just tell me what you want, Bex. Whatever you want me to do, I’ll do it. If I can make you feel--” She struggled with the word, knowing how precious it was to her and how much more it must mean to Bex. “--feel safe again. As safe as you were, or more, I will. If you want to stay somewhere else for a while I can help do that too. Just--please tell me.”

“The other night,” Bex admitted quietly. “I didn’t want to worry you, so soon after Frank…” And she didn’t want her looking at her the way she was now. Bex knew nothing of this world because people kept deciding for her what information she was privy to. People she was supposed to trust, people who said they cared about her. Was she really mad, though? Hadn’t it taken her this long to tell Morgan about herself? The feelings were all mixed up. The water glass beside her cracked. She remembered asking to spend the day with Morgan just a few days ago, and she remembered the little flag Morgan had given her and how it hung in her room now, and she remembered the warmth the other woman always had, despite her skin being so cold. Morgan was nothing like the woman who attacked her outside the library. She just needed to remind herself of that. That Morgan was an adult who wouldn’t hurt her. Who promised she’d never hurt her. Bex turned to look back at Morgan, frozen halfway in the middle of the kitchen. “Why didn’t you tell me sooner?” 

“Historically speaking, this kind of conversation, where I tell someone what I am and what happened to me, hasn’t gone well,” Morgan said, dropping her gaze to the floor. “If there’s a way to do this without making people at least think about running the other way, I haven’t found it yet. And when you first came here, the word magic was hard enough, and I was afraid you’d think I was lying, or pathologically delusional, and I couldn’t handle thinking of that, and then after, I um…” Her face twisted with shame. “I was afraid you’d look at me different. That you wouldn’t w-want me, around or anything like that. I’ve wanted to tell you over this last week so badly, and I am sorry, because I know how important having the truth is to you. I thought maybe I’d come up with a way to do it better than before, or I’d at least get used to the idea of you leaving and not wanting to come back in case I did really, really badly enough.” Her body clenched and she went quiet, swallowing the sobs that were trying to rush out of her. “I do appreciate your rationale, if that’s what you want,” she rasped. “And I can tell you anything else you want to know, or give you some books about it, if that’s better, in case there’s something you don’t know to ask about. Please--please know I’ve meant everything I’ve ever said to you, especially about how much I care about you. Because I do. So much, Bex. So whatever you need, whatever will make you feel safe, I’ll do it as best I can, no matter what that turns out to be.”

Bex felt that deep in her heart. She could recall the many times she tried to tell someone about herself, and the catastrophic results each time. The looks of disgust, the shame, pain. People didn’t understand. It wasn’t the same as being undead, that was-- Bex didn’t even have words for it yet-- but it hit the same chord. The same strings that pulled at her heart. She wrapped her arms around herself. Morgan was the first adult Bex had trusted. The first person she’d been able to look in the eyes and let touch her. Even just a small brush of her hair, or a reassuring hand on her shoulder. “I know I’m...still figuring all of this out. And that maybe I...don’t quite understand everything, but...I just want the truth. From the people I trust. I just want...to be able to decide for myself. And I--” she looked over at Morgan. She wanted to reach out to her. “I think--” She started. Stopped. “There’s too many questions right now,” she finally said. Morgan looked as tired as Bex was confused. “You’re...important to me. And I like staying here. And I don’t want this to...change how I feel. A-about you. I’m just...confused? No...that’s not…” her face screwed up as she tried to find the right words. “Processing? I-- I just learned that m-magic was a thing. And now there’s vampires and zombies and fae and-- but it’s just-- how does it work? How are you-- how did you come back? You said your friend bit you, but how does that-- resurrection is, is hard. Taboo. It’s-- the Torah says--” she was babbling now, but she couldn’t stop. Her mind was racing faster than her mouth. Maybe she could talk herself into believing Morgan wouldn’t hurt her. She looked at Morgan again and saw her mother, with sharp eyes and long nails, standing beside her. Her mother was more monster than Morgan. Bex wiped her eyes. “I want to believe you. I know you won’t hurt me, so why is this so hard? I don’t want to go anywhere else. I want to stay here. With you. And Mina and Deirdre and the cats. It’s safe. I’m safe here,” she rambled, her words turning into strings of sobs, “Right? I’m safe here?”

A plaintive whimper squeaked out of Morgan as she fought herself to stay composed. From what she could hang onto of Bex’s words, everything between them hadn’t been destroyed, not yet, but she wasn’t sure, and she thought Morgan might be walking heresy against her faith and it was all so fragile and everything inside Morgan was screaming to do whatever she needed to keep this, even if somehow that was also the thing that might make her lose it. 

The last of her resolve crumbled when she heard Bex cry. Her head shot up, any embarrassment she had for the tears running down her cheeks sidelined by truth she was sure could never be debated. “Yes,” she said. “You’re safe here. Always, Bex. I would never intentionally do anything to hurt you, and I would put myself between you and anyone or anything that would. I lo--” She stopped herself and coughed out a sob, covering her lapse in judgement. That wasn’t a kind thing to say while Bex was still deciding, was it? And what if Bex didn’t like the idea of a zombie not-mother at all? “I care about you so very much.” And more than anything else right now, she wanted to comfort her. But how could she rush to her when she was the reason in the first place?

Morgan scrubbed haphazardly at her face, but her crying had washed her resolve away completely and she couldn’t seem to get it back no matter how she tried. “I wasn’t resurrected,” she said, barely above a whisper. “I mean, it wasn’t necromancy. There weren’t any rituals or sacrifices. No one did anything to me. I mean, not in a spellcraft way. My friend, Remmy, t-the one who stopped by so I could drive them to a friend’s birthday, they spent years in a warzone and they didn’t want to see someone they cared about just die for no good reason, but it’s just a bite, it’s  just…” she fumbled with the leather cuff she kept around her wrist to cover it up and finally ripped it off. “It’s some kind of magical-chemical reaction that happens when zombie teeth break living human skin. It’s organic, obscure supernatural biology. It happens to every human who gets bitten after they die.” She showed Bex her wrist, as if it might prove something beyond itself. “There’s other things, like my blood turning back and my bones getting sort of...bendy. They don’t break, is what I mean. And all my senses are dull, except for sight and sound. But they can be severed. But I can grow them back, a-and…” One of Morgan’s sobs finally broke free. And so many other things, she wanted to say. I’m not thinking straight but if you keep asking me, or if I remember, I’ll tell you if that’s what makes the difference. “I don’t want this to be hard. It was really hard for me too. It still is, but I want better for you, I do.”

She hadn’t meant to, but Bex felt her body recoil when Morgan moved again. It was just instinct. She hated it. Why had they done this to her? Why was she this way? So broken, so fragile. Her heart skipped a beat and the glass cracked again. Water began to leak from it slowly onto the table. Bex bit down on her lip, hard enough to focus on that, on one thing. Like Nell had taught her. Focus on one thing. One emotion. She tried not to let another sob out. “I care about you, too,” she finally managed to say, stuttered through heavy breaths and repressed sobs, “I know you won’t hurt me. I know you won’t.” She repeated the words a few more times, until her mind was reassured, too. Morgan wasn’t her mother. Zombie or not, undead or alive, she’d proven she would never raise a hand to Bex. And Bex still didn’t know why Morgan extended such kindness to her, why she thought Bex was worth it, but in the moment, right now, it was all Bex could hold onto. She took in another deep breath and held it. She was crying again.

