#okay i really should get something to eat

[hidden-poet]

Poison: part 2

Summary: Coriolanus always hated Sejanus Plinth. He had everything that Coriolanus should of had; money, influence, and you.

Warnings: Coryo being de-lu-lu, unrequited love, Reader insert, dark!Coriolanus snow, unedited, dead dove to not eat

Word count: 15,053

Part 1 here

Part 3 coming.

Coriolaus wakes early the next morning and races to the Citadel to drop off Dr Gauls homework. 

He carried his anxiety about Dr Gauls potential comments along with him to his session with Lucy-Grey. 

He struggled to sit still, twirling his pen around and around in his hand. It was not how he wanted to present himself to Lucy-gray. 

What he wanted was her trust, her loyalty, her obedience. Things that would be hard to gain if he gave off a school-boy impression. 

Instead he forced his nails into the palm of his hand under the table, and tried to focus on Lucy-Gray as she spoke. 

“I am sorry about your friend”, she offered. 

“Thank you”, he returned. 

“That other girl. Was she okay? The guards whisked you away so fast. I couldn’t see-”. 

Something about her asking about you made Coriolanus irritated. 

He supposed it was just the image it brought back. The sheer shock upon your face, the fear that he wouldn’t get to you in time. 

“She’s fine”, he interrupted. His pen began twirling in his hand again. 

He wished he could have seen you this morning to check on you. You most likely woke up in the arms of Sejanus. He wouldn’t check on you like he should. His first words would have been complaints about the games. 

He shouldn’t be here really. Who choses mentoring a boy sure to die rather than taking care of you at home. Coriolanus bet he made no protest when you got ready for school. 

If it had been Coriolanus, as it should be, he would have ensured you stayed home in bed. He wouldn’t have left your side after yesterday. He wouldn’t have even let you be there yesterday. 

First Sejanus causes the wound, and then he isn’t man enough to take care of you properly. How sweet it will be, the day you finally belong to Coriolanus Snow. 

“I need you to sing in these interviews. It’s your last chance to win people over. I can’t send you gifts in the area without their money”, he states. 

“Maybe a guitar could persuade me. Maybe”, Lucy-gray offers. 

“Snow. Dovecote” Dean highbottom calls. 

Coriolanus whips around to see Peacekeepers waiting for them by the door. 

He could piece the clues together to come to the conclusion that Dr Gaul had called them. 

Clemmie on the other hand waited until they were climbing the Citadel steps to ask her obvious question. 

“She can’t actually have expected us to write that report. Could she? I was crying for hours last night”. 

Corionaus sighs. If Clemmie had kept her mouth shut he would have been next to you. You’d be nervous and in need of comfort, no matter how tough you talked.

“We did write it. I handed it in this morning”, he states. 

This time Clemmie sighed, “Great, give me the highlights”. 

Coriolanus obliged her if only to keep his mind focused. His bullet points took him up the entry stairs and through the doorway to Dr Gauls lab.

The lab exceeded coriolanus horrific expectations. 

It was cold and the large space only housed a long corridor of strange creatures in glass cabinets. 

Coriolanus taps the casing of a fish-type creature only to see if it moves. 

Its eyes shoot open only for a second before falling back into a drugged sleepy state. 

What exactly was Dr Gaul doing? What were these things? For what purpose could they be used for? 

“Mr Snow. Ms Dovecote. Come and see my new babies”. Dr Gaul's voice boomed in the empty space.

Coriolaus left the fish, following Clemmie as Dr Gaul led them to a new section and over to a large tank of colorful serpents. 

The rainbow moved within the glass in perfect sync. It was hard to tell where one snake started and another ended. 

“Is there a point to the color?”Clemmie asked. 

Dr Gaul scoffs at her as she ascends the stairs to the top of the glass cage.

“There’s a point to everything, Ms Dovecote, or nothing at all”, Dr Gauls answers. 

She spins to face the children, and rests against the side of the enclosure. 

“I must say I was expecting Miss y/n, in your place Ms Dovecott”. 

“As I said, Dr Gaul, Coriolanus and I do all our assignments together”, Clemmie defended. 

“Which is exactly why I was expecting the other one”. Dr Gauls eyes flick to Coriolanus, “exactly, which part did you write Miss Dovecott?”. 

Coriolanus tries to pull Clemmie out of the hole she was in but Clemmie talks over top of him.

“There was-”.

“I was inspired by Coriolanus, of course. But the sponsorships, and the gifts in the arena. They were all mine”, she cut him off. 

“Clemmie”, he warns. Dr Gaul already knew she played no part. Lying to her would only aggravate her sadistic tenancies. 

Dr Gual takes the bait. Crossing her hands in an almost gleeful manner she addresses Clemmie. 

“So it’s your sweaty handwriting on that page? Very impressive, Miss Dovecote”, Dr Gauls fawns. 

Coriolanus knew it was a tease. He anticipated the come down and the potential consequences of her lie. 

“Unfortunately’, Dr Gaul continues, “My assistant mistook it for trash and lined the shelf of this very terrarium with it”. 

Dr Gaul slides back the hatch to show the students the paper that was trapped between the snakes. 

“Retrieve it for us, won't you? So we might all consider your inspired ideas”, Dr Gaul smiles. 

Coriolanus hand twitched. He imagines you in Clemmies place now. How close he would have pulled you. How his own hands would latch themselves over yours and shield them against your chest. 

He wondered if he should do the same for Clemmie. She was an old friend, and her grades helped him to the top. 

Still he only stood back and watched. Half-Curious as to what would happen. 

The snakes couldn't be poisonous. Dr Gaul wouldn’t play with a students life. Especially a student from a high status family like Clemmie’s. 

Maybe. Coriolanus thinks back to the weird, mutated animals that lined the hallway. There was really no telling what Dr Gaul was capable of. 

“Don’t worry. My little predators are perfectly docile with those they can trust. So if they’re used to your scent, if you’ve handled their food, for example, or if they have inhaled the sweat of your palm on a page..they’ll leave you alone. If not, You’d be on your own, little girl”. 

Coriolanus knew from her words that Dr Gaul words were a threat. Those Snakes would harm Clemmie. 

Yet she reached her hand into the enclosure. 

“Clemmie!” Coriolanus grits. 

He is ignored to her own peril. 

As soon as her hand brushes against the edge of the page, a Snake lashes out and strikes the flesh that proposes to retrieve the paper. 

Clemmie screams upon impact. Trying desperately to shake the snake from her hand, she loses balance and topples off the stand. 

“Clemmie! No, no!” Coriolanus attempts to catch her as she falls, but Dr Gaul hinders him by pulling him back by his arm. 

She lands with a heavy thud on her back. Gasps fill the air as she tires to regain her breath. 

Already she looked pale. The skin on her hand turned a pale green color, and her eyes refused to blink or look anywhere else but directly in front of her. 

“You asked about the colors, Ms Dovecott.  I want my enemies to see a rainbow of destruction engulfing the world. I am not above using spectacle to create a little terror. A strategy your classmate here articulated very well in his proposal”. 

Coriolanus watches as two peacekeepers and assistant come running over. The assistant administered a large needle which helped Clemmie regain her breath but not her composition. 

The Peacekeepers then, without care, began to drag Clemmie across the floor and out a near door. 

Coriolanus was left alone with Dr Gaul who turned her attention to him. 

“I wonder if y/n would have chosen the same decision?”, she questioned. 

“Will she die?” Coriolanus asked in a hard tone. More than Dr Gaul mentioning you, he hated the image of you lying in Clemmies place. 

Dr Gaul shrugs her shoulders as if it didn’t really matter. 

“The pleasure of breaking ground in one’s research is one gets to find out”, she dismissed. 

She smirks as she turns back to the enclosure. Her hand reaches in and she begins to play with her pet snakes. 

“You don’t like me talking about her do you?”, Dr Gaul picks up a loose piece of paper and thrusts it at Coriolanus, “for a boy who came up with these proposals, you sure do wear your heart on your sleeve”. 

The paper crumbles in Coriolanus' grip. He looks at it to avoid eye contact with Dr Gaul. 

“What would Miss y/n think if she saw them? They’re good, these proposals. I am planning to implement as many as possible”. 

This causes Coriolanus to look up at Dr Gaul. If you knew, you were sure to never forgive him. 

“Don’t worry” Dr Gaul said, as if she could read his mind, “I’ll take credit for this one. Miss y/n is yet to realize her place in this world”. 

Dr Gaul closes the hatch to the snakes enclosure, turning her body towards Coriolanus. 

“And who is to be beside her, wouldn’t you say?”, she taunts. 

Coriolanus straightens up, dropping the ruined paper to the ground. 

“Y/n isn’t part of this conversation”, Coriolanus snaps.

Dr Gaul grins at him in response, stepping closer so she could talk quieter but still be heard. 

“We both want a new world, Mr Snow. My only question is how far are you willing to go to get it?’

She doesn’t let him answer. Seemingly, now bored of the conversation. 

“Now run along, you have an arena to promote and it’s time for my milk and crackers”, she dismisses. 

He takes the chance to leave. Storming down the steps and back along the hallway as fast as he could. 

Coriolanus tries to keep himself from running out of the Citadel. He nearly stumbles over his feet trying to get out as quick as he can. 

Turning behind him every so often to make sure no one was following him. 

The whole scene plays in his mind again and again. 

He was glad it wasn’t you in the end. You were already so traumatized after yesterday, it was a relief to not have to put you through that ordeal. 

The walk through of the arena was not for another hour. He had time to check on you. 

He was sure you were at school. Your parents wouldn’t let Sejanus into the house, and you wouldn’t have left Sejanus after yesterday. There was little chance you would have stayed at the Plinths. A smaller chance of Sejanus forcing you to as he should have. 

Suddenly, Sejanus’ lack of care turned out to be a good thing. 

Sejanus would be with his mentor getting ready for the tour. Which meant Coriolanus could see you without company. 

He knew your class schedule well. He liked the knowledge while he was in one class, he knew which one you were in. 

So he knew where to go and wait until the bell rang. 

A group of people rushed out of the classroom before you. You were the only one walking alone so you were easy to spot. 

You almost walk past him but he grabs your wrist and pulls you out of the line of people to a quiet staircase. 

“Coriolanus?” you question. 

You don’t fight him as he pulls you against the wall and stands in front of you like a shield. 

The people who walk past eye the scene but make nothing of it. 

“Coriolanus, are you okay?” you question. 

He couldn’t tell you about Clemmie and Dr Gaul but he was also so desperate for comfort. 

“Is it Arachne?” you ask. He nods his head ‘yes’ although his mind was far from it. 

You put your hand that was free from the weight of your books on his shoulder. 

“It’s not your fault’’, you console. 

“I just wish I could have done more”, he lied. 

He had thought little about Arachne since last night. But she was once again bringing you closer to him.

You shake your head, a sad expression pulls across your face and he instantly regrets his lie. Yesterday was traumatic to you, he shouldn't have played it up just for some sympathy. 

“No” you repeat, “what happened was no one's fault but her own”.

He wanted to make the argument that perhaps the fault lies with no one else but the tribute, but it would open a conversation he did not want to have. 

Instead he reaches up and places his hand on your elbow that had reached out to him.  

“Are you okay?” he asks. It should have been his first question.

“I am fine” you say. 

Your hand drops from his shoulder and he is forced to put his hand on the brick wall next to your hip. 

The position wedged you in a corner. With his tall frame towering over you and now his arm blocking you in. It felt as if you were trapped. 

“You should talk to someone. Arachne was your friend”, you state.

You shuffle slightly forward to hint to him that he was too close but he remains stagnant in his place. 

“Arachne was not my friend”, he deflects. 

You never liked her which meant Coriolanus never liked her. 

“You're my friend. Arachne was just someone I grew up with. I hardly knew her”, Coriolanus tried a softer tone as his previous speech came off harder than intended. 

He offered a kind smile that you did not return. 

“I’ve been worried about you all day” he breathes. 

His hand moves to your hip, and you are quick to push it off. 

“Coriolanus you are acting strange, perhaps you should go see the school doctor. No one would blame you if you chose to drop out of mentoring after yesterday”. 

Strange you called it. Not a man desperately in love. But a mad man that needs to be taken away. 

This causes him to take a step back away from you. His eyes go down to the ground but shoot back up at you. Mentoring. In a haste he checks his watch. 

He was supposed to be at the Arena in fifteen minutes but he is twenty minutes away. 

He groans, cursing the length of the Citadel from here, and cursing your late class.

 “I have to leave”, he says, “i just came to make sure you were okay”. 

“I am”, you acknowledge. 

He steps forward again, placing his hands on your shoulder blades and pulling you forward into his chest. 

You stumble into him, timidly raising your hands to pat his lower back. 

��Forget your last class, you should go home”, he begs. 

He feels you push back against him so he lets you go and takes a step back. 

“You should worry more about yourself. You look so pale”. 

When you reach out to touch his forehead, he leans into your touch. Loving the way your little warm hand felt. 

He knew it didn’t mean anything. You were kind. He could have been anyone and you would have done the same thing. 

Still he allows himself a second of pretend that it meant more. 

“I have to go”, he says again, “Just promise me that you’ll go home”.

“Sure, Coriolanus”, you amuse. 

It was enough to hear it. He didn’t need to believe it. 

With a final smile, he reaches up to touch your elbow once more and leaves you in the dark corner. 

His run to the arena would have been easier for him if he had any fuel to burn.

His breakfast of a single potato did not provide enough energy to make the distance, yet he pushed himself further than his body wanted him to. 

It paid off when he reached the arena just in time for walk-in. 

He filed in next to Lucy-Grey seconds before the doors opened. 

“I didn’t think you were going to make it”, lucy-Grey admits. 

“We’re going to win this” Coriolanus vows, “Together”. 

The arena is dark. An ominous red glow from the ticket vendor invites them in. 

The camera crew are already there, pointing their large frames in the faces of the tributes. 

Lucy-Grey smiles at it, before it pans to a Solomon looking Sejanus walking behind his tribute.

When the shutters open, the streaming light startles Lucy-Grey who pulls back against Coriolanus. 

He steadies her, looking around for possible strategies. 

“Please” Lucy-Grey grabs his arm to turn him towards her, “Please, Coriolanus, don’t let me die in here tomorrow”.

Before he can answer he is knocked off his feet by a large explosion. He feels heavy gusts of wind from three other directions meaning there was no safe direction he could turn too. 

Lucy-Grey lands beside him, and he scrambles to help her to her feet. 

The dust is heavy and clouds them. He could feel lucy-gray in his grasp but could only faintly see her.  The screams and commotion make it impossible to hear what she is trying to say. 

Another loud explosion tore the roof down over them. 

He releases Lucy-gray so they could both run for cover. 

Days of the war spring to his memory. The rebels were back to finish him off. 

The force of the explosion knocked him off balance and onto the floor. 

He could see peoples feet as they scramble past but none stop to help him. 

A louder, cracking noise spoke of his bigger issue and he turns to see a large pailing coming down towards him. 

Knowing he wouldn't have enough time to get to his feet, he began to crawl as fast as he could. 

It wasn’t fast enough. The hot metal pailing pins his shoulder to the ground. He could smell his own flesh burning as he lay trapped. 

Was this how it ended? He regrets not kissing you today. He had always been reserved. Afraid of your rejection. But he should have just took. Now he’ll die without ever getting to taste you. 

Through the smoke he could see Lucy-Grays boots come into view. 

“Help me” he begs. He still had so much to do. 

She looks to be bending down to assist when she is interrupted by Marcus flying across towards the open door. 

“Leave him” he demands, “He wouldn’t save you”. 

Marcus doesn’t stick around for her decision. Running to his freedom just across the room. 

It was true, if it come down to it Coriolanus would save himself. But Lucy-Gray needed him to survive. She would only get caught in the Capitol and then thrown in the area without a mentor. 

She must have realized that too because she bent back down to lift the burning metal off Coriolanus. She didn’t have to lift it far for Coriolanus to roll out from under it.

He is panting heavily he realizes, and is unable to move his shoulder.When Peacekeeper came to take lucy-gray away. Coriolanus couldn’t even rise from the floor to stop them. 

He throws out his good hand in an attempt to do something. But the searing pain in his shoulder and his cloudy head hindered him from being able to help. 

The last image he could see was her looking down at her burnt hands before it all went black. 

His pounding headache woke him to the sight of you by his bed. 

He didn’t believe it. He had to be dead. 

His hand lashes out to take a hold of your wrist. You felt real. 

Your reaction seemed real. A startled look of surprise and discomfort. 

“Woah, Corio, take it slow”, the voice of Tigres calls to him. 

He looks away from your face to see Tigres sitting in the chair next to you. 

“What?” Coriolanus questioned, “What happened?”. 

He lets go of your wrist only so he could rise from the bed. The ache in his shoulder becoming more apparent as he moved. 

“It was a rebel bombing. They must have been planning it for months. Four tributes were killed”. 