“Not resurrected,” Bex repeated, but the words felt jumbled in her mouth, thick through her tears, “okay. Zombies aren’t-- they’re different. Okay. I can-- okay.” She still felt her mind struggling to piece together everything Morgan was telling her. But how was she supposed to understand any of it when she could barely understand herself? Maybe this was the honesty Morgan was talking about. But everything Morgan was saying felt...so far beyond Bex’s comprehension of what was real and what was fiction. What was fact and what was legend. She rubbed her temples. “You...mentioned the taste bud thing before. So that’s because-- not because of a condition, but because you, you’re-- dead?” The sentence still made her head spin. She was beginning to feel nauseous. “And you eat...brains. So, well-- I guess that’s accurate…” She pressed her palms into her eyes and sat up again, looking over at Morgan. She didn’t look like a zombie, at least not the kind you saw on TV. Or in most media. But a few months ago Bex hadn’t even believed in magic, and here she was now, so, really, why was this any different? She smoothed her palms down her jeans, trying to rub the tears from her hands so she could swipe them away again. She breathed in deep and held it. In for three, out for five. Morgan had taught her that. “I’m-- not mad,” she decided, “Confused...worried...a little out of my depth but...not mad,” she mumbled. “How could I be mad? I didn’t tell you about me right away. I know it’s not the-- the same. Being undead is um...very different from being trans, but it’s-- you know…” She hoped Morgan knew, because she didn’t know. She only knew that if she kept talking, it would give her mind time to relax instead of fly into another frenzy of thoughts. “Honestly it’s-- it’s still overwhelming, but it’s-- I’m not mad. How could I be mad? You’re-- you let me come here without any questions and you’ve been so good to me.”

Morgan flinched back when Bex did, and tried to keep her responses to short nods of confirmation from then on. “I know,” she croaked. “It’s a part of me now. It’s different too, because of the um, the whole dying trauma. And because it hurts. Not feeling the world the way I used to hurts so much sometimes, I don’t even know how to describe it. But it’s not a value marker. It doesn’t mean anything beyond itself. It’s just…” Her mouth worked and she tried and failed to keep back another sob. “It’s something that happened to me. Something I am now.” Morgan tried very hard to be at peace with what she was saying, but floating in Bex’s cognitive limbo, she remembered the awful silences of her first month, every bewildered and horrified look she’d gotten when she tried to explain, all the compromises and accommodations she made to bridge the gap between herself and the world, every day. 

She gasped, feeling her lungs getting stuck, and took several long breaths. “Okay. You’re not mad. But--what are you, then? I mean...you still haven’t told me what you want me to do. If you need space, or something else. How you want me to be, if you want things to be different.” If you don’t want me too close, if you don’t want me to touch you… But Morgan couldn’t say any of that so she put her face in her hands and tried to rub her tears away. 

“I’m not upset,” Bex repeated, “o-or frightened. I’m just...processing? I-- I don’t know the right word for it. I just found out magic is real, I’m still trying to figure out where I fit in that part of the-- whatever is going on. And now there’s vampires and zombies and werewolves. It’s--” too much, “--just a lot to process. I don’t know what I need. Time, I-I guess? I--” she rubbed her hands together, squeezed, knuckles turning white. The smell of marinara sauce filled the air. She glanced over at the stove, then back to Morgan, eyes sinking to her hands. Her perfectly fine hand. Bex heard the waver in Morgan’s voice, the desperation to know what to do to make things better. She knew that even if she didn’t understand, if she couldn’t quite process what was going on, she needed to be okay with it. She wanted to be okay with it. With this strange world she’d suddenly been cast into where vampires were real and waited outside of libraries for you, and zombies could be English professors who let you stay in their home with no strings attached, and people could wield fire like a weapon. She didn’t fit into this world. She shook her head. “You’re...you. Being-- undead doesn’t change that f-for me. I-- I won’t run away. I’m done doing that--” or so she hoped, but the feeling was always there, wasn’t it?-- “I don’t want anything to change. I like...I like sitting on the couch with you and watching Grey’s Anatomy, or some stupid Netflix movie. And I like-- I like it when--” she inhaled sharply. “I’m not used to being held o-or cared for like-like you do. But I just...I just need...just...give me time?” 

Morgan wiped her face again, but she was only spreading her tears around and making things worse at this point. “Time. Right.” She looked up and forced herself to smile. “Of course. Just—ask me, if you want to know something else, or tell me if you change your mind.” She backed away meekly, edging toward the stove. “I have things covered in here, if you’d rather wash up or do something else.” She turned away and busied herself with cleaning her hands and checking on the food. If she watched Bex go, she would only cry harder, and it was trouble enough keeping herself from dripping into the marinara.

It was strange, Bex thought, how she could feel so much safer and welcomed in a house with someone who had just told her she was a zombie. That she had died and come back to life, and now she felt like a different version of herself. It should have made Bex go running, really. These things weren’t supposed to be real. They were supposed to be fiction, stories you told children to scare them away from doing anything too stupid. But, sometimes, the real monsters were the people who told the stories. Morgan was backing up now, heading back towards the stove to check on the food. Bex looked back at the water cup on the table, put her hand around it to try and stop the leak. She didn’t know yet if her feelings would change, but right now, she knew how she felt. When she moved her hand away, the crack in the glass was gone. She rose from the table and followed Morgan over to the stove, standing idle nearby for a moment, before she reached out, prodding Morgan’s hand. Bex had always known Morgan was a small woman, she was at least a head shorter than Bex herself, but she’d never looked small before. She did right now, though, and Bex didn’t know how to fix that. She didn’t have any words left to reassure, so, instead, she just wrapped her arms around the older woman and burrowed her head into her shoulder. “I don’t wanna leave,” she said into her shirt, “I like it here.” She wished she could stay there forever. But she knew that wasn’t possible. One day, she would have to leave. Or her parents would come for her. So, for now, no matter what, whether Morgan be a zombie or a witch or a whatever, Bex wanted to stay. That could be enough, she decided. That could be enough.

[mizufae]

4, 9, 21, 30, 48, 68

SO MANY ASKS, MY BOREDOM RECEDES

4. how did your elementary school teachers describe you?

ugh. I was the super smart but smelly kid, basically. I got placed in a GT core program in 4th grade (gifted and talented) and even there I was immediately shuffled to the second to last rung on the social ladder, I was the most normal one of the kids who ate erasers and were obviously autistic. Like also, I guess I was described as “an old soul” and “rude” because I used bad words. Before the GT program I was a bookworm and before that I was “extremely shy” but in 2nd grade I woke up one morning and was suddenly obnoxious. I suspect that my teachers didn’t know what the hell to do with me most of the time, but I always got really good grades despite refusing to do a lot of homework so it was kind of hard to crack my nut, I guess. One time in fifth grade I was called “tactless”.

9. favorite smell in the summer?

Honeysuckle on a warm clear night.

The town I moved to when I was seven years old has a big festival every year with craft booths and outdoor concerts and lots of food and carnival stuff and they have fireworks! It was within walking distance of our house, so every summer we’d walk there in the afternoon and spend a couple evenings there. This was how I saw Carbonleaf for free about a month before they made it really big! Anyway, here is the memory:

Walking home at night, sticky leather sandals on my feet. My friend met up with me while at the festival and she peels off to get to her neighborhood a few blocks along. My mom and dad are meandering about half a block ahead of me. I have a cracked glowstick around my neck, it’s a soft green and pink. The firework smoke has mostly cleared and the nearly full moon washes the dark streets with enough light to navigate without the flashlight my mom had tucked in her purse. The streets on this block don’t have sidewalks so we have to be careful, but everyone is walking home around this time so it’s not too dangerous. The breeze passes through and any lingering smoke is blown away, replaced with a floral waft. I don’t understand what it is until I bump into my parents who have stopped. My dad is picking at a bush that’s grown over a chainlink fence. “What are you doing?”

“Eating honeysuckle,” my dad responds. I make an incredulous noise. “You can eat it, see? You pick a flower, like this, without any leaves on the bottom, and then pinch off the bottom. The stamen will come through and pull the nectar down... Then you suck it like the bottom of an ice cream cone. It’s sweet. Here, try it.”

After I try one and mangle it, my dad prepares one for me. I’m surprised. I’d only eaten pansies before, and those tasted like mint and parsley had a baby, not sweet at all. “Can you eat the petals?”

“Yeah, but they don’t taste like anything. Here, you want more?”

“I can do it this time.”

“Okay, be careful though, don’t pick any too low down, dogs can pee on it.”

“Ew, Dad!”

At this point my mother chides us on back home, but I pulled off a big tendril to pick at the rest of the way.

21. obsession from childhood?

When I was little I was terrified of most things, but a big thing that really freaked me out was clowns and also people in mascot costumes. As an adult I have made some uh... progress on this (am I a furry? am I a clownfucker? I not NOT those things...) but anyway in an attempt to get me to maintain my chill if I accidentally found a clown or mascot at one of a million children friendly places where such characters appear without warning (the zoo, a baseball game, the mommy and daughter beauty pageant my mom idiotically signed us up for when I was like, three... every halloween ever... the library...) they rented this movie that was like, a behind the scenes clown circus documentary.

I have spent a solid 20 minutes trying to look it up just now and it is ungoogleable because of all the trendy murderous clown bullshit these days, thanks a lot stephen king, but anyway. My older brother had to watch it with me the first time but it was like... the clown showed how he went from just a guy through every step of putting on the makeup and costume, and some juggling stuff and some other tricks, and what makes a funny physical joke, and some other circus things... And then he took off the clown outfit and became a regular guy again. I WAS OBSESSED. Apparently, I requested we rent this movie from blockbuster EVERY TIME for MONTHS to the point where blockbuster offered to sell us the VHS. I still remained scared of clowns for years after this but it helped me out a lot and also it’s connected to my whole thing about practical effects. I also watched the jim hensons secrets of the muppets thing about twenty bajillion times, it all exists in the same space in my brain.

30. places that you find sacred?

Gazebos and thresholds, mostly. Also I once had a religious experience staring at a Van Gogh in the National Gallery of London. It was Wheatfield with Crows. I don’t think I saw god, because I dont particularly believe in god much, but I do feel like... some part of me cracked open and was able to connect with some part of a person who had painted it a hundred years ago. I only learned that it was possibly the last thing he ever painted like, a year later. I was in London visiting a friend who had moved there a year before, we were in our senior year of high school, I was 17 and applying to art schools at the time, so maybe it was just a thing about, like, the right time and mental space for it, but also... me and Vincent are like... yeah. This is what I hope I see when I die, etc.

48. if you were a fruit, what kind would you be?

I hope that I would be an apricot but that’s just cuz I really like them. Maybe I am a coconut, hairy on the outside and a hard nut to crack.

When I started to grow boobs, my mom told me a funny story about how in college she walked in on her roommate standing in front of the mirror in just her underwear, cupping her breasts. And when my mom was like “uh... what are you... doing?” her roommate was like “sigh... do you think I have oranges? Or are they more like tangerines... I wish I had grapefruits like you!” and from then on the citrus system of breast classification was set. Hippies, amirite?

Anyway my boobs kept growing and growing and growing. I am currently a K cup??? But anyway one day as a teenager I was in the grocery store and they had these fruits that were EVEN BIGGER than a grapefruit. They were pale green and smelled really nice! And when we sliced it open it had SO MUCH PITH, but the fruit inside was a pretty pink... It’s a pomelo! The precursor to grapefruits. My breasts are now bigger than even pomelos, but whenever I see them in the market I’m like “my boob fruit!”

68. worst flavor of any food or drink you’ve ever tried?

I try my best to taste foods I’ve disliked over and over again throughout the years to get myself to become okay with them because I find the enjoyment of food to be vitally important to my willingness to continue existing. But one thing I will NEVER force myself to eat again is natto. I tried it about four different times, once the cheap conbini kind, once at an extremely swanky japanese hotel breakfast, one in a really nice sustainable sushi restaurant with my favorite fish mackerel, once from a friend’s fridge, and UGH, every time, I just wanna spit it back out immediately. Sorry, fam.

In terms of things that come in different flavors I think the grossest soda is the grapefuit favorito which is like drinking bubbly soap.

[opalescent-cheetah]

I Don’t Know What To Do (About This Dream And You), 5/5 - Methydoll

Summary: Baseball players and mythical beings are a potent combination. After Crystal catches her eye on the baseball field, Nicky makes a decision that turns her entire world upside down. Meanwhile, Crystal is caught in a mysterious dreamscape, chasing a creature with eyes like liquid gold.

Inspired by these songs: “She’s So High” - Tal Bachman; “Digital Love” - Daft Punk; “Baby” - Francesca Blanchard

Chapter Summary: A confession, a rescue, and a revelation.

A/N: Final chapter of my fic for @cobblestaubrey​ ! Happy holidays!!

Ao3 // Previous Chapter

Chapter 5 - Nicky

Crystal is back.

Nicky can see her silhouette, outlined by the moon. She’s standing at the edge of a forest, looking around.

Looking for me.

It’s almost physically painful, running away from Crystal when all Nicky wants to do is sweep her up into her wings and embrace her, but she knows it’s for the greater good. She isn’t sure how she’d live with herself if Crystal found out the truth. 

But intrigue and infatuation pull her closer, even if every shred of logic shrieks at her to stop. 

She darts between the trees, a moon-pale shadow, her movements masked by the rustling of the breeze as it caresses the canopy. There’s nothing wrong with admiring Crystal from afar, watching over her like a guardian angel. Crystal doesn’t even need to know she’s there. 

Stopping a few trees away, Nicky settles into the branches, digging her sharp talons into wood. Too late, she realises how flimsy the branch is - the wood is hollow with rot, and before she can comprehend what’s happening, it breaks with a sickening crack.

Her wings knock the surrounding trees as she tries to catch wind and she tumbles, her feathers scraping against rough bark, the space too cramped for her to fly. Out of the corner of her eye, she sees Crystal stiffen, and realises with a sinking stomach that her cover is blown. 

But this means too much to Nicky for her to give up so easily. She scrambles to her feet as soon as she hits the ground and runs, as fast as she can, to the edge of the forest. Her gangly, birdlike legs are awkward, and she constantly finds herself tripping over her own talons.

It doesn’t help that Crystal is a baseball player, with sharp reflexes and hard muscles. Nicky lunges upwards, beating her wings against the cool night air, but it’s already too late. 

She feels warm hands wrap around her ankles, ripping her from the sky. With a hard thud, she and Crystal tumble to the ground, rolling to a stop in the soft grass. It takes Nicky a moment to realise that Crystal is on top of her, her beautiful face mere inches away, effectively pinning her to the ground. 

Her breathless admiration gives way to terror almost immediately. Growling, she tries to push Crystal aside, but Crystal has been hardened by years of athleticism, and she doesn’t budge. 

“Get off of me,” Nicky snarls, thrashing beneath Crystal’s grip.

The edges of Crystal’s eyes are softened with nervousness, but her dark pupils are steely, unwavering. 

“No,” she replies. “Not unless you tell me who you are, and why I’m here, and-- and just answer my questions, okay?”

“What if I say no?”

“Then you’ll be stuck here,” Crystal says resolutely. 

Nicky isn’t sure what’s worse: having to bare her soul to the one girl she wanted to hide it from, or being pinned beneath her for the rest of the night, her heart hammering so hard she’s sure Crystal can feel it through her ribs.

“Fine,” she mutters, finally relenting. “Let me up, and we’ll talk.” 

“Don’t fly away,” Crystal warns, tentatively letting Nicky stand. She grabs her wing immediately, her body tense with nervousness.

Nicky rolls her eyes. “I’m not going anywhere. I don’t think I can, anyway - you’ve probably bruised half of my back.” 

“Sorry,” Crystal murmurs, sounding genuinely apologetic, and Nicky softens. She lets Crystal lead her up the hill to sit beneath the clear night sky, the breeze washing over them in gentle waves.

Up here, her eyes are pools of starlight.

Nicky wants to melt into them like chocolate. Briefly, she lets herself imagine what could happen if she let Crystal see every facet of herself; would Crystal wrap her up in her arms, hold her close and tell her she loved her regardless? Or would she run away like all the others, refusing to ever look back?

As nice as it is to imagine that Crystal could be an exception, Nicky is not going to take that chance. 

“So what did you want to know?” she asks, her voice hard-edged and rough, when the silence between them has stretched on too long.

Crystal frowns. “Why am I here? Did you really heal me that night? Is that - is that why I keep seeing you?”

“Slow down, one question at a time,” Nicky mutters. “We have all night, you know.”

“Sorry.”

Nicky exhales slowly, knowing she shouldn’t be so harsh. But it feels impossible to let her walls down after so many years of reinforcing them.