Coriolanus almost scowls hearing his voice. 

Sejanus sat in a chair positioned on the other side of the bed. You hadn’t come to him in his hour of need. You were merely tagging along with your boyfriend. 

“Everyone is terrified, Corio” Tigres explains, “Fliex Ravenstill is on life support”. 

“The rebels released a message. They said they want to tear down the symbol of the Hunger Games. Marcus got out. He’s the only one. Peacekeepers are hunting him in the streets but at least he has a better chance out there than he would tomorrow”, Sejanus gravely mutters. 

“Tomorrow?” Coriolanus expounds, “They’re not still going ahead with the Games?”

“We can’t look weak in front of the enemy,” you spat, “Everything is going ahead as scheduled. I don’t even know if Lucy-Gray will be able to play tonight”.

“The interviews”, Coriolanus guessed, still hazy. 

He pulls himself up out of bed, holding out his arm for you to help his rise. 

You do, automatically, hooking his good arm over your shoulder and wrapping your arm across his waist to keep him up. 

‘‘You shouldn’t get out of bed”, you criticize him. 

Normally he wouldn’t ignore you, but the interviews started fifty minutes ago. 

Sejanus rises to in order to assist Coriolanus as he shuffles forward, but Coriolanus barks another order at him. 

“Sejanus, turn the Tv to the interviews”. 

Like a good dog, he obeys. Leaving another man hanging onto his girlfriend. 

“Careful, Corio” Tigres directs. 

Coriolanus takes tigres arm as he couldn’t lift his shoulder so all his weight wasn’t passed on to you. 

The Tv turns just in time to watch Lucy-gray come out with a guitar, and a big smile. 

Sejanus makes his way over to you, offering to take your place as Coriolanus’ anchor. 

He is quick to speak for you. Stating that the change would topple him to the floor. 

Sejanus relents and takes his place beside you. You made no complaints so Coriolanus’ weight couldn’t have been hurting you. 

Coriolanus had missed the opening introduction due to Sejanus, but was now focused enough as Lucy-Gray went into her song. 

“Where did she get the guitar?” Coriolanus asks. He had been too busy to organize her one before the bombing. 

“I brought it for her”, you answer, “i went to see if she was okay after the bombing and she said she needed a guitar for her interview. Said she’ll feel naked without it”. 

“Thank you. That was very kind”, Coriolanus commended softly. 

Coriolanus always knew someday that you and him would make a great team.

Your eyes are trained on Lucy-gray, and Coriolanus followed suit. 

She sang about a boy back home and a betrayal. Was that what she was referring to when she said it was complicated back home. Will she fight with everything she had in her or does she secretly hope that she will die just to spite her past lover. 

It was additional stress Coriolanus could have lived without. 

“The poor girl” you mutter with tears rolling down your face. 

Coriolanus squeezes your shoulders in comfort. 

‘She’ll be okay” he promises. He would ensure it for his own survival and your personal satisfaction now that you and his tribute were friendly. 

“Thank you for being here”, he says looking down at you, before turning his sights to Tigres, “All of you”. 

“It’s what friends do”, Sejanus answers. The only person Coriolanus was not speaking to. 

“I don’t think you should be standing”, you say, trying to turn Coriolanus back to bed. 

He allows you to lead him there where you tuck him back into bed. 

You ruin the moment by going straight back into Sejanus’ arms once Coriolanus has settled. 

“We’ll leave you to rest” Sejanus states. 

He looked too unhappy for a man who held you in his arms. 

“Goodnight” he bids, ��and y/n, thank you for helping Lucy-Gray tonight”.

Her performance wouldn't have been half as moving with the soft, sad melody accompanying it. 

“Good luck, Coriolanus. I hope she wins”, you remark. 

With the Plinth prize and the love of his life on the line; lucy-gray was going to be the 10th annual winner of the Hunger Games. 

Coriolanus just had to figure out how to give her a competitive edge. 

He visited the zoo later that night after scouting out the new arena. With four tributes already dead and the new tunnels revealed, the bombing may have been the best thing that had ever happened to him. 

“Lucy-gray!” he calls softly, “Lucy-gray!”

He can hear the pounding of her footsteps as they come closer. He checks for Guards and woken tributes as she made unnecessary noise. None were aroused so he remained in his spot. 

“You’re alive!” She exclaims as she nears the fence. 

“Those bombs have changed everything”, he wastes no time to explain his purpose here, “They blew the walls out. So that means you can escape up into the stands. Theres a hole down in the floor, it leads down to some tunnels. You can escape there, I tried it.So the moment you hear that bell ring, you run as fast as you can for that hole and find a palace to hide down below alone”. 

‘Alone? No, jessups my friend”, she argues. 

He shakes his head ‘no’. 

“The moment that bell rings, you can’t trust anyone. Not even jessup. Just lay low down there until its safe to come out”, he demands. 

Couldn't she see that she was risking not only her own life, but his, with her undying loyalty. 

“Thank you. You and y/n have been so nice to me. I don’t know what I would have done without you both”, Lucy-Grey declares, “I don’t know how i’ll ever pay you back for your kindness”. 

“You can win”, Coriolanus orders, “you winning will be life changing for y/n and I. We can finally live the life we want to live. When you win, you’ll win for all of us”. 

‘I’ll try, but-” she begins but never finishes as Coriolanus cuts her off. 

“Theres no ‘buts’. Theres no other option”, he asserts. 

Lucy-Gray begins to cry from the pressure of it all. 

“Hey”, he whispers in sympathy. 

“I am sorry. I am more hopeful in the day light but when it gets to night”, she whimpers. 

“It’s okay” he consoles, reaching for his handkerchief in his pocket. The same one he used to wipe your tears, he now used to wipe the tears of Lucy-gray. 

“We are going to win, Lucy-Gray. I promise.”.

“Y/n, real lucky to have a friend like you” Lucy-gray comments. 

He knew that. Who else would be willing to risk everything for your happiness. It didn’t even bother him that Lucy-gray referred to him as your friend. 

All that matters is that someone else realizes the depth of his love. 

“I am very lucky to have her”. He breaths. He was cautious to say too much.

“Look, that song, I need to know that you are serious about winning”, he demands. 

“That song? That was just pay back, that’s all”, she defenders, “my old boyfriend Billy taupe was cheating on me with the mayor's daughter. She got crazy jealous, had her pa read my name out on stage, and now everyone will know what they did to me”.

The look upon her face told him that she was serious, so he reached into his breast pocket to pull out his most prized possession. 

“Here” he shoves the compact into Lucy’s-Grays hand.

“I can’t” she resists, “It’s too fine”

He clasps his hands over hers to stop her passing it back. 

“It’s not a gift. It’s a loan. His large hands wrap entirely around Lucy-Gray’s little fingers. 

“Whats in here, don’t touch it. Don’t even breathe it in because small amounts can be deadly”. 

He could faintly see Lucy-gray staring back at him in the dark. Her big brown eyes caught the lighting of the Zoo and shined back at him. 

“I have seen what war does to people, okay?”, he lectures, “I’ve seen it, and there will come a time when you need this, when you need to act. We all do things we’re not proud of to survive.”

Unexpectedly she brings her head forward to bars in an attempt to kiss him. He lowers his head slightly to dissuade her. 

The last thing he needed was word getting back to you through a Tribute pretending to be asleep, or just his poor luck to have a Capitol citizen decide to visit the Zoo at the exact moment of weakness. 

“I am sorry”, she gasps, “you said it was complicated with y/n, and y/n said she was with Sejanus so I”. 

She doesn’t finish her sentence, too embarrassed. 

Coriolanus shakes it off like it was nothing, in an attempt to ease her. 

“It’s fine. I just”, Coriolanus wasn’t sure what to say. 

You were with Sejanus. There was no real reason why he couldn’t kiss lucy-gray. 

It was mis-guided loyalty to a woman who kissed another man. Sometimes right in front of Coriolanus. 

Still it didn’t feel right. He wanted you to be the only person he kissed. 

“It’s”, Coriolanus begins. 

“Complicated”, Lucy-Gray finishes. 

Coriolanus moves closer, bringing his head as far as he could to the bars.

“We’re gonna win this Lucy-Gray. We’re gonna win this together. I’m going to get you home, back to the Covery, okay? I promise”. 

Coriolanus looks at his victor. His dog in the race. He’s bet it all on her, and he’ll be damned if she was going to let him down.

The morning of the Games, Coriolanus couldn’t even eat his cabbage soup that Tigres had worked so hard to prepare. 

He kisses Grandma’am and Tigress goodbye before beginning his long journey to school. 

There would be cameras and crowds of people. He had to look composed, but inside he felt the most scared he had ever been. 

The feeling eased seeing you across the auditorium. 

Your hair was down, and your uniform looked freshly pressed. Sejanus held you by the waist as you spoke to him, and you rested your hands on top of his. 

It didn’t matter you were here for Coriolanus just as much as you were for Sejanus. His tribute wasn’t even participating. If anything you had come to support Coriolanus and Lucy-Gray. 

“Coryo!” Sejanus called for him as he approached the mentors chairs. 

Sejanus lets go of you, which is something Coriolanus would never do, to place a hand on Coriolanus shoulder. 

“Hey” Coriolanus greets. His eyes remain on you and how you smile at him. 

“How you doing?  You alright?” Sejanus asks. 

“Better”, Coriolanus dismisses. 

He sees a photographer approaching from the corner of his eye, and takes the opportunity to take a step back to invite you between Sejanus and himself. 

With a hand on your lower back, he propels you forward. The hand remains as you shuffle next to him. 

“Over here please!”, the man with the large camera calls. 

Coriolanus smiles at the camera, and he hoped you were too. The flash blinds him, and your smiles fades too fast to be certain it ever was really there. 

“How are you this morning?”, Coriolanus asks softly. 

“Not about to be forced to fight to the death”, you snap.

You don’t look at him as you speak as you often choose not to do. 

“Here we go. Here we go, everyone, come on”, Lucky flickerman diverts people back to their seats, before Coriolanus has the opportunity to comfort you.

Sejanus' large hand goes to the back of your neck, and he leans down to whisper in your ear. 

“Wait for me over there?” he asks, flicking his head to the nearest bleacher to his seat. 

It was the furthest from Coriolanus’ seat, but you nod in agreement and move to his direction. 

Coriolanus is ushered into his own seat. He has to crane his neck to look at you sitting on the end of the bleacher all by yourself. He hates to see you as a social out-cast. 

“Five, four, three, two”, the music signals the start of Lucky Flickerman's introduction. 

Coriolanus ignores him mostly. Turning in his chair to watch you engrossed in the large television in front of you. 

Your hands grip the seat underneath you. He would give anything to be able to comfort you. 

He wanted to tell you that it was all going to be okay. If he sat you where he wanted, he would have been able to hold your hand, but Sejanus had put distance between you and him, so he would have to watch from afar. 

Suddenly you gasp, bring your hand up to your mouth with a frightened expression. 

Coriolanus turns back to the screens to see what could have caused such a reaction. 

They had found Marcus and left him strung up and half-alive in the arena. It was cruel even for Coriolanus. 

You shouldn’t have had to see that. Coriolanus wished he could have protected you from it. A district boy taught a lesson, at the expense of your poor, soft heart. 

You’ll be crying about it for weeks with only Sejanus for consolation. 

Coriolanus wasn’t sure who would be comforting who with the way Sejanus jumped from his chair. 

As soon as he is out of it, the chair was flying across the room. Only stopping when it hits the force of the wall. 

“You’re monsters! All of you!” He screams to the audience. 

He storms past Lucky flickerman who begins the countdown to the Games as if Sejanus had never existed at all. 

Coriolanus gets up, rushing over to you as you rise to follow Sejanus. 

He manages to catch your arm just as you make it to the exit way. 

The scene was out of the line of camera-shot. Past the first three rows of seats, and hidden by the depth of the stands. 

Coriolanus felt hidden enough to not let go of your arm, despite you struggling against him. 

You turn back to see how had stopped you with an angry expression, but it doesn’t soften when you see it’s him. 

“Don’t”, he begs. He wanted you to stay and support him. 

It didn’t matter if you knew it or not, but you were his biggest comfort, and that’s what he needed as he watched Lucy-Gray fight for his life. 

You don’t listen to him, tugging your arm out of his grip and chasing after Sejanus without looking back. 

Coriolanus watches as you go with a heavy breath.

‘And they’re off!” Lucky announces. 

Coriolanus turns to watch Lucy-Gray run from her mark.

“Run”, he demands softly. He takes a few steps forward but is halted when Lucy-Gray remains in the same spot, looking around. 

“What are you doing? Run” he groans. 

He staggers back to his seat, gripping the plastic back tightly in his hand. 

His eyes shut when Lucy-Gray narrowly avoids a strike from Reaper.  

Why won’t anyone ever listen to him, he wondered. 

A district 2 kid gets slaughtered which gains the Cameras full attention. When it pans back to a field shot, Lucy-Gray was crossing the broken fragments with Coral hot on her heels. 

Coriolanus felt the need to take a seat as he watched. A few of his eliminated classmates wished him well as they left, but Coriolanus remained slumped against his hand. 

It wasn’t until she had gathered Jessup and began racing for the hole in the ground that Coriolanus lifted his head again. 

“Go, go, go”, he muttered. The pack was closing in. Hell bent on taking out Lucy-gray. 

They almost manage to, but Lucy-Gray slips through the broken door, and a squabble prohibits the hunters coming in. 

He sighs. At least she was safe for now. He would worry about Jessup when it came time for it. Whats the point of worrying now? It was still anybody's game. He could very well die within the next hour from a surprise attack. 

Coriolanus squirms in his seat watching as another child is hacked apart by dull weapons. 

He pushes it from his mind as soon as the camera shifts. Lucy-Gray was safe, thats all that mattered. She still has a shot at winning. 

Nothing more happened. All the tributes found shelter in one corner or another. Only Reaper paced the opened space, willing someone to come attack him. 

Coriolanus wonders if you will be back. He hoped you would come check on him. 

Coriolanus rises his head to the screen once more as Lamina makes her way up the broken fragments to where Marcus hung. Reaper gave her space, seemingly knowing what she was doing. 

A small conversation between the two preceded Lamina swinging her axe down. 

Coriolanus shudders hearing the impact. He hoped you didn’t see that. 

He could only imagine the sobbing it would cause. 

Lamina cuts marcus down and he falls like a bag of bricks. 

She gazes down at him. Coriolanus couldn’t tell if it was in remorse, or in quiet pride of giving him a merciful death.

The sound of the drone coming near broke her concentration. The water attached swung in the air as it flew too fast towards her. She rose, reaching out to catch it. 

Coriolanus almost laughed when it drove straight past her and smashed into the rocks. 

The night dragged on, but Coriolanus remained. Eyes glued to the screen in hope of a glance of Lucy-Gray. 

The camera stayed mainly above ground where the action was, but sometimes he got a dash at what Lucy-Gray was doing. 

She was still alive. Or at least was, ten minutes ago. 

The other mentors, and most of the audience had left as the night bled. 

Nothing had really happened for hours. A squabble or a chase here and there but most of the fight had left the tributes. 

“If only you could trap y/n as easily as you have trapped that poor girl”, Dean Highbottoms voice surprised Coriolanus.

“I’ve trapped her?”Coriolanus fought, “I didn’t create the Games”.

He saw Dean Highbottom flinch ever so slightly. If he hadn't been looking so intensely, he would have missed it. 

“No”, Highbottom concedes, “but you’ve fueled its continuance. You’ve turned dying children into spectacles , Mr Snow. Congratulations”.

Coriolanus ignores him, turning back to the screens. 

“Are you honestly hoping that winning the plinth prize will win you the girl?”, Dean Highbottom mocks. 

“I am hoping my hard work will pay off”, Coriolanus bites. 

“I saw you before with miss y/n, trying to stop her from leaving”. 

“I was trying to stop her from making a fool out of herself”.

“What do you want from that poor girl?”. 

Coriolanus knew there was no point in lying. Dean Highbottom had already figured out Coriolanus’ intentions. 

“Only whats best”, he answers. 

“Hm and you think winning the Plinth prize will help you decide what is best for her?”, Hightbom begins to laugh, his voice taking on a sing-songy tone, “Wake up mr Snow. Who do you think decides? Even if your songbird wins, I’ll do everything in my power to ensure you don’t see a single dime of that prize money’. 

Coriolanus turns back to Highbottom with his anger logged in his throat.

The older man smiles back. Coriolanus knew the man was trying to get him to slip up. But his aggravation won’t lose him the prize. If Highbottom wanted it, he would have to rip it from Coriolanus��s hands. 

Instead he turns back to the screen. Lucy-gray was still underground, feeding Jessup water. 

He could hear Dean Highbottom walking away which left him with a small victory. 

Coriolanus takes a deep breath, and sits straightener in his chair. 

It wasn’t over. Dean Highbottom wasn’t the only authority. When Coriolanus won, surely Dr Gaul would fight for him. The other teachers too. The star pupil robbed of the victory? Coriolanus would see to an up roar. 

At some point Coriolanus began to doze off. The late night and the slow turn of events left him the last one in the auditorium. The quietness of it all had his eyes shutting.

“Coriolanus?”. He heard your voice call. 

He ignores it ,sure it was a dream. But you tap his arm, and his eyes shoot open to see you standing in front of him. 

You were still in your school uniform, your hair slightly more messy than a couple of hours prior and you looked on the verge of tears. 

It panicked him greatly to see you in such a state. 

He reaches out, quickly taking your wrist in his hold. 

“Huh, what happened? Are you okay?”, he asks. 

“Has Sejanus been here?”, you quake. 

Coriolanus shakes his head ‘no’. 

He could have rolled his eyes. Of course, Sejanus was behind your tears once more. Coriolanus had never made you cry. 

“Why would he be here?”, Coriolanus asks. It seemed an unlikely place to visit while his old friend lay dead on several different screens.

Tears begin to roll down your cheeks causing Coriolanus to spring up, attempting to bring you in his arms. You push him away, keeping an arms length distance between you both. 

“I thought maybe he would come see you. We were sleeping and I woke up, and he was gone”, you explain with a shaky breath, “I don’t know where he could have went, Coriolanus. He’s not in a good place. I am worried-”

“Not in a good place, indeed” Dr Gauls voice booms through the open space. 

This time when Coriolanus touched you, he was given permission. He pulls you next to him to face Dr Gaul together. 

Dr Gaul was disinterested in the couple, taking the master remote and turning all the channels  to the same camera. 

“Sejanus!”, you gasp upon seeing your boyfriend knelt down next to his old friend in the arena. 

Your hand takes a hold of Coriolanus' arm in a tight grip. Your painted nails dig into his uniform jacket. 

“Breadcrumbs” Dr Gaul annotates while the room watches Sejanus spread the food over his friend, “I believe substance for a fallen comrade in his final journey. A district 2 superstition”. 

“How did he get in there?” you question, never once tearing your eyes from the screen. 

“I’ll work on finding the peacekeeper he bribed to let him in, and remove his tongue”, Dr Gual snarls, “in the meantime I need you to get him out right now”. 

Dr Gaul looked directly at you which spiked Coriolanus heart rate, 

“You should send Peacekeepers in”, he demanded. There was no way you were joining Sejanus in the arena. 

“Only to have him bolt and hide like a rabbit?”, Dr Gaul retorts. “Fleix Ravenstill is fighting for his life in a hospital bed, Mr Snow. I will not have these rebels make a further mockery of my games. Anyone sees us lose control of this arena, it might as well be sounding a horn to the districts to revolt!”. 

Dr Gaul takes a breath, trying to regain the composure lost. She turns her sight back on you, who had dropped Coriolanus' arm during her speech. 

You stood brave, staring straight back at her with discontempt. 

“You choose to be lovers with the radical. Don’t you want him out?”, Dr Gaul gages you. 

Coriolanus steps forward trying to take Dr Gauls attention away from you. 

‘‘Sending her into the arena will get her killed. It’ll look a lot worse if the tributes kill two Capitol students”, Coriolanus justifies. 

“A volunteer then?”,Dr Gual pushes.

“I’ll go”, You say too quickly, “I can get him out”.

“I’ll go”, Coriolanus declares. 

The mere thought of you in the arena left a sick feeling in his stomach. He wouldn’t watch helplessly on the other side of the screen while you risked your life for Sejanus. 

He couldn’t believe Sejanus had put you in this position. Coriolanus’s every move was calculated with you in mind. 

It was pure luck that you had chosen to seek Coriolanus out. If you hadn’t he would have woken the next morning to see you dead in the arena next to Sejanus. 

He would go into the arena to save Sejanus if it meant saving you. 

“No!” you protested, once again grabbing hold of Coriolanus arm to pull him back. 

He turns to you with a look of irritation on his face. 

“What chance do you think you stand if one of the tributes decide to attack? I am stronger, faster”, Coriolanus explained. He hated being irritated at you, but you wouldn’t see sense, “I’ll get him out, y/n. I promise”. 

“Unless you are both secretly hoping he’ll die in that arena, we need to move fast”, Dr Gaul utters.

Her expression had changed from one of anger to quiet amusement, but she had not forgotten the task at hand. 

She turns, expecting the children to follow her as she talks. Coriolanus follows suit, leading you as you wrap yourself around his arm. 

He would have shaken you off. You had no place being even near the arena, let alone outside of its gates, but he loved the way you clung to him. 

Your tight hold told him you would fight if he tried to leave you. Really it was the way you should be holding him. Not just now, in a state of emergency. 

“I’ll freeze the feed for one hour”, Dr Gaul says as she moves out of the school, “I expect thats all the time we have until someone notices”. 

A Peacekeeper van is waiting down the steps of the school. Dr Gaul jumps in, leaving the back of the van open for the children. 

Coriolanus helps you up into the back of the van before lifting himself up behind you. The doors are closed shut as he enters, and the van takes off before he is fully sat next to you.

You are unusually quiet. Coriolanus could tell you were scared from the way you sat. Arms crossed across your chest, looking straight ahead of you with a glazed look. 

Coriolanus places a hand on your knee in comfort but you don’t seem to register it. 

He tries not to mind Dr Gauls' searing stare from the other bench. He focuses on you and your state of worry. 

You begin to chew your lip absentmindedly. He wanted to pull it from between your teeth to get you to stop, but the van lurched forward as it stopped. 

The drive wasn’t long, but the peacekeeper sped to it anyway. 

As the doors are pulled open, Coriolanus takes a deep breath. There was no guarantee that he wouldn't be beaten to death by a tribute trying to save a man he loathed. 

Grandma’am and Tigres wouldn’t survive without him, but if he died, he would at least make sure Sejanus died along with him. 

If he couldn't have you, Sejanus definitely couldn’t. 

“Lets go, Mr Snow”, Dr Gual urges. 

She jumps out first. Coriolanus could hear her directing the Peacekeepers on what was about to happen. 

You rise with Coriolanus. But He doesn’t allow you to get to the door as he does. 

He jumps down and spins, placing his hand on the doors and bringing them closer together. 

"Stay in the van”, he orders. 

Surely, even on the off chance that a tribute managed to get through the gates, you would be safe in a locked van. 

You nod your head in understanding, trying to ease his worry. 

It doesn’t work but he appreciates it anyway. 

He smiles up at you, taking the time to have a good look at you in case it was his last time. 

With the doors shut on you, he could focus more clearly. He wasn’t going to die in that arena. He wasn’t going to die by a district hand. 

He was going to get out alive. You were going to wake up to yourself and realise that you had been hopelessly in love with Coriolanus this whole time. 

The gates are unlocked and he feels his confidence waver. Nevertheless, he persits with his mission and with a careful step he enters the arena. 

It’s dark and quiet. The moonlight does little to help. A tribute could jump out at any time and Coriolanus would never see them coming. 

He was cautious to make any sounds,  stepping softly on the fragmented rocks. 

The gate makes it stupid welcome message as he passes through it under the belief the game makers would have been smart enough to disable it. 

His breath gets caught in his throat while waiting to see who it attracts. He doesn’t move. 

He feels the blood rush to his ears, and his body ready itself to fight. No one comes. 

Coriolanus’s eyes scan the room for whatever movement he could pick up on. It seemed there was none. 

With a shaky breath he attempts to continue on, when his heightened ears pick up on a scuffle behind him. 

He spins quickly, ready to dodge an attack. He wished it had been a tribute, and not you trying to climb over the turn stalls. 

On its own accord, his face scrunches in anger. His footsteps are louder than he liked as he stormed over to you. 

He takes your hips into what he was sure was a painful hold, and looks past you to see they had already locked the gate. You were now trapped in here with angry Tributes with nothing to lose. 

Previously, he had never thought it possible to be angry with you. Now he wanted to scream in your face until you cried. 

He helps you down, softly to the ground, and catches your hand harshly in his. 

“You’re an idiot”, he whispers, “Stay close”. 

He squeezes your fingers into the palm of his hand, but you make no complaint as you follow him into the arena. 

Coriolanus felt his anxiety and senses heightened. He could faintly see Sejanus in the moonlight still knelt on the ground next to Marcus. 

He felt you pull against his hold as you near Sejanus, but he refuses to let you go an inch. 

If there was a tribute lurking he wanted to know where you were. 

“Sejanus”, you whisper when you are within earshot. 

He spins straight away upon hearing you. The panic he should have had all along, comes crashing all at once. He looked like a man who had seen a ghost as he rose from the floor. 

‘What are you doing here?”, he questions in a strained, soft voice. 

Sejanus takes your arms in his hands. Coriolanus wanted to yank you out of his hold, but a squabble would cause unnecessary attention. 

“Get her out of here, Coryo”, Sejanus demands.

“I would like to. Believe me”, Coriolanus scolds. His eyes darted around the room, ensuring that all was still unnoticed. 

“I am not leaving without you”, with your free hand you reach out to take a fist full of Sejanus shirt. 

“I have to do this” Sejanus justifies, “I have to go where the cameras are”. 

“You think anyone is watching this?” Coriolanus spat, taking a step closer to the couple, “Gaul cut the feed. Tributes kill you in here, she’s just going to say you died from the flu”. 

“They won’t kill me”, Sejanus vows. 

“Yes they will!” you reproach. 

Maybe there was hope for you, Coriolanus thinks, Maybe Sejanus hadn’t brainwashed you fully. 

The moonlight as it bounces off Lamina’s axe catches Coriolanus’s eye, and the safety net had now disappeared. She wouldn’t attack, but she could draw attention at any time. 

“You need to decide right now”, Coriolanus demands, he breaks Sejanus' hold on you in case you need to run, and focuses Sejanus attention on himself, “do you want to fight these tributes or fight for them? Because if you want to make real change, you need to stay alive”. 

“How can I make any change from out there?”, Sejanus discredits his power. 

He was not worthy of his power if he had no brains on how to use it. 

“You’re rich, smart. You care. You stood up to Gaul in that class, didn’t you? Spend your fathers money, do some real good”, a clash of the metal resounds in the arena. More would wake from the noise, and the group wouldn’t stand a chance. 

“We’re dead. Y/n’s dead if we don’t leave right now”, Coriolanus reprimand, “Come with us, or just be another body in Gaul’s war”. 

He knew he would have to fight to get you to leave Sejanus. But he was only allowing a few more seconds before he raced you to the exit. 

Worried that you would get yourself killed in the struggle to save Sejanus, Coriolanus turns to begging as a last resort. 

Placing a hand on Sejanus' shoulder, he brings the delusional boy closer. 

“Please, Sejanus. We’re friends. Trust me”, Coriolanus pleaded. 

You tug on Sejanus' shirt to move, “Come” you implore. 

His large, dirty palm goes over your hand, “Alright”, he whispers. 

The attack came at the perfect time. Coriolanus heard the shuffling of the boys shoes giving him time to pull you back towards the exit, before the war cry resounded through the arena. 

“Go, Run!” he demands, pushing you ahead of him. 

You sprint as fast as you can across the broken floor. Coriolanus caught up easily, pushing you forward urging you to move faster.  

Sejanus lagged behind, choosing to look at the fast approaching tribute. 

“Go! Go!” Coriolanus yells at you when you turn around to see where Sejanus was. 

You don’t look back again, until you reach the turn stalls. 

Coriolanus jumps over with ease, turning back to help you over. You stumble as your foot gets stuck on the rusty metal turn, and Coriolanus drags you over it as fast as he could. 

His hand takes a hold of yours once more as Sejanus approaches the stand with the tribute hot on his heels. 

He runs forward with you, eager to get you to safety beyond the gates. 

Sejanus screams as he stumbles over the hard metal and you halt your quick pace to safety. 

You call for him, trying to tug your hand out of Coriolanus’s. He resists, trying to get you to leave Sejanus.

Coriolanus promises to go back for him once you were beyond the gates but you wouldn’t have it. 

He drops your hand, rathering his own life to be in danger for Sejanus than yours. 

Coriolanus reaches Sejanus quicker than you do, and yanks him off the ground. 

‘Come on, get up!”Sejanus tries to regain his feet but his knee refuses to take any weight, “y/n, get to the gate!”, Coriolanus commands. 

You don’t turn, running towards Sejanus instead of away. You take his other arm over your shoulder, trying to assist Coriolanus. 

The screaming of the tribute came closer, and before Coriolanus could move, the sharp edge of a blade hacked into his shoulder. It was a far swing from the tribute but with enough force to split skin. 

He drops Sejanus to dodge the next attack. You fall into the wall, unable to support Sejanus by yourself.

The tribute now closer, stalks over to you with his sword held high. Sejanus tries a feeble attempt to shield you, but Coriolanus takes hold of a metal ruin that was stuck between cement, determined that not one hair on your head would be touched. 

He scrambles off the ground and swings the cement at the tribute with a loud scream. 

The young boy stumbles off balance, but readies himself again. He swung back with the blade which Coriolanus narrowly missed before bringing the cement down across the boy's head. 

It lands him on the ground, but Coriolanus doesn’t stop there, bringing it down once more on the boy who threatened his girl 

“Coriolanus!” you call to him. More tributes were coming out of the shadows. 

He drops his weapon, going back over to you to help lift the weight of Sejanus. 

Sejanus pushes through the pain to quicken the pace of the shuffle, but comotion had inlived  the most dangerous pack. Corals groups hooped and hollered as they approached.  

“Y/n, open the gate!”, Coriolanus demands, wanting you to be first out. 

Sejanus drops his arm from your shoulder, and you take the permission to take off ahead and bang on the gate until it opens. 

Coriolanus could hear the tributes as they run. They weren’t far off. He wasn’t sure they would even make it to the gate in time, but you would and that’s what matters. 

You push yourself out with the gate as it opens, turning back to look at the boys with wide, fearful eyes. 

Coriolanus pushes himself to be faster, taking nearly all of Sejanus' weight onto him. 

They make it just in time, and fall to a heap on the floor next to Peacekeepers boots. 

Corioanus pushes Sejanus off him. His hand reaches for his shoulder that now weeped blood. 

He groans as he feels the ache of the gash, next to his still searing burn mark.

He is distracted momentarily when Coral reaches the gate, and throws her spear into it. 

“Keep your eyes on the screen, gorgeous”, she taunts Coriolaus, throwing her head in the direction of you, “ I may have missed her tonight, but your songbirds next on my list”. 

The Peacekeepers demand that her group get back and the tributes disappear back into the dark tunnel.

He had followed Corals gaze to you on the floor. Your tears run down your cheeks now that the adrenaline is gone. 

Coriolanus moves to get you off the floor and into his arms, but you move as he does, and crawl across the floor to where Sejanus lay. 

You wrap your arms around his neck and sob into him. 

“I am okay”, he promises. His large hand rubs soothing circles on your back. 

You pull back in anger and begin hitting his chest as you speak. 

“How could you?”, you reprimand, “how could you do that?”.

“I am sorry, I had to do something”. Sejanus winces as he tries to sit up. His knee no doubt, completely ruined. 

“You could have been killed”, you cry with a push against his attempted hold. 

Was this the end of the bleeding heart couple? Coriolanus felt a spark of joy, watching as you fought. 

“Coriolanus could have died!”, as if you had forgotten about him you now turn to him, ‘Oh, Coriolanus”, you cry, “Are you okay?”. 

Coriolanus hand went back to his shoulder, feeling the wet patch of blood soak through his school jacket. He had no other uniform, even Tigres wouldn't be able to fix it. 

“Coryo, I am so sorry”, Sejanus apologies. It meant nothing to Coriolanus who ignored him. 

A car screeches to a stop and two car doors slam. 

The car is sleek and expensive with its own full time driver waiting with the lights on. 

Next to it stood Ma and Mr Plinth, who were well dressed as always. 

Ma was crying, but Mr Plinth stood stoic and angry. 

He gave Coriolanus a thankful nod but remained far away expecting his son to come to him. 

Ma runs over to her baby, wrapping herself around her sons head. 

Coriolanus takes the opportunity to move closer to you. You stand upon seeing him approach. 

“Are you alright?’, he questioned. 

You reach up, taking his neck and bringing him down into a hug. He gratefully goes, never expecting a hug before the relationship began. 

“Thank you, Coriolanus. I would have died in there”, you muttered. 

The hug is too short, before he is ready you are pulling away to look at his shoulder. 

“Coriolanus needs help!’, you announce, “Somebody needs to take him to the hospital!”. 

“Come with me”, he begs you.

“Don’t worry, Miss y/n. I’ll take care of our hero here”, Dr Gaul inserts herself where she is not wanted once more. She looked amused at Coriolanus’s physical and emotional pain. 

“Y/n, baby”, Sejanus calls to you. The driver had left the car to assist Sejanus while his father looks on. 

Coriolanus reluctantly lets go as you move to the sound of your name. 