Just tell her enough to satisfy her. Nothing more.

“Yeah, that was me,” she finally says. “And yes. That’s why we have a psychic connection now. This place is my dreamscape.” She gestures vaguely at the rolling hills surrounding them.

“So I’m in your mind?”

Nicky nods.

“Wow,” Crystal murmurs, sounding awed. “Wait, but why did you heal me that night? Are you, like, my guardian angel or something?”

“Yeah, pretty much,” Nicky says. It’s easier to simply agree.

Crystal smiles, and it kindles the fire in Nicky’s chest. Her sweet expression vanishes just as quickly, though, replaced by a contemplative frown. 

“So who are you? And why do you look like my friend Nicky?”

“I can take many forms,” Nicky says, lying through her teeth. “This ‘Nicky’ character must be at the forefront of your mind, so your subconscious has created me in her image.” 

“In your dreamscape?”

“Our minds are psychically connected,” Nicky reminds her. “They, uh… they work in tandem.” 

Crystal frowns, her brow creased in thought.

“Alright,” she finally says. “I guess that makes sense.” 

Nicky almost lets out a sigh of relief. She’s safe, for now. 

“So why did you choose me?” Crystal asks. “Aiden didn’t get a guardian angel when she was hurt.” 

“Uh…” Nicky falters. “You’re special.”

“Me?” Crystal scoffs. “Alright, I’ll take it.”

Yes, you, Nicky thinks. You’re the most special person to me.

Stars above, when did I become so cheesy?

They lapse in and out of comfortable silences and taut conversations. Nicky almost feels content, sitting here beside Crystal, even though her veins still thrum with a quiet worry. She spends the night admiring Crystal out of the corner of her eye, watching the way her lips move and how her skin seems to glow in the moonlight.

She hates that she has to lie, hates feeling like she’s on the edge of a thousand-foot drop, but if that’s what it takes to spend more nights like this with Crystal, she would do it time and time again. 

~

Crystal is already out on the field, her back turned, when Nicky arrives. Her fluffy curls bounce beneath her cap as she stumbles, trying - and failing - to juggle three baseballs.

She doesn’t notice as Nicky strides up behind her to rest a casual hand on her shoulder. Crystal yelps, leaping away, and Nicky dissolves into laughter.

“Hi,” Crystal gasps, breaking into a giddy, lopsided grin. “I thought you were, like, some murderer or something.”

“Quite the opposite,” Nicky smirks, aching when she realises that Crystal may never know how true that is. “What are you up to? Training for the circus?”

“Something like that.” Crystal tosses a ball at Nicky, laughing when she drops it. “I see we have quite a bit to work on.”

Nicky rolls her eyes good-humouredly, bending down to pick up the baseball. “Oh, shut up, you.” 

Crystal walks with her to get a bat, laughing and chatting the entire way, and Nicky can’t help but wonder what’s given her this sudden boost of confidence. When they met at the cafe, she was bubbly and talkative, but somehow more reserved, as though she was brushing the water’s surface with her fingertips. Today, it feels like Crystal has dived right in - into whatever they have, into the growing spark that sizzles between their twin smiles.

“Do you know how to hold the bat?” Crystal asks, picking one up and twirling it in her hands.

“No,” Nicky admits. “Like I said, I don’t do much sport.”

“That’s no problem. Here, catch.” Crystal tosses the bat to Nicky, who haphazardly catches it. “I’ll show you how.” 

Her gentle, encouraging smile lights a fire behind Nicky’s ribs. Or maybe it’s the way her freckles seem to glitter in the light, or how her beautiful curls frame her sun-dappled face. Nicky swallows heavily, trying to dispel the flames. 

Of course, it doesn’t work. It never does. 

They return to the field, standing in the open air and golden sunlight. Crystal’s smile seems to shine beneath the shade of her baseball cap. 

“Alright,” she says, “show me how you think it’s done.”

Nicky racks her brain, trying - and failing - to remember how Crystal held the bat during her games. She never did pay attention to the technicalities, she realises. She was too busy admiring Crystal. 

Crystal giggles at her awkward attempt and steps behind her, looping her arms around Nicky’s. 

Nicky’s breath hitches as one of her mind’s wild fantasies suddenly comes true. She knows Crystal is only being helpful, but something about this still feels so intimate. She can feel Crystal’s heartbeat against her back, feel her warmth where their bodies touch. Their arms brush, Crystal’s hands finding Nicky’s, her skin as soft as feathers.

Crystal gently adjusts Nicky’s grip, and the bat is suddenly much more comfortable to hold. Nicky can feel Crystal’s smile against her neck. 

But she doesn’t pull away. Her hands linger, turning Nicky’s skin to fire everywhere they touch. 

When Crystal speaks, her voice is low, quiet, her breath soft against Nicky’s ear.

“You know,” she murmurs, “I met my guardian angel in my dreams.”

Nicky swallows heavily. 

“Did you now?”

“Yeah.” She traces the back of Nicky’s hand with her thumb before she begins to move away, the tips of her fingers trailing along Nicky’s arm. “She looked like you.” 

Her voice is tinged with something that sounds like awe, and it puts Nicky at ease. Even so, she can’t help but be disappointed when Crystal steps back. The air feels far too empty, hollow with the loss of contact. 

“Oh,” is all that Nicky can think to say.

She forgets how to breathe when Crystal moves to face her, her eyes smoldering. Nicky has never seen her look so intense, and yet so nervous; her eyes spark with a thousand flames, but her anxiety is written into every line in her face, in the slight tremble of her lips.

“She said she wore your face because you’re always at the forefront of my mind,” Crystal adds breathily, her eyes never leaving Nicky’s. “And she’s right. I think about you a lot, Nicky. I think you’re--” she falters, clearly losing her nerve. “I think you’re wonderful. And I’d like to keep getting to know you better, if you’ll have me.”

This isn’t real.

There is no way this is real.

If her heart weren’t slamming into her ribs at a hundred miles an hour, Nicky would be amused by the fact that Crystal used their dreamscape conversation to ask her out. But instead, it’s all she can do to stand, frozen, gaping wordlessly at Crystal.

Not even in her wildest dreams did Nicky envision their outing today going like this. It’s better than anything she ever imagined. 

Crystal, clearly unnerved by Nicky’s lack of a response, seems to retreat back into her shell. 

“I’m sorry,” she stammers, backing away from Nicky, her eyes seeking out the shivering grass. “I’m sorry, that was too forward, I shouldn’t have--”

Rushing forward, Nicky interrupts her by pressing their lips together, fireworks bursting in her chest the moment she makes contact. Crystal stiffens for the briefest moment before she relaxes into Nicky’s arms, twining her hands in her hair.

“I think about you all the time too,” Nicky gasps as they pull away. “And I think - I think it would be lovely to keep getting to know you.”

Crystal breaks into the most beautiful smile, radiant with their shared happiness. “You mean that?”

“I’ve never meant anything more.” 

Crystal giggles joyously, pulling Nicky in for another kiss. This one is slower, more passionate, easy with the lifted weight of their confessions.

“This is the most exciting game of baseball I’ve ever played,” Crystal laughs against Nicky’s lips.

~

Later, warm with lingering touches and golden sunlight, they retreat to the shade of the dugout. It’s almost as though there’s a magnetic force between them now; it ensures they are always touching, even if it’s something as small as the gentle brush of fingertips or the bumping of shoulders as they walk.

Crystal is still chatting and smiling as she stoops to get their water, but something gives Nicky pause. 

She can sense someone - or something. She forces herself to tune Crystal out and focus: her powers, suppressed as they are by her human disguise, have picked up on a dwindling life force. The dull ache of suffering thrums in her chest, forcing her to take a deep breath.

“Are you okay?” Crystal asks, sounding concerned. “Do you - do you want some water?” She holds out a bottle and Nicky takes it gratefully. In the brief silence that follows, she hears a small, shaky noise, one withering with the last shreds of hope. 

“Did you hear that?” she tries, hoping Crystal won’t think she’s going insane. 

“Hear what?”

“I think that… I think there’s something here.” She doesn’t elaborate; instead, she drops to her knees and begins looking around. 