“You’ll look after him?”, you question Dr Gaul. Coriolanus wanted to beg you not to believe her. 

“He’ll be good as new. You have my word”, Dr Gaul promises. 

He shutters as you move further back. 

Mr Plinth does not cross for his son, but he crosses to come collect you. 

He wraps an arm around your shoulder to lead you to the car. 

You look back at Coriolanus as you are led. Taking one final glance before entering the car with Sejanus. 

Coriolanus watches as the car takes off. He wondered if you had your arms wrapped around Sejanus in the back. 

He decides it is best not to submit his body to further stress and pushes it out of his mind. The walk home would help him clear his head, and focus only on the positives of the night. You relied on him tonight. Even acknowledged that he had saved your life. That was a step in the right direction. 

“And where do you think you are going, Mr Snow”, Dr Gaul calls out after him. 

“Home”, he announces over his good shoulder. 

‘And make a liar out of me?” she walks in the opposite direction towards the Peacekeeper van, “Come”. 

The ride back is silent. The same hurry to get there was not offered on the way back. Coriolanus shoulder ached, the blood would not stop pouring, sticking his shirt to his back and irritating his wound. 

Dr gaul doesn’t speak again until they are back in her lab. 

He couldn’t believe she had taken him back to her experimental freak show instead of a hospital. But he was in pain and in need of medical care so he didn’t verbalize his complaints.

“How did it feel?” she asks as she readies her station for him, “when you killed the boy to save y/n?”. 

He should have known she was watching. 

‘I didn’t have a choice”, he spat as he unbuttoned his shirt and took a seat in front of her. 

She laughs at him as she begins her first stitch. 

“All your fine manners, education, background, stripped away in a blink of an eye. Fueled with the terror of becoming prey, how fast we become predators".

Coriolanus lets out a shaky breath as the adrenaline dies down and the needle stitches him together. 

“Who would have thought that one day Crassus Snow’s boy would be fighting for his life in the area over a girl?”, he feels her stop stitching while she waits for the answer to her next question, “That's why you did it no? It wasn’t until news of her involvement that you volunteered. Or did you still wish to proceed with the guise of friendship?”

“Sejanus is not my friend”, Coriolanus declares. 

Her needle work began again, pleased with his answer. 

“You want to protect y/n, Mr Snow? Then it’s essential that you accept what human beings are, and what it takes to control them”. 

He feels her knot the thread into his skin

“So I’ll ask you again, when you beat that boy to death with a club, how did it feel?”. 

“It felt”, Coriolanus breathed, wondering if he should give the honest answer. Deciding he had nothing to lose from it, he answers. 

“It felt powerful”.

“Answer this next one honestly and you won’t have to walk home”, Dr Gaul teases, “Were you hoping that Sejanus died tonight?”

“Yes”, Coriolanus croaks. His own tears welling in his eyes. He refuses to let any more than two fall, which are wiped away harshly. 

“How did it feel to have her life in your hands tonight?”, Dr Gaul pushes. 

Coriolanus nods, unable to form words. 

A hand is placed on his good shoulder. She squeezes to let him know the sincerity of her words. 

“People will do anything to survive, Mr Snow. It doesn’t matter how miserable of an existence it is”. 

Coriolanus thinks to his bare apartment, and cinder block bed. It was true, and he was living proof. 

Survival meant hope. 

He closes his eyes, feeling more tears forming and remembers how malleable you were tonight. You trusted him wholly with your survival, and with that came power over you. 

Lucy-Gray was the same. Tonight you showed him the same loyalty, and respect that you had denied him previously. 

Lucy-Gray had tried to kiss him, and you melded your body to him when you could. He was sure if you were alone, you would have kissed him for saving your life. 

If only he could trap you as easily as Lucy-gray. Keep you in a state of panic that rendered you totally dependent on him. 

He lets out a low, breathy laugh, remembering Dean Highbottoms words. 

Maybe the old man could see more than Coriolanus would like. 

Despite the pain in his shoulder and his little sleep, Coriolanus arrived back at the auditorium bright and early.

Lucy-Gray was still alive. He could see her sleeping against a pole next to Jessup. 

The dead tribute was noticed, but soon forgotten. Only Lysistrata pushed to know more, but she too dropped the subject as the tributes began to wake and fight. 

There were ten tributes left. Not an impossible task for Lucy-Gray to outlive them all. 

He kept careful watch of the screens.  While the rest of the mentors took lunch, and socialized, Coriolanus sat with his head in his hand, hoping for a split second of screen time that told him Lucy-Gray was okay. 

“Coriolanus!”. Your voice shocked him as it appeared. 

He stood to greet you. It was a welcomed but unexpected visit. The games were announced a public holiday, you had no obligation to be at school. 

He would have thought after last night that you would be glued to Sejanus’s side. Was this the beginning of the end? 

“Y/n, what are you doing here?”, he questioned. 

In the daylight he could see a bruise on your temple from when toppled into the wall, under Sejanus. He reaches out to run his finger across the black spot, and you hit his hand away. 

“What are you doing here?”, you push back with a hard tone “I went to your house to check on you, but Tigres said you were here?”. 

Coriolanus felt his body twitch at your words. You went to his run down apartment? How much did you see? Surely, Tigres shielded his shame. Your eyes didn’t carry pity, maybe you didn’t know. 

“Don’t you ever go to my apartment without my permission again”, he scolded. 

That was close. Too close. He was days from getting the plinth prize. Days from burying his decade long shame. 

You seemed drawn back at his harsh tone. He had never spoken to you unkindly before. 

In an effort to ease the mood once more, before you left, he threw his hands up as if it wasn’t a big deal. 

“My Grandmother has severe social anxiety. We can’t have unexpected visitors”, he lies with a soft and airy tone. 

“Oh, I am sorry. I didn’t know”, you offer. 

Coriolanus tuts, bringing his hand up once more to brush the hair off your bruise. 

“You shouldn’t have been in there”, he complains. 

The bruise looked painful. He was sure it would cause you a headache. You should be resting with ice upon it, not here talking to him. 

“No one should be in there”, you return. 

His hand is pushed away again, but he attributes it being too soft to touch, rather than disdain for him touching you. 

"Thank you for checking on me”, he says. 

“You shouldn’t be here, Coriolanus. Not after last night”. 

“Lucy-Gray needs me”, he observes.

Your eyes flick to the screen behind him, before back to Coriolanus’s eyes and nod in agreement.

“Sejanus is in the hospital. They have him on morphline. His knee will never work fully, but he is alive and that's because of you”, you proclaim, “Lucy-Gray is fortunate to have you looking out for her. We all are”. 

His heart flutters. ‘We all are’, yes! Yes! You were lucky to have him looking out for you. Have you finally come to appreciate all he does for you?

He smiles down at you. If his shoulder didn’t ache, he would have reached out for you. 

“If there’s anything I can do”, you offer.

“There is!” He responds too quickly. 

He clears his throat, trying to conceal his eagerness. 

“There is”, repeats more even toned, “You could stay. I could use the support”. 

You looked unsure of the request, but he had saved your life just hours prior, so you felt an obligation to do as he asked. 

“Sure, Coriolanus”, you finally say, although you still looked unsure, “I can stay for a little bit”. 

He could barely breathe. The “great” he manages to get out is hardly above a whisper. 

He leads you to the front bench just in front of the first row of mentor chairs.

You sit obediently and he takes his new seat in front of you.

The tributes have become more lively. Coral was on the hunt for Lucy-Gray trying to convince one of her group members to go down and flush her out. 

None would so they go back to making traps to catch Reaper. 

Coriolanus reaches his hand back to you, trying to see how far his luck would take him. 

You do take his hand into your own, but only for the time it took to give him three encouraging pats to the back of his hand. 

It was close enough. Leaving Coriolanus with a feeling of satisfaction. 

The feeling stayed for less than a second. His good mood disappeared when the camera flew back to Lucy-Gray underground. 

Jessup was getting agitated. Yelling at Lucy-Gray and twitching uncontrollably. 

“What’s he doing?”Coriolanus jumps out of his chair and moves closer to the screens. 

“They’re friends. He wouldn’t hurt her”, you comment, coming up beside him. 

“Somethings wrong”, Lysistrata agrees, “He wouldn’t turn on her like this”.

Lucy-Gray makes a mad dash away which only further angers Jessup, determined that he had done something. 

Coriolanus watches in panic. Lucy-gray couldn't defend herself. She would never hurt Jessup, even in his mad state. 

“Go to the stands, go to the stands!”, he directs. 

Lucy-gray does go to the stands, climbing up as fast as she could but Jessup was determined to catch her. 

Coriolanus couldn’t watch. He turns and paces, trying to figure out a way to save Lucy-Gray. 

It couldn’t be over. You had only just come around, he needed more time.

The camera zooms in on Jessup allowing full view of the white form dripping down his lips. 

‘Wait, look”, he tells you. 

Your hand balls at your mouth. He hated to see you so frightened yet again. 

As soon as this was all over, he would ensure nothing would ever worry you again. 

“I think it rabies," he announces. 

He could have danced. There was a way out of this mess. The game wasn’t over yet. 

“That bite from the train”, Lysistrata deducts. 

“Send him water”. He demands of Lysistrata. 

“What? No”, she denines. 

He leans across her desk so she is forced to look at him. He was half tempted to just take control of her computer himself. 

“You remember the posters from the war. Rabies. It makes you scared of water. Send him a drone”, he demanded. 

“That’ll scare him”. 

He knew Livy had come to care for Jessup

“Yes” Coriolanus agrees in a hard tone, “away from her”. 

Lysistrata still looked in denial. There was no other option, both their tributes didn’t have to die. 

“Jessup is done”, he says with haste, “Livy, you’re the only one that can get it right to him”. 

Coming to grips with reality, Livy does as she is told, sending a water drone in the direction of Jessup. 

“Thank you”, Coriolanus feels better watching the drone fly in. 

“Nothing to be proud of”, Livy mutters. 

As planned, the drone smashes into him just as he reaches Lucy-gray. 

He hears you gasp as Jessup falls to his death and hits the bottom with a heavy thud. 

He turns to see you still with your hand pressed tightly against your mouth, and eyes squeezed shut. 

The sight makes him feel horrible that he had asked you to stay. 

You were on the side of his sore shoulder so he had to reach across with his good hand to touch you. 

“Coryo”, Livy called as Carol’s group came out of hiding. 

The hand on you balls watching as Corals group surrounds Lucy-gray. 

“Oh no”, he complains. 

He needed to make a distraction, so she could run and hide. He couldn’t just stand and watch. But the only thing he could do was send food and water in on badly operated drones. 

The same badly operated drones that just took Jessup out. 

He reaches for his communipad, and selects as many bottles of water as it would let him. 

He didn’t need to kill the group. Only give Lucy-Gray a chance to get away

The drones go flying in. He hoped Lucy-Gray wouldn’t give the surprise away, but she managed to keep her cool until it was time to duck. 

“Hey! You can’t attack the tributes” a fellow mentor complained. 

“I am just sending water”, Coriolanus jeered. 

He could hear your chuckle of approval behind him. You reach out to his good shoulder and murmur in his ear. 

“Good work”, you encouraged. 

He wished he could have stayed in the moment but it wasn’t over yet. Lucy-gray disappears into the dust, taking with her a bottle of water. 

She hides in the shelter of the ruin and he can faintly see her take something from her dress pocket. 

No there, he wanted to say. What if someone saw her poison the water and he was disquailified. 

He looks around the room to check no one else is noticing. All eyes seemed to be on the group turning against Lamina. 

Lucy-Gray ducks back out with the water, placing it back on the ground before emptying the others collected. It wasn’t a bad idea. 

Lamina's death stopped the clock and the attention was once more turned back to Lucy-gray. 

“Go” you mutter, flicking your hands out as if she could see. 

Lucy-Gray takes off with Coral and her group chasing her back up the stands. She finds an air duct and dives to close it in time. 

Coral catches it before it fully closes and it begins a tug of war against the two. 

“No, No”, you complain. 

He wanted to shield your eyes from the screen. With every inch Coral got, Lucy-Gray found the strength to tug it back. 

When it finally closes, sealing Lucy-gray in safety, Coriolanus lets out  a sigh of relief. 

“She’s Okay” he says to you. 

Coral takes out another tribute over a squabble over the water, and Dill drinks the poisoned water. 

So that was three dead tributes in less than 20 minutes. With this pace Coriolanus would be announced winner before the night ended. 

He sat you back down on your seat, and retook his in front of you. Your fingers cling to the bench underneath you, and your posture is tight and unnatural. 

He expects you to leave him, but you remain watching as Reaper collects the fallen tributes into a neat line and draps the Panam flag over him. 

“Are you going to punish me now?” reaper yells to the cameras. 

He begins to scream again but his words are cut off by a broadcast from Dr Gaul. 

“Capitol Citizens, I’m afraid I must interrupt our games to announce a tragic loss. Fleix Ravienstill, son of our beloved president, has this morning succumbed to his injuries sustained in the rebel bombing.Out there, in the districts, they will be celebrating this young boys death. I will not allow my games to give our enemies such a victory. I swear to you here and now, before the sun goes down tonight, a rainbow of destruction will engulf our arena. Even if it means there’s to be no victor in these games”. 

The broadcast ends, and the tributes go back on screen. 

“What?” you spit, “What does she mean no victor? That's not fair. She can't do that”. 

You rise from your outrage, ranting to Coriolanus. Your anxiety has been taken over by your anger. Coriolanus agreed it was not fair. All his hard work gone down the drain because of the death of Felix,  who was never going to amount to anything anyway. 

A rainbow of destruction. The snakes. There was no way he could protect lucy-Gray from them. 

He would need something with her scent. Could he get the string of her guitar that she played in the interviews? He didn’t even know where it was. By the time he found it, the Games were sure to be over. 

Maybe, he could go to the zoo. Toss as many things as he could into the snake pit and hope one of them was hers? It might mean the survival of everyone but her too. 

The zoo, he remembers. He digs into his breast pocket to pull out the handkerchief he used to wipe her tears away. If the sweat of his palm can keep him safe against the snakes, then surely her fresh tears dried on the handkerchief could. 

He had to get it to the lab before it was too late.

He grabs your forearms and turns you away from the screen to him so he had your full attention. 

“Stay here, okay. I’ll be right back”. He commands. 

“Where are you going?”, you ask astounded that he could be leaving after such news. 

“Just stay here. Don’t move”, he reiterated. 

You nod sensing his urgency and he dashes out of the auditorium into the empty hallway. 

He knew he couldn’t walk into Dr Guals lab without a reason, and begging for Lucy-Grays life wasn’t a good one. 

As he jogs down the steps, he claws at the stitches in his back, reopening the wound. 

He groans from the pain but ensures all eight stitches have torn open. 

His body is weak as he sprints to Dr gauls lab. It barely gets him through the front door, where he demands to see Dr gaul. 

As if she was expecting him, the Peacekeeper lets him directly through. 

“Come to beg for her life?” Dr gaul asks uninterested. 

“No” Coriolanus puffs, “No, my stitches. They came loose. I didn’t want the doctors asking questions”.

She looks at him suspiciously but relents, going to her work table. 

“Come, pull down your shirt”, she directs. 

He walks past a row of black birds locked in cages. Her newest toys. 

“The news must have shocked you Mr Snow. With no tributes, no victor, with no victor, no girl”. 

Coriolanus faces the birds as Dr Gaul stitches the needle into his shoulder. He eyes the large snake tank in the corner and the people who ready it for transport. 

“Y/n’s actually at the auditorium. She came to support me. She’s the one who noticed the stitches”, Coriolanus lies. 

“Support you and not her boyfriend in hospital? Things are looking promising”, she says. 

"Looking promising, looking promising” her voice echoes across the room. Seemingly from the mouth of the birds. 

She sighs and stops stitching to click a receiver. 

“Jabberjays”, she explained, “We sent them out during the war to pick up rebel conversations. A failed experiment. They only pick up useless phrases unless manually operated. I am collecting them to see what better purpose they serve”. 

Coriolanus remains quiet trying to figure out how he could reach the cage before it was too late. 

The needle knots in his back, a feeling Coriolanus had come to know to mean that the stitching was done. 

“I’ll see you and your girl back in the auditorium for the finale, Mr Snow”, Dr Gaul dismisses, “you should be proud of yourself. Your songbird put on a wonderful show, and you didn’t need money to steal the girl after all”. 

Coriolanus quickly buttons up his shirt, watching as the cage was wheeled out. 

“Thank you, Dr Gaul”, he says. 

He races to catch up to the assistants wheeling the cage, pretending to be following them out. 

They don’t see him as a threat so pay him no mind. He falls back as they take a hallway just off the exit, and watches as they leave the cage out for an airlift. 

He stays hidden behind a pole until it was time. Leaving his jacket to keep the door wedged open. With their back turned, he dashes out to cage. The snakes are upset when he slams into the large cage, beginning to move and fight with each other. 

He finds an air hole large enough and stuffs the handkerchief in. it moves along the bodies of the snakes until Coriolanus could no longer see the white in between the rainbow. 

When the harness is lowered, Coriolanus makes a run back to the door, taking his jacket and making his own exit from the Citadel. 

He pays for the taxi this time. Sure that his body couldn’t take anymore strain. 

It cost him his fathers watch, but he arrived back in the auditorium before the entrance of the snakes. 

“What happened?” he quizzes you, taking a hold of your arm, “Lucy-gray is she okay?”. 

You point to the screen where Coral and Treech poke and prod a vent. 

“She’s in there”, you address with horror in your voice. 

Treech points up and Coral takes his palace directly under the vent. 

Blocking the camera, Treech begins to sway of balance and nose begins leek small amounts of blood. 

“Wait, what's wrong with Treech?” his mentor asks. 

Corilanious was worried about his own tribute, who was three lucky strikes away from being impaled. 

Coral hits the metal too many times and the vent collapses on top of her. 

Coriolanus' hand latches out to yours, which you accept with the same nervous tension in your fingers. 

“Run, run” Coriolanus begs. 

She runs back into the arena. Not the safest place with reaper still sitting by the dead tributes. 

Coral chases after her, too slow to catch up. 

The whole arena stops when the chopper lowers in the cage. 

“Please work”, Coriolanus whispers. 

“What is that?” you ask. 

“Wouldn’t it be fun if it was candy?” Lucy Flickerman answers you. 

Coriolanus feels your hand tense in his, then open in surprise when the glass cage cracks and the snakes fly out. 

“Not candy!” Lucky Flickerman announces as three tributes are overtaken in rainbow. 

The Snakes chase the last two tribute who head to the stands for higher ground. 

“Lucy-Gray, please” Coral begs. The snakes lash at her heels as she tries to drag herself up the stands, “Please it couldn’t have all be for nothing”.

It was. More snakes latch on and Coral dies with two loud screams. 

“Now all colors lead to Gray” Lucy Flickerman narrates. 

The snakes slither up and around Lucy-Gray but none bite her. 

Coriolanus lets out an unbelievable scoff. 

‘She’s..She’s won” he says watching as the snakes continue to follow Lucy-Gray. He had won. The 10th annual victor. She was last standing, even Dean Highbottom couldn’t contest his win.

“It’a over. She won”, he says in a louder voice. Why was no one doing anything to stop the snakes, “Let her out!”

“Afraid that’s not your call to make, mr Snow”, Lucky insists. 

He turns to the audience. Dr Gaul had come to see the final show. She sat high up in the breeches and must of come in when Coriolanus was distracted. 

He drops your hand so he could turn and face her. She stared back with the same hateful and curious gaze. She knew what he had done. 

But if she squealed on him, he would return the favor. 

Your hands fly up to your face once more when Lucy-gray begins to sing. Tears pour from your eyes watching the young girl sing her last song. 

Looking to get away from the camera that played on your pain, you pushed your way to the back.  

“Dr gaul. She’s won”, Coriolanus yells, “It’s over let her out”. 

“Why aren’t they attacking her?” Festus asks. 

Dr Gual raises her eyebrows at him in a mocking fashion. 

“It must be the signing. It’s calming them”, he deceives. 

“She can’t sing forever”, Festus comments bitterly. 

She just needs to sing long enough for Coriolanus to figure out a way to get her out. 

“Dr Gaul, please”, Coriolanus tries, “Get her out”. 

He could see the audience engrossed in the scene. He just needed to figure out how to turn it against Dr Gaul. 

“Get her out!”, you yell across the room, following Coriolanus stare to Dr gaul. 

Her eyes flick to you and you scream at her once more to release Lucy-gray. 

Others join, chanting in protest. 

“Who will watch the games if there is no victor?” he threatens. 

Dr Gaul raises her hand to silence the audience, before turning to her assistant. 

“Get her out”, she says loud enough for everyone to hear. 

A cheer erupts the auditorium and Dr gaul wades herself through it to the silence of the hallway. 

“She’s won! Lucy-Gray! Coriolanus Snow is the winner of the tenth annual Hunger games!” Lucky announces. 

People rush from the stands to swarm him. Offering him congratulations and applause. 

It all felt real now. He had done it. The plinth prize, you, were all his now. 

He pushes to the crowd to get to where you stood in front of the bleaches. 

You were smiling and clapping. He wasn’t sure if it was entirely for him, or if you were just glad Lucy-gray would live. 

You looked beautiful and for once Sejanus was nowhere by your side. In this moment, you were entirely his. 

You treated you as such, taking your face between his hands and stilling you for a kiss. 

His lips smashed against you, his teeth nipped at the skin of your bottom lip asking you to part them for him. 

You don’t pull away at first, but his lips are on you for less than ten seconds before you are shoving against his sore shoulder. 

He is forced to drop his hand upon the impact. His shoulder ached from pain of being moved, and on reflux he lowered his arm to ease it. 

Coriolanus could tell by the look on your face, you did not enjoy the kiss. Did he come on too strong? Did he accidently hit your bruise when he kissed you?

He opened his mouth to apologize for the above, but you took off before he could catch you. 

It was impossible to follow you through the crowd of people. People would not part to let him through. 

Some jeered at him for being pushed away but most still rode his victory wave. 

Had he made a mistake? Where you not ready to leave Sejanus for him yet?

You had no right to reject him. He had won. Saved your life. Risked his own. 

Coriolanus took a seat while the crowd surrounded him, and then disappeared. He stayed there until he was summoned by a peacekeeper much later. 

He figured he was to see his victor before they sent her back home. The Peacekeeper led him to a chamber, but Lucy-Gray was nowhere to be seen. 

“Lucy-Gray?” he called, “Lucy-Gray?”. 

He sees a table in the middle of the room with his fathers handkerchief and his mother compact. 

“To think, Mr Snow, you almost had it all” Dean Highbottom's voice taunts him. 

“Where’s Lucy-Gray?”Coriolanus demanded. Had they hurt her for Coriolanus’s mistake?

“I would be more worried about yourself” Highbottom answered, stalking towards him. 

“First y/n rejects you and now the prize money slips through your fingers”, Highbottom torments, “it’s fitting that both your parents could be here for your big moment”. 

He gestures to the items on the table in front of Coriolanus. 

“That compact, how many times did I see your mother use it? Come now, we both know that child from eleven didn’t die of disease. And that old handkerchief, we found it in the snake tank, condemning you with your fathers own initials”. 

Highbottom rounds Coriolanus completely before standing in front of Coriolanus across the table. 

“President Ravenstill has left your form of punishment up to me, and I’ve decided banishment to the districts where you’ll serve your Capitol in exile for the next twenty years as an anonymous, peacekeeping grunt”. 

Dean Highbottom grins at Coriolanus who felt too frozen to do anything. 

“You’ll never get your hands on y/n. She’s too good for you Mr Snow. By the time you get back I imagine her and Sejanus will be married with three or four children”. 

It was true. Coriolanus wouldn’t be able to block the ongoing turn of events that was sure to happen with Sejanus. It wasn’t right. It wasn’t how things were supposed to go. He had worked so hard to have you, only to be taken away as soon as he got on equal footing with Sejanus. 

“You hear that boy? That’s the sound of snow failing”, Highbottom proclaims. 

He’ll be left with nothing more than a memory of you, while you will forget completely of the man who loved you so. 

[rosewaterandivy]

you’re a dream to me (steve’s version)

a continuation of this blurb

pairing: s.h x f!reader

themes: smut mdni, “they were roommates,” shame surrounding sex/orgasm, casual intimacy, heavy petting, fingering, light praise kink, squirting

Steve didn’t get a wink of sleep that night.

You, however, woke refreshed and in a brighter mood. Hopped off the couch without some much as a “good morning,” and padded over to the kitchen to start the coffee maker.

He’d tossed and turned in vain for another hour or so, until the din of “hushed” voices was too much to ignore.

The couch sags as someone takes a seat on the edge, boxing in his legs underneath the blanket. Turning from a perfectly comfortable position on his stomach, shirt tucked up to his chest, Steve wakes to the scent of cinnamon and coffee.

“Hey sleepyhead,” You greet with a smile, “Made a fresh batch just how you like it.” Only to place the cup in your grasp on the coffee table in front of him, just out of his reach.

“Rude,” He rasps sitting up and rubbing his eyes with the back of his hand. “Have you seen my—”

You place the glasses in his lap before he can finish asking the question. He mumbles his thanks and puts them on, running a hand through his wild hair.

“The kids and girls are making their rounds in the old neighborhood. I’m hanging back to do some stuff around here.”

He takes a sip of coffee and nods along.

Steve’s supposed to do the typical holiday check-in with his parents, but really has no interest in it. Christmas isn’t far off, he could just put it off until then. Besides, it’s not like they’d do anything but a tension filled lunch at the club where his mother will ask when he’ll finally settle down and his father will remind him that it’s past time to get serious about his future.

He mulls it over while drinking his coffee. Half-watching you mosey around the house starting laundry, writing a grocery list, opening the windows to let in the brisk autumn breeze.

It’s Sunday. On Sundays you do chores, pick up the groceries for the week, spend approximately two hours in the bathroom doing god knows what only to come out nearly a new woman, and order take out from the good Thai place just off-campus.

Steve leaves you to your routine, making a pit-stop to find the cordless phone and leave a message for his parents.

“Hey, it’s me. Something came up and I can’t make it. I guess I’ll see you at the Christmas Eve party. Okay, bye.”

He places the phone back in the cradle to charge and walks back to his room. He didn’t exactly leave it pristine, but it’s essentially an unmitigated disaster now. Whatever hell Dustin and Mike had wrought, they would be paying for in spades.

Sheets don’t knot themselves up, he knows that much for sure. And yeah, Will and Lucas were in here too, but they had far too much sense for whatever this chaos is.

There’s a soft knock on the door. He turns to find you leaning against the jamb wearing a familiar Stop Making Sense tour shirt.

Steve can’t even bring himself to be mad. You flash him a smile and say, “I’m running out to the store. D’you need anything?”

“Nah, I’m good honey.”

“Okay,” You fiddle with the strap of your tote bag on your shoulder. “The washer should be free soon, I just have to move my stuff once I’m back.”

“Don’t worry about it.” He says stepping closer, “I can flip your stuff.”

“You sure?”

“Positive.”

“Thanks Steve. I’ll be back soon!” You say with a turn toward the door and toe on your sneakers. With a brief wave, the door shuts behind you and Steve, for the first time in a long time, is left to his own devices.

Not that he takes advantage of it, of course.

He showers, lets the phone ring and machine pick it up, eats something vaguely decent (though the expiration date is questionable), and flips your laundry only to begin his own.

Piling his laundry into the washer and eyeballing an appropriate amount of detergent, he hears you call out a greeting as the front door opens.

You’re weighted down with paper bags and trip twice from the entry way to the kitchen. Steve takes the bags from you without much fuss, sets them down on the counter how you like and sorts out the pantry versus refrigerator goods.

There’s a garbled sound from the answering machine as you press the play button in the living room. He continues to put the groceries away, not paying much mind to whomever had called.

You slide in on socked feet nearly careening into him.

“Shit, sorry!”

This you say directly to his sternum, face plastered to his chest. You can feel his laughter as he says, “S’fine sugar. No harm, no foul.”

Steve’s hands grip your forearms, warm and wide, as he sets you back to rights. He gets a good look at you— freshly washed hair, bare faced, and already in your comfies. He notes the distinct lack of voices in the house. Then, he gets an idea.

“Who was on the machine?”

“Oh, just the kids and the girls.” You say, filling a glass of water. “They’ll be at the ‘rents tonight. Something about giving us our space back.”

“Huh.”

“I mean, they’ll be back tomorrow night. You know they can never last long confined to their childhood bedrooms and loving parental advice.”

Steve considers this information.

“Do ya want me to wash your sheets?” You offer, “I think Dustin may have just passed out in his clothes last night, shoes and all.”

All it takes is a nod from him and then you’re trotting off down the hall. You come back with a smile, sheets miraculously free of knots, and disappear into the laundry room humming a tune from the radio.

The night passes unceremoniously, unfolding in its typical fashion of ordering way too much food and then watching the Twin Peaks episode from last week that you’d taped.

Steve finds himself in a familiar place— arm around your waist, snuggled on the sofa, a blanket draped over you both. He can smell that lotion or perfume you only wear on Sundays, clean and fresh like sheets drying on a clothesline.

“Hey, um,” He begins, trepidation rattling in his voice. “Don’t get mad, but are you okay?”

He can feel as you tense in his arms.

“M’fine Steve. Why d’you ask?”

“Oh, you just said something last night and it got me worried is all.”

You heave a sigh, turning from the tv to face him. Your lips are drawn in a tight line, brow furrowed.

“Just forget I said anything.”

He worries his thumb along your jaw. Eyes tracing along your face— the fading freckles from the summer heat smattered across your nose, the high color of your cheeks.

“I don’t think I should,” He says carefully, “It doesn’t sound like something anyone who cared about you would dream of saying.”

He lets the words land. Watches as realization flashes across your features. Wonders why you’d let something so baselessly wrong bother you so much.

“I mean, they’re not exactly wrong.”

Steve cringes at the thought.

“I’m not like, the easiest person to deal with in that respect.”

“How d’you mean?”

He draws you closer, hand falling to the small of your back.

You bite your lip, eyes flitting to and fro.

“Sex, Steve, I mean sex.”

His mouth falls open in an oh of recognition.

“Apparently, it takes a lot of work for me to come and even when I do, it’s a mess.”

Steve tries to school his expression into one less shocking. Who the fuck would say something like that to you? What is wrong with people?!

“To add insult to injury,” You say with a snort, “I haven’t been able to come for weeks. It’s beginning to be quite the issue.”

Huh. So that explains why you flew off the handle at trivia night the other day. He knew it couldn’t have been over not knowing something as innocuous as which mountain range separates Europe and Asia?

You’re squirming in his grasp and he can tell you’d like nothing more than to turn around and pretend this conversation never even happened.

But the thing about Steve is, he’s like a dog with a bone. And unbeknownst to you, you are the bone in this scenario.

Before you can pull away, he grounds you with an arm to the waist. In response, you raise a delicate brow.

And ah, fuck here he goes.

“I could, uh,” He swallows audibly, “Help with that, if you want.”

Your immediate instinct is to roll your eyes and laugh, let slip a sardonic sure, Steve.

And you can’t help the huff of a laugh that escapes as you say, “Offer that service to all you gal pals?”

“N-no. I - don’t. Just—”

The you is left unspoken but it hooks at something in your chest and pulls. Leaves you jittery and… wanting.

“Okay,” you say with an inelegant shimmy onto your back. “Show me your moves, Harrington.”

Shocked still, Steve doesn’t know where to begin. You’ve maneuvered your back against his chest, head resting on his shoulder and hips slotted beneath his. Your legs splay open, the hem of his shirt falling just above your black briefs.

His heart rattles in his chest, and he’s sure you can feel its frantic pace. He scooches back a bit, separating his hips from the swell of your ass, and sits you up.

The vantage point is better, he rationalizes, he can see what he’s doing here. At his movement, you grab the hem of his shirt and peel it off your body, the image of David Byrne’s big suit landing in a heap at the foot of the couch.

“You can touch me, y’know.”

And yeah, he definitely wants to. Stripped down to your basics, black on black and nothing fancy, Steve’s mouth begins to water. It’s so surreal— he never thought you’d actually take him up on his insane offer. Much less so willingly.

“Y-yeah, okay.”

Your warm back settles against his chest once more. His hands trail the notches of your neck as you turn your head.

“Can you do me a favor though, and just like, talk to me?”

He swallows, desire carving a searing path through his chest.

“Course, sugar.”

And then there’s the hot press of his mouth against your jaw, and the scent of him rushes into your shared space and has your groaning softly. Fresh citrus from his body wash tanged with something that’s ineffably Steve.

His entire body shudders against yours. His hips lurch into the sliver of space between you as he breathes brokenly, “Holy shit.” And you can’t help but agree.

Steve’s fingers end up buried between your legs. Hand wedged into the impossible space between your clenching thighs. His opposite hand splayed against the soft curve of your abdomen, holding you in place and pressing you down into the cushions.

He’s talked you through it all, gentle murmurs and slurred words, the nip of his teeth at your throat. Told you how pretty you were, how good, his mouth smearing hot and wet against your skin.

And how he’d worked you up with his soft, lingering touch. Fingers trailing along sensitive skin, leaving goosebumps in their wake. How he’d eased the straps down your shoulders, circled your nipples over the fabric and teased them to peaks before letting the black fabric pool at your waist.

There’s a slow drag of words from his throat when his hand brushes the band of your briefs.

“Y’ready, honey?”

All you can manage is a nod, chin clearly thumping against your chest as his fingers dip beneath the fabric to slowly drag through your soft curls. The point of his nose traces a line against the column of your throat, breath hot and seeping while you’re positively leaking through the fabric.