It doesn’t take her long to find the source of the noise. Reaching beneath the bench, she carefully picks up a tiny, shivering bird, its downy feathers matted with dust and grime. It smells of sickness, of pain and suffering. As she cups it in her hands, Nicky can feel its life force fading away, disappearing faster with every passing second. 

“Oh no,” Crystal gasps. “Poor baby.”

“It’s dying,” Nicky whispers, half to herself. She strokes its tiny head, her mind whirling. She could save it - isn’t that precisely what she’s good for? - but that would mean exposing herself to Crystal, and Nicky doesn’t think she can bear the pain of losing her. Not so soon.

But is it worth sacrificing this life? The bird has barely seen the world beyond its nest. Its feathers are still soft with chick-fluff, and its wings have hardly tasted freedom. It has its whole life ahead of it, and Nicky would never forgive herself if she let it die. 

Her heart twists, already breaking at the edges, but her mind is made. She knows what she has to do.

“Crystal, I - I can save it.” She hesitates, voice trembling, pretending not to notice how tears are beginning to collect in her eyes. “But if you never want to see me again after this…” I will miss you forever. “I understand.” 

“What?” Crystal blinks at her, confused. “Nicky, why - why would I--”

As Crystal trails off into confusion, Nicky lets her disguise melt away. She feels silvery feathers poke through her skin as her arms shift into brilliant wings, her veins thrumming with an ancient power.

“Holy shit,” Crystal gasps, but Nicky pretends not to hear. She isn’t ready to face her yet. 

Instead, she focuses on the little bird. You poor thing, she thinks, cradling it in her feathers. You don’t deserve to suffer like this.

Inhaling deeply, she draws the bird’s sickness into her body, taking its pain as her own and relieving it of its suffering. Her feathers, normally so sleek and shiny, turn limp, and a wave of fevered fatigue washes over her. She exhales once the deed is done, placing the bird back on the bench, where it chirps happily at her. 

“You’re welcome, buddy,” she mumbles, smiling softly at it. “Glad to see you’re feeling better.”

“Holy shit,” Crystal says again. Nicky, bracing herself for the heartbreak, forces herself to finally face her.

But when she finally meets Crystal’s eyes, she doesn’t see fear or revulsion. Instead, her bright eyes shimmer with… awe?

Nicky can’t be seeing this right. 

She blinks, but Crystal’s expression doesn’t change. Her face shines with a shocked delight, with disbelief, with a childlike wonder. 

“Oh my god, oh my god,” she squeals. “That was you the entire time?”

“You mean in your dreams?”

“Yes! And in my room - you healed me?”

Nicky nods slowly. 

“Okay, that’s slightly creepy, but also, like, the coolest thing ever,” Crystal says, squealing again, before she seems to hesitate. 

This is it, Nicky thinks despondently. Time to say good-bye.

“Wait,” Crystal murmurs, “what about everything you said the other night? About being my guardian angel? Are you actually an angel?”

“No, no, I was - that was a lie,” Nicky mumbles. “I’m a caladrius.”

“A what now?”

There’s no point in hiding anymore. Nicky bares her soul to Crystal, sharing every detail from her ancestral magic to the friends she’d lost when she’d showed them her true form. Crystal listens, rapt, her eyes bright with an unwavering interest. 

“And that’s why I always ran away from you,” Nicky concludes. “So if you want to leave too, I… I understand.”

“Why in the world would I want to do that?” Crystal asks, sounding appalled. “All your old friends are idiots. This is literally the coolest thing that has ever happened to me, you know.” 

“Really?”

“I mean, it’s not every day you realise your girlfriend is a cal-- a cala--”

“Caladrius,” Nicky supplies, amused. The word girlfriend rings in her ears, still too good to be true. And yet, here she is, sitting in her true form across from the girl she loves, and Crystal is staying.

“Yeah, that.” Crystal giggles. “I mean, only a fool wouldn’t see how epic you are. If anything, I like you even more now that I know you’re, like, magical.”

Nicky feels herself flush at that statement. 

“Well,” she says, trying to play it cool, “I’m even more epic when I’m not carrying bird sickness. Wanna help me get rid of it?”

“How do you do that?”

“I just have to fly around for a bit and dispel it. A couple laps of the field should do… just make sure there’s no one out there, would you?”

“Aye aye!” Crystal says, grinning impishly as she mock-salutes. She darts out of the dugout, leaving Nicky alone with the freshly-healed little bird. 

“I guess I ought to thank you, eh?” she chuckles, gently stroking its head. It chirps cheerfully at her in response, leaning into her touch. It’s still covered in grime - that’s something Nicky’s powers can’t take away - but its eyes are gleaming with new life and vigour.

Nicky can’t help but wonder where it will go from here. It’s not even fully grown, and she worries that it will only meet a worse fate if she leaves it alone. 

“Coast is clear!” Crystal’s voice chimes in. 

“Crystal, do you think we should keep the bird?”

Crystal shrugs. “I mean - if you want to, I guess?”

“I do,” Nicky decides. “Here, hold it.” She passes Crystal the tiny bird, which tumbles and rolls about in her hands.

Crystal giggles, and Nicky can see her own adoration for the tiny creature reflected in Crystal’s eyes. 

“Let’s name it Jan,” she pipes up.

Nicky snorts incredulously. “Jan? As in our friend Jan?”

“Yeah! Don’t you think it fits? Look at its funky little face.” Crystal pats the top of its head. “Also, isn’t Jan, like, the whole reason we know each other?”

“I mean… yeah, actually, I guess she is,” Nicky muses, thinking back to that first game. She’d only gone to watch Jan, and now here she is, discussing the name of their new baby bird with Crystal.

“And, uh, she kinda convinced me to, you know, confess to you today,” Crystal adds. “So I feel like we should name this bird Jan, in her honour.”

“Alright,” Nicky agrees, smiling bemusedly. “I think she’d find that pretty cute.”

“Jan will think it’s the cutest thing in the world,” Crystal promises. “Now go and get rid of your bird sickness before someone barges in on us.”

Nicky laughs, swatting her lightly. “Alright, alright, I’m going.” 

She takes off, wind whistling through her feathers. Slowly, she feels the sickness shed itself from her body, dissipating into the warm summer air. With every beat of her wings, she feels revitalised, the fever and fatigue slipping into nothingness until all that’s left is a beautiful, brilliant joy. 

Feeling herself again, Nicky does a series of loops in the air, her heart soaring higher than her wings can take her. She can’t remember the last time she felt so carefree, so happy. After all, here she is, revelling in a taste of freedom whilst Crystal - her girlfriend - and tiny Jan watch her. 

When she lands, she disguises herself once again before leaning in to give Crystal a kiss, delighting in the knowledge that she will be able to do this again, and again, and again.

[heartofholland]

bitter - p.p.

summary: you worked your whole life for this, and peter parker took it away without a single second thought.

word count: 2.5k

warnings: a bit of swearing but for comedic effect i swear

authors note: this is my first (and most likely last) time writing. if its not good blame my C in english <3. this idea randomly came to me in the middle of the night and i though i’d give it a shot. shoutout @hollanderheart​ for not only motivating me to write and post this but also being my own personal hype woman at all times. enjoy!!

---

You had never had a solid reason to hate Peter Parker. He was smart, quiet, and always kind to you and everyone around him. You thought he was a nice boy, and never had a problem with him. Until now.

Until Peter fucking Parker stole your internship.

The news was initially broken to you through hallway gossip. Not believing the story, you went straight to the only person who you knew wouldn’t feed you bullshit, MJ.

“Did Peter get the Stark internship?” You practically screamed. MJ turned, stunned from your sudden close proximity and your wide, questioning eyes. Closing her locker after grabbing the books she needed for her next class, she answered, “Yeah, he’s had it for like a week, why?”

“And you didn’t think to tell me?” Your back hit the lockers and you rubbed your face in frustration.

“Well, I didn’t know you were so invested in Peter’s business all the sudden,” she quipped, not realizing you weren’t in the mood based on the death glare you returned.