Shifting your hips in desperation, his fingers slip lower and barely brush against your clit. It draws a deep whine from your chest as you reach back in desperation to find his hair and pull.

“Fu-ck.”

Steve’s hips buck against the fat of your ass, his hand pressing down against your pelvis, the pad of his finger petting delicately at the seam of your sex.

“So good like this,” he says raggedly, thumb alighting on your clit with a smear of slick as you gasp. “I know, I know,” he soothes, as your mind drips into something syrupy and slow.

His clever finger slips inside, punching the breath from your lungs. Your head turns to the side, pleasure loosening your bones and burning like an inferno. But Steve never lets up, even as he’s breathing heavy, eyes half-lidded and staring back at you.

His cheeks are flushed pink as he murmurs and mutters, words long lost to you now as heat cracks through you like a live wire, coaxed gently along by Steve’s careful ministrations.

“— want you, please,” you babble incoherently. Already fucked stupid, buoyed by the senseless desire he draws from you like water.

A lewd squelching noise as two of his thick fingers sink into you, causing your voice to break, “Want your cock— inside, oh fuck.” Your eyes roll back in your head at the deep press of them, cunt clenching as they slide against your walls.

His thumb brushes your clit, a firm press as he buries his fingers deep and presses down with his opposite hand, hot and searing on your skin.

“Wanted you for so long,” he groans, urging your hips forward in his fingers buried to the hilt. “Jus’ like this.” He murmurs something else into the hollow of your throat, something lost to time and space.

You’re shivering and throbbing and rocking downwards onto his hand as his fingers continue to ignite your pleasure. His touch searing like a brand as he continues to press against you, until your voice breaks on a moan.

“Yeah,” you breathe, head lolling against his chest, fingers loosely gripping his damp hair. “Right there, oh fuck, Steve —”

You make a mess of him as he draws your desire up, up, up. As it peaks, your back bows and strangled shout falls from your lips, moisture rushing from you. Soaking his fingers and hand, your thighs, the couch cushions, fucking Christ.

“Imsorryimsorryimsorry,” you whimper, fingers clutching tight in his hair.

And all he makes is a deep sound of satisfaction, hips stuttering against your ass. A dark rumble from the confines of his chest, and you look up to see his eyes molten gold and heavy lidded, a smile breaking across his face.

The last of your release shudders through you, his fingers slipping slowly from your sex, petting in soothing strokes and easing you from your pleasure. But still, there’s a keen ache making you clench and flutter around nothing.

Forcing your fingers to loosen from his hair, you let them graze his temple, his cheek heated and damp beneath your skin.

“Holy shit,” you murmur, catching your breath as your eyes flutter closed. Pushing hair from your face, you find your brow slick with sweat. Steve, without a care, whispers a kiss to your brow and huffs a laugh.

“How did you get so good at that?”

Can’t even be bothered to turn back, you roll your head on his chest catching an inelegant shrug of his shoulder.

“Mmm,” you murmur, content to be splayed against him. “I owe you one, pal. Jus’ gimme a minute…”

Steve sighs softly, letting his fingers tangle in your hair as your breathing evens out in sleep. Eventually, he’ll rally and heft you back to your room and clean sheets.

And eventually, though who can say when, he’ll screw his courage to the sticking place and cash in that I.O.U.

[dira333]

Mom Friend - Kenma - part 3

Hinata’s dating someone.

He tells you first - at least that’s what he claims when he knocks on your door that Sunday, asking to be let in.

Kenma had been right, after all. Hinata doesn’t mind being mothered.

His girlfriend, one of the team's managers, doesn’t mind mothering him.

“I’m happy for you,” you tell him, hugging him tight. “Should have seen that coming, really. You’ve always been giggling during the breaks.”

He blushes adorably. “We’re going out as a group this Sunday. Are you coming?”

“Sure,” you agree easily. It’s different now. Easier.

-

The night is still warm, though you can smell the crispness of autumn. You bring a warmer jacket, unsurprised that you get to lend it out only five minutes after sitting down.

You sit in the corner, with an empty chair to your left. You don’t think much about it until a shadow falls over your table.

Kenma is quiet as he slides out the chair, waves at everyone and sits down.

You don’t make a fuss either and turn back to the conversation on your right, trying your best to forget about him.

It’d be a lie to say you manage. His knee hits yours as he tries to find a comfortable position and though neither of you says anything, your eyes meet for the briefest moment.

Kiyoomi changes seats right after ordering and you know it’s just so he can talk to your friend sitting across from you, but if you don’t want to butt into their conversation every five seconds you have no choice but to talk to Kenma.

“How’s work?” You ask, twirling your glass between your fingers.

“Good. Yours?”

“Good.”

Silence settles over you. Kiyoomi says something about a movie he wanted to watch and you add that you’ve seen it. The conversation moves onto your opinion about it before turning to something entirely else and your focus drifts again.

Kenma’s staring at the tablecloth. 

It’s a little weird that he’s not playing on his phone.

“Is your battery dead?”

“No,” he shakes his head.

“Oh, okay.”

You wish you could just pull your own phone out and play around with it, but you’ve always thought that a little bit rude, not to mention that the only book you’ve got downloaded is pretty boring.

“There’s a movie-” Kenma starts but cuts himself off when the server arrives with the first few plates of food.

It’s easy not to talk as long as you’re eating. Just chew slowly, stare at the plate or smile at someone at the end of the table, ask them how they’re enjoying their meal.

Soon, though, the plates are cleared again. Dessert is ordered, but that takes some time.

Your eyes trail over the flowers decorating the patio. The little path separating the tables. The edge of your table. Kenma’s hands, pressed flat onto the tablecloth.

“You were saying?” You ask, turning toward him. “About a movie?”

Relief washes over his face.

“It’s similar to the one we watched. Back in, uh, May, was it?”

“April,” you correct him.

“Right.” He clears his throat awkwardly, folds his hands, and separates them again. He’s nervous. “It’s not about the same game, but it’s very similar. You liked that last one, yeah?”

“It was okay,” you agree quietly, thinking back. “The ending was good.”

Kenma nods. His pupils are wide as he looks at you.

You can’t help thinking back to that night in April, how you thought about the size of his pupils then. Did they tell the truth then? Or is it just nonsense you read somewhere?

“I was thinking about going to watch it,” he mutters. “I wanted to ask around… maybe you want to come?”

Time seems to stand still for a moment. 

You want to turn, to check on the others, see if they’re laughing, if they’re in on a joke you don’t get, if they’re even here with you right now, or if you’re dreaming, but you can’t move.

“Sure,” you say because you don’t know what else to say. “If I’m free.”

This time, Kenma doesn’t look relieved. Maybe he wanted you to decline? You don’t care enough. Though that is a lie and you know it.

You push yourself up from the table with an apologetic smile.

“I need the bathroom real quick,” you tell him, turn to your friend but she’s still deep in conversation with Kiyoomi. “You know what I ordered if it arrives before I’m back.”

The toilet seat is cold, but you stay there longer than necessary.

It feels like a Deja Vu or your very own version of Groundhog Day. 

“He does not love you,” you tell yourself like a mantra until you can feel it settle in your bones.

Only then do you feel ready to go back.

- - -

The air is crisp, your cheeks sting from the wind. If air had a taste, you think it would taste like fresh soda, bubbling on your tongue. 

You’re still unsure if this is a good idea, even as you walk up to the cinema, the same one you went to last time.

You dressed comfortably and not to impress. As far as you know only a few people confirmed. Kenma, of course. Kuroo, too. Hinata and his girlfriend. And you. 

Your phone buzzes in your pocket as you reach the front door, but you don’t want to look at it yet.

You’re early, it seems. Or maybe everyone canceled, just like last time.

You wait another minute before you pull out your phone. 

Kuroo has to work longer. Hinata’s caught a stomach bug.

You wait for the next text, for Kenma to decline as well.

“Hey.”

-

This time it’s you, head buried in your hoody, eyes on your phone. 

Kenma’s dressed well. He must have had a work meeting earlier, though you remember he often dresses in sweats for those as well.

But he did wear fancy pants to the hangout too, so it doesn’t have to mean anything.

“Everyone canceled,” you tell him, raising your phone like it means something.

He nods and moves as if stretching out his hand before pushing it into the pocket of his blazer.

“I’m still going to watch the movie,” he points out, looking up at the sign above the door. “You don’t have to if you don’t want to.”

You think about it for a second. Think about the last time you went in there with him. Nothing good came from it.

But you’re not scared of him. Nothing he can say will hurt more than what he said last time. And you survived that, right?

-

The movie isn’t bad. 

You know even less of this game, but it doesn’t seem to matter. They’ve built up the story well. It almost makes you forget that Kenma paid for the Popcorn sitting between the two of you, the giant basket he asked to share.

“I want the limited edition bucket,” he had explained, his eyes darting around. “But I don’t want to eat the whole thing by myself.”

You offered to pay for the drinks but he’d declined, quietly but firmly.

And now you’re sitting here and it feels like a date when it clearly isn’t.

-

“Do you wanna eat something?” Kenma asks once you leave the cinema, dust your clothes off and get rid of the last remnants of popcorn and stray skittles. 

You hesitate for a second.

“You don’t have to apologize.”

Kenma’s face twists.

“I’m not-”

“Okay,” you nod to yourself. “So why are you being so nice to me?”

He hesitates.

“Can we talk?” He scuffs his shoes on the linoleum floor. “Somewhere more private?”

You look at him for a while before you nod.

“Same as last time?”

He nods and you follow him out of the Cinema and down the street. 

The wind is biting and you pull your jacket tighter around you. 

A couple walks down the street, facing you. The girl shivers and the guy pulls her close. Kenma turns his head to look at you and you swallow around a lump in your throat. 

As they pass, Kenma steps out of their way, careful not to bump into you. 

It feels like a sign. You wish it didn’t.

-

The warmth of the restaurant has you sniffling. Kenma finds a booth at the back and promises to order while you hit up the bathroom.

Your eyes are watery and your nose is red. You look like you’ve cried.

No amount of cold water is going to save that so you leave it as is, blow your nose one last time, and go back. Your stomach is tight, your hands cold.

Kenma’s looking at you as you walk over. His phone is not on the table. 

Whatever he has to say must be important to him.

-

“Do you still have a crush on me?”

His voice is even, like he’s reading from the menu and it takes you a second to register the meaning of the words.

Your mouth opens, but you have no answer.

This time though, you don’t look away. You hold his gaze, find anxiety darkening the gold in his eyes.

Eventually, you find your voice.

“Why do you ask?”

“I-” He hesitates. “I’ve been thinking about it. A lot.”

“Okay?”

“I’m sorry,” Kenma mutters and there’s a weight to his words and to his gaze. 

“Okay.”

He says nothing more for a while and you swallow around the questions in your throat. You don’t want to ask them. 

The food arrives and he stares down at it as if he forgot how to eat.

“It’s not going to be like it was before,” you eventually add when he makes no move to pick up his chopsticks.

“I know.”

“And yet you apologized.”

“It’s not just what I said,” he tells the table instead of you. “It’s how I said it.”

“It hurt a lot.”

“I can only imagine.”

You sniffle. It’s so silly that it makes you tear up again, the memory of it. But you can’t help it. 

“It would have been okay, you know.” You tell him quietly. “If you just… told me that you weren’t interested. Why did you have to try and set me up with someone else?”

Kenma picks his chopsticks up and puts them down again.

“I wanted to make you happy.”

A dry laugh works its way out of your throat.

“That’s not how you do that?”

“Yeah,” he sighs. “I gathered that. I’m… I’ve never…” He stops. “I’ve never felt that way before.”

Something in the way he says it irks you.

“What way?”

A nervous blush works its way up his neck.

“Protective,” he mutters. “Like… I needed to make sure… That you’re happy. And you wouldn’t have been happy… with me.”

Realization sinks in heavy and you gasp for air.

“Do you have a crush on me?”

“Kuroo thought you might be into Shouyou,” Kenma tries to avoid your question. He’s staring out the window too. “Because you were always mothering him.”

“That’s not the que-”

“You’re like Kuroo, in that way,” Kenma adds on, as if he’s not hearing you. “So I thought maybe you’d be happy with him, too. You could take care of each other. God knows Kuroo works too much. You do too. Always care too much about your coworker's needs. Or what your friends want. You bring extra water bottles and extra painkillers and a snack in case someone gets hungry and you remind them of their appointments-”

“Kenma.”

He sinks into himself. Kenma’s not tall, at least not compared to his friends. He’s not sturdy or broad-shouldered or anything. He’s just Kenma.

“I really messed up, didn’t I?” Kenma asks, his eyes finding yours. 

“Yeah, you did.”

Quiet settles over you. But it’s not stifling or uncomfortable.

Instead, it’s the soft quiet of knowing the truth.

You straighten and pick up Kenma’s chopsticks, press them into his hands.

“Eat,” you tell him. “We can’t figure things out on an empty stomach.”

“Figure things out…” He repeats, almost phrases it like a question. Almost.

“Yeah,” you try a smile. “If I’ve learned anything these past few months is that you can’t get anything done without good communication. And I think we’re really mastering that today.”

His lips break into a shy smile and he starts to eat.

You don’t know what’s going to happen after this.

All you know is that you’re breathing a little easier.

Everything else you can worry about later.

- OPEN END -

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Mom Friend - Kenma pt one two three

[aroace-insert-reader]

hey!

okay, so as a person who suffers with chronic headaches, lacks motivation for assignments, and generally feel like a ghost of myself, could you write something involving Katsuki Bakugo? free reign here, feel free!

Absolutely! I hope this is along the lines of what you're wanting 🤍

Bakugou Katsuki x Reader

**all pairings on this blog are platonic**

Your phone buzzed for the 7th time in the last 5 minutes.

You don’t want to answer.

Your head’s pounding and you have a mountain of homework to keep procrastinating.

You should probably get started on that.

Eventually.

Another buzz.

You should probably get up and figure out who’s trying to get a hold of you.

It’s hard to do anything when you feel like this.

There’s a loud bang at your dorm door.

“—YOU HAVE 60 SECONDS TO GET TO THIS DOOR BEFORE I BLAST IT DOWN, DUMBASS!”

So that’s who’s trying to get a hold of you.

“It’s unlocked, Bakugou. If you’re so insistent on coming in,” you reply.

The door clicks open, and light cascades into your room. You squint at the assault against your headache.

“What are you doing, stupid?” Bakugou starts as he stomps into your room. “I told you and the other idiots that we were going over the homework today. I don’t like wasting my time waiting.”

“I don’t recall asking for your help.”

“Really.” He gives a pointed look at the stack of abandoned textbooks on your desk.

You… don’t have much to say to that.

“Seriously what’s your deal?” Bakugou stares down at you.

“Headache.” It’s mostly the truth.

Bakugou turns and leaves, leaving your door wide open.

Rude.

You should probably get up and close it.

Probably.

Suddenly you’re being jerked upright and pulled to sit in your desk chair. A water bottle and some pain meds are shoved into your hands.

Baffled, you look up to see Bakugou straightening your covers and clearing off your nightstand.

“Wha? What are you doing?”

Bakugou whips his head around to glare at you. The dino plush of yours that he’s holding slightly lessens the effect.

“Take the meds.”

“Okay…?” So, you do.

By the time you're done, your bed and nightstand are mostly clean.

“Have you eaten yet today?”

“…No.”

Bakugou once again stomps out and comes back not 10 minutes later with steaming leftovers you know are from his personal stack in the common room fridge.

You'd mention this if not for the fact it smells mouth watering and you know that this will probably never happen again.

As you eat, Bakugou clears and organizes your desk.

When you both finish, Bakugou turns to fix you with a hard stare.

"Now, we're getting started on this." He says, pointing at the now manageable stacks of textbooks and assignments.

With the exaggerated groan you let out, you forget to notice how much better you're feeling already.

-----

After a few hours later you're well-fed, your headache is mostly gone, you have a decent start on your mountain of assignments, and you feel a little less like a shell of yourself.

It's easy to forget how much having a friend around helps.

“Hey, Bakugou. Thanks.”

“Whatever. Just remember I don’t waste my time on lost causes.”

He turns his face away from you.

Heh… softy…

“Lost causes? Well, that just sounds like quitting to me.”

“Huh?! What’d you say to me?!”

[der-schweizer]

This is a little idea about the post of @proneterror204 make sure to hit them up for the og post.

Danny was somewhere between bored, tired (which he almost always was) and generally not okay. How his parents had managed to draw the attention of Wayne Enterprise and get invited to a Gala that Bruce Wayne himself was hosting, was beyond him.

Granted he hadn't even known about it until about three days ago. Honestly he should be used to getting utterly blindsided by his parents ‘Come on, Danny. We are going to drive for the next three days. It's going to be fun’-type of surprises.

They had just left him enough time to lock down the portal, something his dad should have done, grab his suit that Vlad had gifted him. (As much as he dislikes the Froot Loop, Danny wasn’t stupid enough to throw out a multi-thousand Dollar suit.) And then they were off.

He managed to sneak in a few texts to Sam and Tucker on the ride. So now he was here, halfway bored out of his head. He had already been talked to multiple times, and each time got mistaken for one of the Wayne kids.

Danny could see it honestly. Blue eyes, Black hair, decent build body and an air of exhaustion that hung around most of them like a cloak. It was probably the reason why they kept coming to him. Thankfully he managed to shake them off rather quickly.

He had finally found a quiet corner where he could lurk and eat some of the finger food that was laid out on the buffet. Going for thirds was tempting as everything was very tasty but sadly not very filling.

“Man, I could go for a burger.”

A snort came from next to him, which nearly startled him. The girl that had been in the corner before was putting a hand over her mouth in clear embarrassment.

“Uhm. Hi?” Danny gave an awkward wave, not knowing how he should talk to her. In turn she said a quiet “Hello” whilst also signing it. Danny of course immediately picked up on it.

“Sorry to ask but are you…” he gestured towards his ears, signing himself in case she was deaf. The girl looked at him with surprise before smiling softly. “No, I don't like talking.”

“Ah, perfectly understandable. I do know ASL, one of my friends is almost deaf but she got those fancy implants that let her hear everything.”

In lieu of the answer all he got was an “Mhh.” He went quiet after, having no fucking idea what to talk about. Danny quietly wondered what the fuck he could even talk about, the weather? Either rain or fog. The city? Rockbottom in every poll except for crime. Thinking about it gave him an idea.

“Say, who is your favorite Vigilante?”

The question got her attention, making her think for a moment before quietly saying. “Like Wing. Yours?” Danny mused for a second, humming loudly.

“Hmm, I think it's Orphan. I mean, have you seen her move? Just pure grace and elegance. I bet she is an immortal Vampire that simply got bored and decided to fight crime.”

He didn’t see how she blushed, “No.”

Danny just scoffed, “Are you kidding me? She moves with far too much elegance and grace to be mortal. Credit to the other bats but they move like mortals. She dances around both rogues and vigilantes!”

She turned away for a moment, trying to hide that she was blushing but it didn't really work. “Orphan. Is. good. What about others?”

“Oh, hmm.” Danny looked up whilst tapping a finger against his chin. “Well there’s Red Hood and Stabby Robin. Both are top tier, which should be a no brainer.”

She tilted her head in thought. “Why?”

“Well. Stabby robin practices the art of the sword, a forgotten art in modern times. And Red Hood shoots pedophiles! Who doesn't like that?” Danny set his empty plate aside, looking around for a waiter with drinks.

Her answer drew his full attention back to her. “Batman.”

Danny scoffed at the name. “Yeah, of course he doesn't like that. I mean have you looked at the costume of the very first Robin? Doesn't take much imagination why he dislikes Hood offing pedos.”

A crackle in her ear drew Cass’s attention away from him. “Red Robin here, Lantern and Superman are moving in to arrest his parents. Can you keep him distracted for a while longer?”

“Mmm. You still want burger?”

“Huh? Uh, yeah? Do you know a good place?” The question itself caught him absolutely off guard.

“Yes, take me out?” She tilted her head, giving him a cute look. Danny just shrugged, “Sure, my parents are going to take hours to explain everything anyway and they keep getting sidetracked whilst doing so. I fully expect to still be here tomorrow. Might as well spend the time with a cute girl.”

She blushed visibly, then stuck out her hand. “Cass, we date now.” He grabbed her hand, flushing a bit as well. “I’m Danny.”

“No, not Danny. You boyfriend.” She hooked her arm with his and pulled him along. Danny quickly went along with it, not saying no to it.

In Cass’s ear Red Robin spoke again. “Uh Cass? That wasn't the plan. You don't have to date him. Cass? Please don't make me explain this to B.” A click was heard as another com went to the same line. Batman growled out a simple. “Follow. Them.” before it went off.

Cassandra just put a bit more pep into her step as she pulled her new boyfriend towards her personal favorite Bat burger.

Nightwing clicked his comm on, “Found them. They are in the parking lot at main and fifth street.”

He spent a moment taking a picture of them. It showed them sitting on a concert divider, with Danny pointing up with his left whilst holding a half eaten burger in his right. Cass was sitting next to him,a bunch of fries sticking out of her mouth whilst she was grabbing a bunch more. She is also starring right at the camera. Her look perfectly said ���if you ruin this date, i will end you’.

Batman's voice echoed in his ear, “Keep your eyes on Danny. He might have the same ideology as his parents. Oa and the lanterns are already moving in on the Ghostly Investigation Ward. We might have to take him into custody if things turn bad.”

Dick was just about to answer when Cass abruptly stood up, dranging Danny up and then away.

“Hold on, they just started moving again.” Nightwing got up from his perch and followed them quickly.

Tim worked on cutting through the strange rope, “Okay. Just to make sure I got everything right. Danny and Cass went to Batburger and had some takeout, then went for a walk in the park whilst you followed them, right?”

Dick who was trying not to wiggle, nodded. "Yeah."

“Then some weird ass shadow creature jumped you, tied you up and hung you from this tree, right?”

“You are forgetting the part where I described it as a lady from the eighteen sixties, and the part where she said to leave ‘the king of kings’ in peace. Other than that you got it spot on.”

“You know, I would make fun of you for that but considering that there is no knot in this rope and its tough as hell I will believe you.”

“Great. Do we know where they went after I lost them?”

Tim looked him right in the eyes. “Steph found them, and considering how red she was when she came back, it's best to wait until morning.”

Dick opened his mouth to ask why before it clicked in his head. “Oh.”

“Yeah, oh.”

Danny woke up groggy, his eyes were crusted over and his limbs felt heavy. For a moment he just laid there, then did a full body stretch, stretching from toes to fingertips.

After it he laid there for a moment listening to noises in the room. He could hear cars and their horns. Some shouting down the hall and the shower in the bathroom.

That prompted the memories of last night which caused the ‘i got laid’ grin. He let out a satisfied noise, before crossing his arms behind his head.

After a moment Danny wondered if Cass would be up to ‘share’ the shower only for him to freeze at the sight of the Batman in the room.

“Uuuhhh.”

“Daniel James Fenton.” Batman growled out. “You are hereby placed under investigation by the Justice League for potential violation of interdimensional rights. Your parents have already been arrested and are awaiting their trial. Do you have anything to say to that?”

[mcflymemes]

PROMPTS FROM THE LOVE HYPOTHESIS *  assorted dialogue from the book by ali hazelwood, some lines reworked to suit a roleplay format, adjust as necessary

carry yourself with the confidence of a mediocre white man.

i wish you could see yourself the way i see you.

i do reserve the right to comment on your abysmal taste in men.

maybe i am unloveable.

i'll annoy you all the time.

not having a life comes in handy sometimes.

there will only be one bed.

it doesn't matter what it says.

how many times have you done this?

i'd rather buy you anything else.

what you have now, it will have to be enough.

maybe you just pull out the best in me.

i am very happy to pay for however much sushi you want to eat.

to be fair, i don't like people in general.

you probably don't like ice cream anyway.

you just had to go and make me fall for you. you absolute ass.

my favorite color is green, after all.

you don't seem to remember that we first met years ago.

i'm going to kill you if you say another word about the woman i love.

you can fall in love. someone will catch you.

did you just kiss me?

i'll come find you, and i'll take care of you.

expiration dates are for the weak.

i like no one, absolutely no one, but i liked you from the start.

is there anything i can do for you?

is there something you need? name it?

if i have it, it's yours.

what does it really say?

this might be inappropriate but... you are extraordinary.

you've clearly never seen a rom-com or read a romance novel in your life.

i know it's scary, being vulnerable, but you can allow yourself to care.

what do i always tell you?

[name], are you okay?

you mean you've done this before?

i asked if i could kiss you, and you said yes.

i'm pretty sure i heard you say yes.

i'm so glad i finally scrounged up the courage to ask you out.

he was a prick.

how did you convince him?

we could never do that.

people who date, they... talk. a lot. more than just greetings in the hallway.

a good kiss will do that. it makes a girl forget herself for a while.

my heart may be broken, but my brain is doing just fine.

sounds like fun, no?

i am going to take care of this.

i've never been surer of anything.

that is going to have to be enough.

i think that somewhere along the way i forgot that i was something.

this is my life now.

maybe one day you'll even let me tell you.

don't tell them anything until we get you a lawyer.

what kind of question was that?

yes, i'm an insensitive ass.

it's hard to stick around without a good reason to do so.

i have a question. a specific research question.

i don't trust anyone else to do it.

we should go get our flu shots.

it will be fine, [name]. and it not, at least it will be over.

a heart will break even more easily than the weakest of hydrogen bonds.

i have access to your google calendar.

if you don't want to hang out with me, you can just be honest.

pay attention, sweetheart.

why do you keep saying that?

[sknnyvanilla]

The Chic Diet by kit olsen

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

Diets

The Baby Food Diet

Ohmigod, tell me more, right? Enter: the Baby Food Diet.

You don't have to chew anything since the blender did that for you. Portion control won't be an issue either since all of the stores carry single-servings with really low calorie counts. And, like, I guess that babies need clean and well-rounded food or something because, like, all of the ingredients are things that you've heard before and are actually good for you. It's like a juice fast, but with a little more substance and a little less lawnmower drippings. But, like, waaay more affordable, so you can use all of the money that you save on some flavored Pedialyte, which is really just like a zero-calorie coconut water.

Plus, thanks to all of the crazy and demanding yoga mommies decked out in Lululemon with their obscenely expensive strollers, Whole Foods has really upped their game in the baby food aisle. There's seriously a flavour for whatever type of mood that you might be in so don't even worry about the lack of variety. It's like chic girl heaven. Make sure you get there early though, so you won't have to fight with the colicky toddler in the Missoni Bugaboo over the last "zucchini banana & amaranth."

Ella's Kitchen and Plum Organics are good for your basic blends of fruits and vegetables, but I swear that the marketing team at Earth's Best was targeting chic/orthorexic adults when naming their product lines. "Antioxidant Blends?" "Super Fruits?" "Gourmet Meals and Seasonal Harvest?" Um, yea, okay. Like 6 month olds care about that kind of shit.

So, apparently, Tracy Anderson (bless her heart) suggests that one should consume 14 jars per day. Um, no. It's not like we're headed into famine or something. A couple of jars or pouches should suffice and, even then, you should be watching your carb intake. That means NO all-fruit blends, you fat fuck. Make sure to pick vegetable-heavy varieties, though those can be sugarific also. I mean, even "spinach + apple + rutabagas" has 8 grams of carbs after adjusting for fibre. Ugh. Who knew that babies were such sugar whores? It's just, like, really unfair for all of the other customers who are trying to watch their figures.

Take a good look at Abbey Lee Kershaw and Hedi Slimane. See their jutting cheekbones and bulging eyeballs? Yours can totally be like that too, so long as you're willing to adhere to the uber cutesy diet that these two effortlessly chic Skeletors have been known to follow.

Now, everyone that knows that digestion isn't very glamorous. The act of mastication is, in itself, so very vulgar, and then that nasty bolus of caloric horror settles into your distended stomach, stirring up a whirlwind of has and discomfort as it waits for hours to be broken down. After that harrowing process, a trillion fat globules get sent directly to your upper arms and inner thighs. And then, well, you know... something really un-chic happens in le toilette.

But what if you could bypass all of that unpleasantry and just follow a really adorable diet that consists of only a few hundred calories a day? And, like, your stomach will stay flat since it's not filled with festering kale and noxious fumes.

The Air Diet

Every wannabe Carrie Bradshaw (or Charlotte York if you're really annoying) yearns to achieve maximal chicness with minimal effort. And nobody can do posh like the French, right? Even their diets ooze superior elegance that we ugly Americans could only aspire to attain.

Like, take the Air Diet, or L'Air Fooding as French Grazia dubbed it. God, even the name is so chic, I DIE. So anyway, you basically pretend to eat whatever the hell you want, without actually allowing it touch your lips. Naysayers and physicians will be like, "Ohmigod, that's called anorexia!", but, um, no. Anorexia is what my roommate, Sydney, has, and she won't even go near food without having a twitching episode. This is, like, a lot healthier psychologically.

I mean, I totally get it. Everyone knows that enjoying food is an experience and this diet allows you to immerse yourself in the whole process until the actual eating part. But you still get to order your meal, pay for it, cut it up, smell the aromas, and Instagram pictures of your drool-worthy plate. You just don't absorb all of the calories and fat associated with ingesting the actual food. It's like you're a chic French diet mime who traded eating for the right to talk. Ooh, maybe you can buy a really cute. A.P.C. striped shirt to go with your performance. So authentic.

It's not like you don't eat at all, either. You still get to binge on all of the la soupe a l'eau (translation: chic soup with an uber pretentious name) that you want. Oh, you want to know what's in it> Um, I had the recipe right here. Hold on. Oh, here it is. Boiled water and sea salt. Hm. But sea salt has, like, a lot of minerals in it, right? How nutritious.

So, yea. It seems like the majority of my friends have been on this diet for a really long time. Like even before that issue came out. What trendsetters. I mean, it's a great way for cutting calories, you know? As a bonus, it's not even restrictive! Like, you can help yourself to all of the fancily named soup and air that you want. And, like, a variety of air at that. Just stroll through the perfume section at Barney's or traipse through Le Labo when you're feeling bored with the plain, bourgeoisie oxygen around you. And if you're feeling especially ravenous (um, binge eating disorder, anyone?) you can practice some yoga breathing. It's like dietary meditation. Kay, now Ocean Breath, everyone.

The Paleo Diet

While cavemen might not have been very fashion-forward, they apparently knew how to be skinny motherfuckers. The Museum of Natural History really needs to slim down the mannequins in the exhibit to reflect this don't you think? So inaccurate. Anyway, this hunter-gatherer-centric diet is very simple in that it has one rule- only eat shit that Betty Flinstone would have prepared.

For those of you who are unfamiliar with history, this means that Kettle Chips and peanut butter are no-goes. Anything processed, such as Lean Cuisines, or foods that require relatively modern technology to produce, such as grains, are not allowed. Neither are dairy products, refined sugars, legumes, potatoes, processed oils or alcohol. Yup, even alcohol. No, they did not have "Stone Age" vodka or sugar-free "Bedrock" Red Bull back then. Yes, I am positive.

Anyway, you're basically allowed to have wild seafood, organic eggs, grass-fed game, vegetables, fruits and some nuts. The idea behind this style of eating is that humans, as a species, have not greatly evolved since the era of our cave dwelling ancestors. That is, our digestive systems are largely genetically similar to those of dinosaurs and are still not fully adapted to the vast changes in diet that have occurred since the dawn of the agricultural age. Simply put, we're not that great at digesting the majority of the shit foods that line supermarket shelves today. Yes, even the shelves at Whole Foods.

By following the palaeolithic diet, however, we would be providing our bodies with ideal foods to which our digestive systems are genetically adapted, When we are better able to process and absorb nutrients from these easily digested foods, we would be more capable of achieving optimal health.

But who really cares about primal strength and surly shit like that? Not me or any of my friends, despite the fact that everyone I know has "gone Paleo." What we love about this diet is the amount of control and restriction that it provides the user. You can basically reject most foods so long as you can come up with some inane reason as to why. "I'm only channeling cavewomen who lived in the Northern Hemisphere, and I don't think those were native to that region," you can say with a dismissive sniff as you swat away a platter of seasonal stone fruit. Um, apricots have a lot of carbs, didn't you know?

Plus, the diet itself is just really trendy. It's like the new Dukan Diet, which was originally the new Atkins, which was basically the new Cabbage Soup Diet. You'll probably be consuming the same meals that you normally are, but can now affix the hip label of "Paleo" to your dietary habits. But don't do that shit where you put goat's milk butter in your coffee or inhale bushels of avocados in one sitting- no=carb calories are still calories, after all.

The Ridiculously Low Carb Diet

In the world of the chic, all of the inhabitants are consumed with keeping their carb intakes as close to zero as humanly possible. Throw any generic food product at a chic girl and she can spit back its estimated carbohydrate content in mere seconds. And, as if she were a neurologist treating childhood epilepsy, she knows the ins and outs of the ketogenic diet like the back of her Rodin Crema slathered hand.

Though she may have no idea what mitosis is, or how photosynthesis works, ant legitimate chic girl could pass a PhD-level Nutrition exam with flying colours. "In order to get into a state of ketosis, you need to deplete the glycogen stores in your liver and muscles before even tapping into your fat energy sources. To do that, you have to keep your net carbohydrate intake below 25 grams a day," she will prattle off expertly, though she may not even have the faintest idea what she is actually talking about.