“You realize I’ve been working on getting that internship for like, my whole life right?” You scoffed and let your head fall back and hit the locker.

“It must’ve slipped my mind, my bad.” she replied coolly.

You groaned, “I can’t believe Peter Parker just destroyed my future.”

“I’m gonna sit this breakdown out, I have to study for my Calc test.”  She gave you a sympathetic pat on the shoulder before making her way to the library.

There you stayed, leaning on the lockers frozen with solitude, or was it anger? You couldn’t quite tell.

The rest of the morning passes with a breeze, just going through the motions of your daily routine without even thinking. Everything just felt numb. The final bell rang, allowing you to get away from the possibility of making any contact with Peter. The hatred you held for that boy was unimaginable.

The internship at hand was a once in a lifetime experience. The September Foundation Internship. One high school junior, hand picked by Tony Stark himself, was hired to work alongside the mastermind for an entire year. Rumors claim that if you’re cool enough, he lets you try on the suit. Others claim that if you stay late enough, you can see the Avengers in their daily lives. But no one has ever been able to verify them. Now meeting the Avengers would be cool and all but that's not why you wanted this internship. By featuring this on your applications, it was basically one way ticket to acceptance.

To any school. Anywhere.

Though your resume may be long winded, having the internship on there puts you ahead of any other student there. And if you were trying to get into MIT, it definitely wouldn’t hurt to be friends with an alumni. A very prevalent alumni who donates large sums of money each year.

What irked you the most was that you didn’t even get a letter of rejection. You had to find out through gossip. Like really? How long does it take to write an email?

Hey sorry you sucked so much that you didn’t get the internship. Better luck next time!

XOXO Iron Man :)

Sure, Peter Parker was a hard worker with a big brain but there was no way he was more qualified for that job. You had hundreds of hours of community service, a spotless report card, professional relationships with many prominent authoritative figures, and you participated in extracurriculars that Peter hadn’t even heard of. So how did he get in over you? Sure he has marching band, academic decathlon and robotics but in no way could that ever put you a step above him. It’s not like he’s some sort of superhero saving lives.

The fact that you couldn’t come up with a single thing that could make him stand out over you annoyed you to no end. The internal conflict occupied your brain for almost a week until you decided to confront Peter.

You spotted him in the cafeteria, laughing with Ned acting like he did absolutely nothing wrong.

Oh boy did he have it coming.

“So how’d you do it?” you accused, slamming your lunch tray down and sitting down across from him. Ned scootched away suddenly uncomfortable with your closeness and accusatory voice. Since becoming official with Betty, he knew how women’s emotions worked (to an extent) and he knew that tone did not mean sunshine and rainbows.

“W-What are you talking about?” he squeaked, confusion written all over his face. His eyes bouncing all over your features as if it would help predict what you were going to say to him.

“The September Foundation Internship,” you started with a calmer tone, “How’d you beat out all 5000 candidates, including yours truly?” You smiled innocently, but Peter knew that look meant anything but.

He looked around for a second, coming up with absolutely any excuse to satisfy your jealousy, “I did- I didn’t ask Mr. Stark so- so I really don’t know.” He turned to Ned widening his eyes as if sending a telepathic call for help. Ned frantically shook his head, not wanting any part of his problem. He deals with enough angry teenage girls as it is, he wouldn’t voluntarily put up with any more than he needed.

Peter panicked, spouting out the first thing that came to mind, “Well in my application I-I mentioned that I like to build LEGOS, so I guess Mr. Stark assumed I’m good with my hands?” uncertainty prevalent in his voice. He visibly winced at that poor excuse of reasoning.

You were surprised, “Oh, ok. Thanks Peter,” getting up to move towards your typical spot in the cafeteria.

“Real smooth, bet you really fooled her there,” Ned teased his friend, noticing the concern on his face, “What was I supposed to do? Just casually mention I’m Spider-man? She wouldn’t believe me!” Peter weighed.

LEGOs.

A toy that was meant for children beat you out. Embarrassed was an understatement. You played with Barbies and Polly Pockets! You even played with the sexist “girly” version of LEGOs! Granted you probably haven’t picked up a toy in maybe 10 years but still! That just isn’t fair.

---

“Mr. S-Stark could I have some advice?” Peter was quite literally shitting his pants with nervousness.

Tony looked up from his blasters he was tinkering with, “I mean you can ask but I can’t guarantee I can be your Dalai Lama” he taunted.

“Um okay well,” Peter gulped, “This really pretty girl at my school is mad at me and I don’t know what to do”

Tony was stunned, “Girls talk to you? And you hold a conversation? Congrats kid you’re growing up!”

Peter was embarrassed, “Well, not exactly. You know that internship you host every year?” His hands were shaking from nervousness, so he dropped his web shooters and clasped them in his lap so Tony wouldn’t notice. But of course he did, setting down his blasters and turning his chair to put his complete focus on Peter.

Well that totally makes this conversation easier!

“Of course. But I’m not giving it to you. I spend enough time with you already as it is.”  

That helped ease his stress, “Well to cover for Spider-Man I just tell everyone I do the Stark internship, forgetting that there is a real internship. So this girl applied for the September Foundation Internship and is mad because she thinks I took it from her. But that's crazy because she's like the nicest person and worked so hard for this internship and there is no one I know that is more deserving of the spot and-,” Tony cuts him off, knowing the boy could ramble for days.

“What’s her name?” He questions, “Y/N Y/L/N, But I’m not asking you to like give it to her because that’s not fair, just give her a tour of the tower or something for her to finally realize I’m not that important around here,” Peter justifies.

“I’ll see what I can do.” With that, he walked out of the lab.

---

You’ve accepted the fact that you didn’t get the position and have continued to build your resume, filling in the space you left for the internship.

“Mr. Harrington? Flash isn’t here today so do you want me to do the lab alone?” You asked, grateful your annoying lab partner isn’t there attempting every pick up line in existence on you. Each one followed up with a denial and you completed the lab on your own.

“No,” Mr. Harrington said. “Ned’s partner isn’t here either so you can pair up with him.”  

Begrudgingly, you stood up to join Ned at his lab table. Curious you ask, “Who is your partner?”, Ned hesitates in his answer, “Oh, Peter is busy with the Stark internship.”

Nevermind. Any progress of acceptance you thought you’d made was gone.

“Oh, okay.” You ended the conversation knowing you couldn’t handle dwelling on your failures any longer.

You would’ve been able to juggle the internship and school. Peter can’t even stay a whole day of school without leaving. This was just another reason why you were more qualified than him.

-

Peter was just arriving at Avengers tower to talk to Mr. Stark about how he altered his web shooters to increase the output of webs. He took the elevator up, assuming he would just be in the lab like he always is. And he was there, just not alone. He catches their attention when walking in, embarrassed to be seen so caught off guard.

“Ah Peter! So good to see you! I want you to meet our newest intern, Y/N Y/L/N!” Tony smirks at the boy whose eyes are blown wide staring at the girl in front of her.

“H-Hi Y/N. C-congrats on the internship.”

“Thank you Peter.”

“Well I have to go check on Cap, he gets angry when he doesn’t have his green smoothie. You guys get comfortable with each other! But not too comfortable, I don’t need to see any angsty teenager lovers in my presence.” Tony winked at Peter before he left the lab.

“Well that's awkward,” the girl begins, “I think I just stole your job.”

“Wh-what?” his eyebrows knitted together.

“Well you’re always gone for the Stark Internship so I just assumed it was the September Foundation Internship?” Now they’re both confused, clearly Mr. Stark wasn’t clear on Peter’s affiliation with him.

“N-no I just do a different intern job for Mr. Stark. I-I just clean up the lab.”

He has really gotta pick up his excuse game.

“So you’re a janitor?” She frowns.

“N-no I just make sure it’s tidy for Mr. Stark, organize the supplies and order more when he needs,” Peter stuttered.”

Ok now he's improving with his justification skills.

“Oh ok? Well I have to go, I have a charity thing.” You made a solid attempt at cutting the tension between you both..

---

“I didn’t ask you to do that.”

Tony spins his chair, spotting Peter at the entrance. “Well I reviewed her application and you were right, she does deserve it. Plus, I know how you struggle with the ladies, so in a way I was throwing you a bone, whilst still getting a prodigy by my side.”

His jaw set, “I’ll have you know I am perfectly good with the ladies and don’t need your help,” Peter stormed out of the lab like a toddler.

“That’s not what you said in the lab the other day!” He calls after him, knowing full well he was out of earshot.

---

Peter has never felt so relieved than when the quinjet touched down on the top of the building. The mission was a complete disaster. If he had to explain the definition of “abort mission” he’d probably start with that.

After stepping off the quinjet, Peter made a beeline for the kitchen. His throat scratched every time he swallowed, probably from yelling into the coms trying to navigate through the pure chaos.

Passing by Wanda, he could tell by her facial expression he wasn’t in good shape. He could feel the dried blood stuck to his skin and the smell of sweat was unavoidable from even 10 feet away.

After his five minute walk, which would be better described as a limp, he made it to just get a glass of water. Finally, the rush of moisture runs through his whole body. Whilst peacefully chugging his entire cup of water he hears the sound of glass shattering, followed by the words,

“What. The. Fuck.”

He knows the voice from anywhere. Hell, he hears it on the morning announcements with Betty every goddamn morning. Frozen, he doesn’t know what his next move is. Does he run and act like it never happened? Does he just accept it and brush it off like no big deal? His rough draft of an explanation is slowly being put together in his head when you move in front of him.

“You’re not an intern. You’re fucking Spider-man.”

“O-oh hey Y/N, didn’t see you there”

Real smooth Parker. Why don’t you talk about your LEGO skills again. Just try and see if you can make this conversation any more awkward than it needs to be.

“Cut the bullshit. Why didn’t you tell me?”

She always knows how to get straight to the point. Something he always admired about her.

“I-I-I didn’t think it was important?” The apprehension isn’t helping his persuasion skills in the slightest.

“Oh being an Avenger is just a common occurrence nowadays?” You push, determined to get a real answer and not a half assed excuse.

“I mean if you live around here yeah everyone is some kind of super hu-”

“Peter.” You cut him off, annoyance obvious in your tone.

He sighed, “Yes. I am Spider-man. The only people who know are Ned, Aunt May, and the rest of the Avengers. And now you.” Distress was obvious on his face

You began to feel guilty once you saw the panic on his face, “I won’t tell anyone,” you squeak, the first drop of sympathy Peter has ever received from you.

“Thank you, I’m sorry for not telling you. You’re part of the team and deserve a real confession, not finding out by accident.”

The guilt train is on a two way track tonight!

“No, it was your secret. You deserve your privacy.” A small smile tugged at the edges of your lips.

“Thank you for being so understanding. Now that the secret is out maybe we could work together on my suit sometime?”

Peter is nervous. Why is he nervous? Did he just accidentally ask her on a date. Oh god what if she isn’t interested?

“I’d love to Peter! It's a date!” Your smile beaming gave Peter a surge of confidence, and he reached around your waist to pull you into a hug. You were both ecstatic to have finally started to see each other as friends, and even a little more than that.

Your trances were broken when you finally spoke up, “Maybe you should take a shower first,” as you finally realized the stench in your close proximity.

A flush creeping up his face when he realized. “Let me go shower then we can continue this,” he beams.

“See you then Spider-man!”

[yuvon-writes-letters]

Yu, and Lis

So, hold on, let me get this straight, because my brain isn’t connecting things right now.

Lis, found Hannah, but then she got shot, her, entity, the nice one, rewound time, and now she’s back [The hand-writing starts to get less neat, and more shaky] to when she received the first pic of the MWAF

[The hand-writing is near again] I’m sorry, I guess I’m just, so surprised.

When I went and agreed to help with the case, I thought murder and crime was all I would be seeing, I was prepared for, I wasn’t prepared for supernatural and alternate universes and time-travel and I don’t know what to do

[The whole paper is soaked in black coffee, rendering most of the letter unreadable]

nd I guess, what I mean to say is, don’t worry about me. You two’s problems are so much more bigger than mine, focus on yourselves, I’ll find my own way out of this.

Be safe you too, I don’t know what I’d do if something happened to y’all.

Rai and Jake

Rai,

This has all grown so insane, I sort of wondered when it'd start getting to us. I've been skating by on the philosophy of "well I guess this is happening now might as well go along with it I guess" plus snark and sarcasm out loud to myself, but I honestly figured I'd be the first of us to snap.

No, wait, I actually was the first I think, when I argued with Jake. Me or Lis. Ugh, it doesn't even matter.

None of this makes logical sense, everything I assumed to be true about the universe has been tilted on its axis or just completely disproven, (the writing grows shakier) my family and my old friends have all fucking forgotten who I even am, and there are symbols of death all fucking around me and this hellhole is so quiet its

Well. I think I've said it before, but let me repeat: Entities are bad for your mental health. Even if you're not directly involved.

Don't worry, Rai, none of us know what we're doing. We're all just as lost as you are.

A lot of your letter was stained :( Could you resend the basics of what you said in this letter? You ended off talking about how confused you are about the supernatural shit going down, and you started up again telling us not to worry about your problems and that you can get out of it yourself.

By the way, that's bullshit. At least Lis and I have the benefit of Entities and stasises (stasii?) keeping us at least in a status quo, except for one or two issues we need to focus on. And I don't even necessarily need to deal with my issue.

Normal life doesn't have do-overs. Normal life doesn't protect you from consequences, like falling out of a tree and not being hurt. Normal life has lasting impacts on you and the people around you, to massive extents (ever heard of the butterfly effect?). Normal life doesn't wait for your next move and then react. Normal life doesn't let you slow down and consider what to say and do. Normal life is fast and ruthless and relentless and unforgiving.

Your issues are no smaller than ours. In fact, yours may be far more dangerous than ours, given how we're protected from consequences. You, on the other hand, have no status quo or benevolent entities protecting you from your normal life and your normal issues, plus you're juggling the case, #IAmJake, and helping Lis and I on top of everything else. Just because your issues are mundane compared to ours doesn't make them any less important.

...You be safe too, Rai. If you need or want our help, I think I can speak for Lis and I can definitely speak for my Jake when I say that we want to help you. I don't know what I'd do if you were hurt.

Oh. One last question. You mentioned having trouble connecting things in your head, and that is quite a bit of coffee you spilled on this letter.

Rai, how long has it been since you last slept?

—Yu and Jake

(The letter tucks itself in the paper clip with the others.)

[lazyfox411]

For the whump prompts, head injury, any character you want. And good luck on exams! —whumperfly

I must begin,,,,with an apology because this took SO long to make. Life has been one fiasco after another, but my exams at least did go well! Thank you so much @whumperfly for your patience, and for sending me this in the first place! 

Characters are Locus and Felix from Red vs Blue

Length: 1870 words

 ~~~

Contrary to popular belief–well, mostly Felix’s belief–Locus does, in fact, know how to relax. He’s turned the lights low in his apartment, set the television to some mindless, easy to watch soap opera, and he’s on his way to the kitchen to pour himself a glass of wine.

That’s when there’s a knock at the door. 

He slides open the drawer of his desk to pull out a gun and slip it into his waistband. Truly, you can never be too careful. Some people might call him paranoid, but in his line of work, you’re either paranoid or you’re dead. 

A glance through the peephole reveals his visitor isn’t an enemy, at least in the sense that they probably won’t immediately try to murder him. Locus tucks the gun away and opens the door. 

“Felix,” he nods. “What are you doing here?”

They haven’t received their next contract yet. Felix has no reason to come to his apartment, and yet here he is, braced in the doorframe. Instead of giving a reply, Felix mumbles something unintelligible and his hand slips from the doorframe. Locus reaches out to catch him on instinct as he slumps towards the floor. Felix leans heavily against his chest, mumbling again, and now that he’s close, Locus can smell the mix of booze, tobacco, cologne, and sweat, an odor he’s no doubt picked up from a club somewhere. Felix is drunk, he realizes. 

Locus sighs. This is not his idea of a peaceful Friday evening. He wants nothing more than to shove Felix back out into the hallway and lock the door, but...well, but. They’re partners. They look out for each other.

 He takes Felix’s arm, draping it across his shoulders, and hefts him to his feet. Felix fights him all the way to the bathroom, swinging and cursing at him belligerently. 

“Fuck off,” Felix says, volatile, and it’s the most coherent he’s sounded since coming through the door. Locus pays the demand no mind, leading him into the bathroom and sitting him down on the edge of the tub. If he can make Felix take a shower, or at least splash some cold water on his face, he might sober up a bit. 

Hands free, Locus turns around to flick the lights from dim to something that allows him to see more than the basic outline of where he’s walking. Before he can even turn back, Felix is on his knees, vomiting fiercely into the toilet. 

Locus sighs, again, and wonders how many sighs he will have made by the time Felix is ready to leave his apartment. Felix squints at him, face pale, eyes hazy, and that’s when Locus notices the dark bruises forming along his jawline.

He extends a hand to cup Felix’s chin, tilting his head to examine the purple splotches. “Who did this to you?” 

Felix blinks, confused. He narrows his eyes at Locus, then glances around the room, like he’s realizing where he is for the first time. 

“What happened?” Locus presses. 

“I don’t… god, will you shut that light off? It’s too damn bright.” Felix groans, lowering his head to his hands. With an unobstructed view of the back of his head, Locus can see a bump swelling under his short hair. He’s not drunk, Locus realizes, he’s been hurt.

“You’re injured.”

“I’m fine.” 

“If that were true then you wouldn’t be here. You’re most likely concussed. You need to tell me what’s going on.”

“I don’t know, it’s...fuzzy. These guys at the bar, they came at me. Took me off guard.”

“I’m taking you to the hospital,” Locus decides, and before Felix can protest, he hauls him off the floor and towards the front door.

He pauses to shove his feet into a pair of shoes and grabs his jacket off its hook. Instead of putting it on himself, he drapes it over Felix’s thin shoulders. He doesn’t want Felix to be cold, is all, he tells himself. Felix will only complain if he’s cold. 

They trudge down the hall to the elevator, Locus holding onto Felix’s arm to keep him upright. Felix doesn’t complain this time, just follows, expression subdued. Either he’s resigned himself to his fate or he’s a lot worse off than Locus originally thought. 

“Can you tell me anything about the men who attacked you?” Locus asks, hitting the button for the ground floor. 

Felix shakes his head, then winces. “No,” he says, “I don’t remember. Happened really fast.”

Locus takes a step closer to where he’s bent over, forehead pressed against the cool metal wall of the elevator. He’s obviously not, but Locus asks it anyway, “Are you alright?”

Felix’s voice is ragged. “Head hurts,” he says, “‘m’dizzy.”

The fact he’s willing to admit it is what’s most concerning. Felix is loud, and abrasive, not quiet and dull. Never vulnerable. Locus places a steadying hand on his back. “Just breathe.”

It’s a strange thing, to be so close to someone, and to be helping instead of hurting. Their job gets them into a lot of fights, he’s no stranger to getting up close and personal with someone, but it’s usually to punch that someone in the face. He feels Felix tense momentarily, and then relax.

The doors open with a soft ding, and Locus guides them outside.

Hailing a cab is easy, he’s tall enough to be seen easily and well dressed enough to look like he’ll leave a nice tip. He helps Felix clamber into the backseat and buckles up next to him. 

There seems to be an excessive amount of traffic. Locus taps his foot impatiently, wishing he could just forgo the cabbie and drive the car himself. This is taking forever. 

Felix flinches at every set of bright headlights and loud horn, huddling deeper into Locus’ jacket and turning the collar up. 

“Here,” Locus says quietly. He gently tugs on the jacket sleeve, pulling Felix towards him so his head rests against Locus’ shoulder. Felix buries his face and mumbles, “Thanks, Sam.” He sounds so miserable that Locus doesn’t even growl at him about using codenames. 

Their wait in the emergency room is brief. The doctor asks them both some questions, and then Felix is taken to a private exam room. Locus flips through a pamphlet about heart disease, thoroughly uninterested in its actual content, while he waits.

He hears Felix's voice long before he returns, sounding considerably brighter than he has all night. He rounds the corner with the doctor, waving a hand flippantly, the other holding an ice pack to the bump on his head. He's arguing with the doctor about something, what, Locus could only guess. It's Felix, he could find a way to argue with someone over the hospital's interior decorating if the urge struck him. 

The doctor wordlessly hands Locus a sheet of discharge instructions, looking very annoyed. Felix does tend to have that effect on people.

"Prick," Felix mutters after the doctor has left. 

Locus sighs, but he'd be lying if he said he wasn't relieved to see Felix behaving more like himself. He's not a hundred percent, for sure, still pale and squinting at the bright lights, but he's evidently feeling well enough to sass strangers. 

"You seem better. What happened?" 

Felix rolls his eyes, wincing a little. "Said I have a concussion. Gave me some meds so my brain doesn't, I dunno, explode or something, and a prescription for more." He waves the yellow note with the doctor's signature in what Locus assumes is disgust.

"Let's go get it filled, and then we can head back to my apartment." Locus says, reading over the instructions he's been given. 

Felix looks at him like he's sprouted another head. 

"Unless you'd rather your apartment?" Locus questions tentatively. 

"I'm not going anywhere with you. I don't need a babysitter." 

"Yes, you do. It says right here," Locus points to number 1 on his sheet of Post Concussion Care, "someone is supposed to wake you every three hours and ask you these basic questions." 

"Let me see." Felix grabs for the paper and narrows his eyes at it. "Fuck, it hurts to read." He promptly tears the sheet in half.

Locus sighs, again. This is going to be a long night.

Felix slumps in a chair with his ice pack as Locus approaches the counter to get his meds. Locus managed to convince him that being alone is not in his best interest right now, but he's still being petulant as a child.

Maybe his current dose is wearing off, or maybe he's spent all his energy being grouchy, but Felix looks exhausted by the time they've got the pills and are climbing in a cab to return to Locus' apartment. 

"Rest," Locus tells him. "I'll wake you when we arrive." 

Reluctantly, hesitantly, Felix leans his head on Locus' shoulder. Locus tenses. He hadn't meant rest on me, but he doesn't say anything. Felix is out like a light within seconds.

It's a short drive, one that Locus spends the most of trying to look anywhere but the sleeping person on his shoulder and the cab driver's eyes. 

He pays the cabbie, jostling Felix just enough to wake him. Felix looks around blearily, confused, mumbling incoherently. The cab driver wishes Locus good luck before leaving them on the sidewalk. 

"Come on." Locus pulls Felix towards the building.

Felix stumbles into the elevator, relying heavily on the wall to keep himself upright. He sways as they exit on Locus' floor. Locus snakes an arm around his waist and holds him steady as they trudge down the hallway.

Felix, of course, decides he wants to be a pain once again.

“Cut it out,” he spits, struggling in Locus’ hold. He’s free for about two seconds until Locus has to catch him before he can topple to the floor. 

“Stop being difficult,” is all Locus says, before scooping him up entirely to carry him the rest of the way. 

Felix doesn't fight once he's in Locus' arms, in fact, he sinks into them like that's where he wanted to be in the first place. Locus sighs for what feels like (and may be) the millionth time tonight, juggling Felix as he fishes his keys out of his pocket. God, he hopes the neighbours aren't seeing this. 

He places Felix on the couch, delicately, as if he were a glass ornament. The jacket around his shoulders is replaced with a blanket, and Locus removes his shoes for him. He brings a glass of water from the kitchen and sets out the next dose of meds. Felix is already conked out by the time he returns and sets them on the coffee table. 

It's late. Locus turns the lamp off and heads to his own room. He'll be back to check on him later. 

A hand reaches out and snags his pant leg before he can leave.

"G'night, Sam," Felix mumbles.

"Goodnight."

3 hours later…..

"Can you tell me your name?"

"Felix."

"Do you know where you are?"

"Your apartment."

"Do you know what my name is?"

Felix peers out from under the blanket to glare at Locus. "Asshole," he answers. "Now let me go back to sleep already."