Basically, she knows that the lower your carbohydrate intake, the more fat you will end up burning. Thus, being the borderline-psychotic overachiever that she is, she will set an upper limit of approximately 5 grams of net carbohydrates per day for herself.

Plus, carbs are totes unnecessary. No one has ever looked cute while gorging on a slice of pizza or inhaling a burrito. But nibbling on a piece of asparagus or noshing on a sliver of pecorino is just adorbs. They're like low glycaemic pieces de resistance that compliment your Zac Posen cocktail dress. Bread used to be the official food of peasants, just so you know.

"I only eat foods that are green or white," were the first words that my soon-to be-future roommate, Lauren, ever muttered to me. No mention of her name, age or hometown- nothing. That's how seriously a true chic girl take her carbohydrate consumption- it defines who she is.

"What do you mean?" I had asked innocently like a clueless martian. Mind you, I still wore leggings and thought Greek Yogurt parfaits were healthy at the time. (I know, I know- don't judge me.)

Lauren, bless her heart, had then taken me under her wing, expertly gu8iding me into my current status of perpetual ketosis. We basically subsist on kale, spinach, avocado, egg whites, cheese, white fish and chicken breasts. And what can I say? I'm obsessed. The far just melted off like butter (which is totally allowed, by the way.) Like, I never want to belong to any other metabolic state of mind. It's just so simple, and everyone's doing it. I mean, just saunter into a Fashion Week after party and it'll reek of Chanel Chance and ketones. So chic.

So you can go the high fat route a la Atkins, or limit your fat consumption in the way of Dukan practitioners. Either way, you'll lose the flab and be super taut. But you can never go wrong with the Green and White Diet, the secret weapon of fashionistas in the know. And, while trends may come and go, there is one combination that will always be in style- ketosis breath and look of death. #Chic

The Strategic Starvation Diet

"You just don't eat for, like 18 hours a day," the chic girl will explain when concerned friends inquire about her new stringent diet du jour. "But you totally get to have balanced meals for the other 6! It was on the news. They tested it on mice and they, like, totally lived longer. Ew."

Intermittent fasting is like a godsend for the chic. Apparently, it's actually really healthy and has a bunch of scientific studies published to back it up. Not that the chic girl will ever read them, of course. But if positive results actually exist, then there's actually something to validate her cray.

I mean, what kind of diet condones extended periods of starvation? It's as if this way of eating was made up specifically with the chic bitches in mind. Not to mention that i's supposedly uber effective! Like, in clinical trials, researchers found that overweight participants how utilized intermittent fasting lost way more fat than those who ate the same meals spread throughout the day. I knew that whole "6 mini meals a day" adage was total bullshit!

Of course, the chic girl is just an extreme case of human, so she'll narrow her eating window to 2 hours or so. Some deranged bitches may even aim for 20 minutes! Talk about efficiency.

There's an even wackier version of this method that's been named the "Bulletproof Diet," whatever that means. Basically, you drink black coffee with butter or coconut oil stirred in so that you don't get hungry while in your fasted state. Um, that sounds like a lot of unnecessary calories. And chic girls don't get plagued with hunger- we like to refer to it as "getting of track.: Lile, seriously? Drinking butter> That's not even real fasting. People have no willpower nowadays.

Supporters of this way of eating suggest that people snack on healthy foods during their feeding periods, like bananas and apples. Um, bananas are super starchy. And apples? Did you know that apples don't actually have much nutritional value> The only real benefit that comes form apples is from pectin, which will help to regulate digestion. but since chic girls already consume astronomical amounts of fibre, they won't be receiving many benefits from munching on apples. They can totally get their Vitamin C from elsewhere. Ohmigod, you're learning, like, so much from me. This might as well be a textbook!

I suggest that you nibble on a piece of cheese or some veggies during your allotted eating time. That way, you can totally maximize ketosis and burn as much fat as fucking possible. I mean, Emily Blunt's character in The Devil Wears Prada totally knew what she was doing. She was just way ahead of her time. Like, don't you want to be one stomach fu away from sample size too?

The Raw Food Diet

This one's for the extremists, of which there are many in the upper echelons of the chic. Basically, you stick to a diet of uncooked veggies all day long, with the occasional piece of fruit thrown in. As expected, these bitches are skinny as fuck and look great in just about anything. They also absorb, like, maximal nutrients and have beautiful skin and hair. Plus, they get to lecture and judge others all day long about the importance of enzymes and whatnot. These skinny twigs can also consume bushels of allowed foods and still keep their daily calorie counts in the hundreds. Totes ideal, if you can stomach it, I mean. But have you ever tried raw broccoli or mushrooms? Ew.

If you've lost all sensory input from your taste buds, as can happen when on frightening amount of amphetamines, this is the perfect lifestyle for you. You can be like a super svelte panda bear and nosh on stalks of celery or fistfuls of curly kale all day. You'll lose heaps of weight and will have a spotless digestive tract, I'm sure. Just be proactive about taking, like, 15 Beano with each meal. Gas isn't cute, even if it's being caused by adorable produce like grape tomatoes and baby carrots.

Some people will get all technical and allow themselves to have sashimi, but staunch raw foodists will shake their heads at this practice. I don't see what's wrong with it, especially since sushi is, like, so yum. Anyway, soaked nuts and sprouted seeds are allowed, but make sure to watch how much you eat. They're still packed with calories and, this, aren't totally conducive to rapid fat obliteration.

People on the raw food diet love to chirp about mental clarity and feelings of euphoria, but I think that they're just really happy because they can slip into Gareth Pugh leather leggings without putting up a struggle. I highly doubt that weeping into bowls of raw radicchio and consuming bland vegetables dressed in the salt of my tears would make me feel vibrant and more alive. I mean, I would be completely ecstatic about sticking to a strict diet of copper pennies and shards of glass if it, too, left me with a 3-inch thigh cap. But to each her own, I suppose.

It's also well known that a lot of working models are technically raw foodies since they basically just consume cauliflower smoothies and piles of wilted spinach. No wonder they always look so sad. But have you seen their hip bones? Um, yea.

So I totally just ordered a raw organic vegan Kale Dulse Salad and a cold-pressed coffee from Seamless. They better fucking hurry before all the nutrients break down. Ooh, do you think calories can break down over time too? Let's hope so. Enzymes, here I come!

The One Food Diet

Basically, anyone who lacks even a smidgen of self-control should consider this dietary tactic. It allows no leeway for excuses or exceptions so long as you follow just one simple rule: consume only one type of food.

When you define vague dietary rules, such as allowing low-carb or liquid items, you'll find that the hungry fatass within will convince herself that certain foods fit the guidelines. I mean, butterscotch pot de creme is technically liquid, right? And an entire stick of butter covered in guacamole is totes low-carb. Inhaling, like, three bowls of blood orange sorbet doesn't constitute cheating on a raw food diet, either...

Stop. Just stop. You obvi have issues with following rules, oh voracious one. Technicalities are just fancy excuses for the dietarily inept, and one shouldn't be allowed to make risky, body composition-altering decisions when starving and delirious. So do as the OCD-inflicted waifs do and pick one food with which to thoroughly familiarize yourself to the point of disgust for the next two weeks.

You won't have to waste time obsessing over meal planning or calculating nutritional contents. It's basically like putting your diet on auto-pilot ass you graze on your one allowed food in a fat-shedding haze. Honestly, yo can pick whatever you want, since you'll likely get sick of it as time goes on. Like, did you know that Uma Thurman once went on an ice cream diet? She lost 25 pounds over a six-week period. On ice cream. ON ICE CREAM.

Now, I don't suggest that you pick the congealed, sweetened mucus of dairy cows as your food of choice, as that' s just, like, not really a good starting point. Pick something like tomatoes, or green apples, or avocados, Bananas and grapes work also, but do keep in mind that they are quite high in sugar. My personal choices are either eggs or grapefruit with Splenda. Whatever you choose, make sure to stick with it. That's all there is to it.

Some proponents believe that partaking in the consumption of only one type of food allows your body to become more efficient at digesting and metabolizing it, but I'm not sure. I mean, I guess it makes sense. But who really gives a fuck about all of that health-boosting mumbo jumbo? The real reason that this diet is so attractive and effective is because it helps to teach you a lesson in discipline and restraint. By sticking to this diet for just a short while, you'll see that you're more than capable of controlling yourself when it comes to impulsive food-related decisions.

It's like dietary therapy, but without having to visit an overpriced psychiatrist who just nods along and asks you obvious questions about how you feel about that time you ate a lobster roll. Um, I feel like shit, okay? You didn't need to remind me. That's why I'm allowing myself zucchini slices for the next month, duh.

The Two Cup Diet

Did you know that your stomach is only the size of your fist? So why are you stuffing it until you can't breathe? Um, I don't care if you're a firm believer in Volumetrics- that method only works if you're feasting on organic iceberg lettuce and sparkling water.

Now, getting a bariatric surgery done costs roughly $30,000. Trust me, I went to go get an estimate. The doctor was actually really rude and scoffed at me during the consultation, which I really took offense to. He was all, "Um, you know that this is for, like, clinically obese people, right?" So I was like, "Er, yea. It's called preventative medicine, natch." And then he, like, totally rolled his eyes at me and said in a condescending tone, "You obvi don't qualify for the procedure, especially since your BMI totes falls into the underweight category. Sorrz." I'm not an expert in medical law or anything, but I think that's called discrimination. Horrible bedside manner, not to mention illegal, no? I really need to call my dad's attorney about this.

Anyway, my friend, Melissa, found a totally cheap alternative to getting your stomach stapled until it's the size of a walnut. She learned it from a group of 14 year old Latvian models that she shared a room with during Milan Fashion Week. You basically take two tiny Dixie cups and fill them with whatever food you might please, though preferably of the low-calorie, low-carb and low-fat variety. Then you can enjoy your mini feast without worrying about portion control. It takes the stomach roughly four hours to empty, so you can set an alarm on your iPhone for four hour intervals to remind you of when you're allowed to have another two cups. Um, genius, right? And who said that teenaged models needed to stay in school to have good heads on their shoulders?

Don't abuse this system by using the red plastic cups of beer pong infamy, though. You're not an obese retired frat boy living it up in Murray Hill. By Dixie cups, I'm referring to the uber cutesy 3 oz. waxed paper ones that are meant for gargling in the bathroom. If you want to take it to the next level, you can also use tiny utensils, like oyster forks, to slow down your consumption and increase satiety. There w as this one girl that I interned with who carried around a tiny Tiffany & Co. silver baby spoon with her everywhere. Totally crazy, yet totally chic. Did I mention that she weighed, like, 85 pounds?

So who cares if you look like an unhinged betch for scarfing down tiny bites of wild mushroom fricassee from a mouthwash-delivery vessel using a toddler's fork? You'll be laughing all the way past the antiseptic-scented waiting room of a really rude weight loss surgeon's shabbily decorated Upper East Side clinic while your critics slowly begin to qualify for Lap-band installation. Um, who said that preventative medicine had to cost a year's worth of college tu8ition? People with no self-control, obvi.

The HCG Diet

Only a batshit cray person would willingly stab herself repeatedly while wincing and bellowing in pain, right? Um, yes, but that mentally unstable waif wielding the 25 gauge needle sure is tiny. Enter the HCG Diet, a regimen in which one is required to inject oneself with a variety of vitamins and hormones while subsisting on a maximum of 500 calories per day. HCG, or Human Chorionic Gonadotrophin, is basically a hormone produced by pregnant women soo after conception for... I don't know. The guy who came up with the idea to implement it in a weight loss regimen said that it suppresses your appetite and helps with fat loss, or whatever. Anyway its use as a weight loss agent is, like, really frowned upon by the FDA, which everyone knows must mean that it totally works. Like, remember ephedra? And phentermine? Uh, yea.

It's really easy. You basically follow an ultra low-calorie, low-carbohydrate, low fat, high-protein diet (uh, don't we regardless?) and give yourself daily injections of Vitamin B-12 and HCG in your hips and thighs, respectively. A physician or medical professional has to hand then over, so expect to pay a pretty penny (or 60 thousand) for a three-week program. If you're feeling super ambitious, you can also drag the whole thing our for six weeks!

Everyone will be like, "Er, of course you're losing weight. You're only eating 500 calories each day!" Ohmigod, really? Thanks for the news flash. I totally didn't know that. Um, of course anyone will lose weight on a 500-calorie diet, you observant twats. But who (other than an anorexic ballerina) actually has the discipline to stick to those numbers? Uh, a really chic girl who just blew one week's pay on dietary heroin, that's who.

So even if HCG isn't actually clinically proven to assist with fat loss or appetite suppression, who really cares? Even if you had spent hundreds of dollars on sterile syringes filled with Flinstones vitamins diluted in Diet Sprite, you would still have an obligation to stick to the accompanying regimen. I';s called financial responsibility, people!

But, oh Chic One, how come we can't just use the homeopathic drops that they sell on Amazon? I don't want to hurt myself, you say. I really don't like needles, you cry out. Um, in case you haven't been paying attention, there's a concept called "No Pain, A Lotta Gain." And it's just, like, totes legit? I mean, just because you rub to botulism toxin all over your skin doesn't mean that you're going to do skit about your crow's feet or laugh lines. You're just going to have a really dirty face. But inject some Botox all up in those crevices? Um, hello Bruce Jenner!

Besides, didn't you know that "homeopathic" is just Latin for "faker than a Canal Street Kurakami Multicolore Monogram Speedy 25?" Ew.

The Cabbage Soup Diet

"I lost, like, 10 pounds in 3 days," the chic girl will announce with widened eyes to all of her entranced comrades. "I didn't even know that I had that much to lose!"

Going on the cabbage soup diet is akin to complaining about having to fly home for the holidays or binge drinking over Memorial Day Weekend- it's just ingrained in American culture. Eating disordered betches of yore have passed this timeless diet on from generation to generation and, as unglamorous as it may be, it still prevails as a magic bullet of sorts to this day. So when you need to get skinny stat, show a little patriotic spirit and boil up a giant vat of cabbage and under-seasoned water. Your tummy won't thank you, but your thigh gap sure will.

You can binge if you'd like, but I'm sure you won't want to. The soup isn't particularly enthralling to the taste buds, but the parboiled vegetables will help to satisfy the vacuous pit that is your empty stomach. And, even if you stuff yourself senseless with the tasteless broth, you'll still probably only consume a couple of hundred calories a day. Just don't try to stand up too quickly, or you might just faint from chic overload!

Some variations of the diet allow other foods, such as bananas and meat, but you really shouldn't stray from tradition. Like, what would your ancestors say? They would likely shake their pin curls in disappointment.

The basic recipe calls for cabbage (duh), celery, mushrooms, tomatoes, peppers, onions, carrots, pre-made bullion cubes and your seasonings of choice. Sounds super yum, right? Um, this is when you're supposed to nod and be like, "Ohmigod, delish."

Anyway, I wouldn't bother adding onions or carrots since they're uber starchy. I just don't want you to get kicked out of ketosis, you know? Come to think of it, throw those tomatoes out too. That bouillon just seems totes unnecessary also. Okay, so our soup will basically consist of mineral water and cabbage, I suppose. But now we're, like, totally doing the One Food Diet, too. And Paleo! And, like, this is uber vegan-friendly. Gawd, talk about multi-tasking.

The "I can't see it!" Diet

If you're a fixture on the fashion industry's party circuit, you are well aware of the au courant set's penchant for microscopic portions of distinguishingly decadent food, I mean, what exactly is the purpose of serving miniature cupcakes? Is this a test? Like, what's with the tiny sandwiches and cheeseburgers? Is the bread just there to keep your fingers clean? And someone please explain to me the obsession with canapes and fried puffs. All I see are fat and carbs sharing real estate on a tray smothered in grease and shame. It's actually really confusing yet insulting yet intriguing yet tempting yet cute yet revolting, all at the same time.

Am I supposed to eat it? I think I am. I mean, these kind caterers have already done all of the hard work and cut everything into tiny, guilt-free smidgens. And how terrible could everything be when the portion sizes are so adorable? That grilled truffle oil-infused gruyere sandwich can't be so bad for me, right? It's only, like, half the size of my Amex card. And that microscopic scone? It's the size of a quarter! Having one doesn't make me irresponsible.

Wait a minute. Ohmigod, are people watching? Do I look poor and desperate? How come no one else is eating? Should I not be eating either? I think I just saw that blogger pop a tiny piece of fried macaroni and cheese into his mouth. Or did he? I repeat, is this a test?

There is a reason that all of the offering at such glamorous parties are bite-sized enigmas of congealed cheese and bacon grease. They're your cheat treats! Enjoying a few tiny morsels of forbidden food is totes acceptable, so long as you don't carry around a plate laden with them. As a reward for all of the other 364 days a year that you deny yourself of such scrumptious evils, you are allowed this one window of glorious opportunity to indulge in two or, daresay, three pieces of wanton abandon.

Oh, but the fashion crowd is a clever one. While each itty-bitty hors d'ouevre might seem relatively innocuous, it is still a miniature recreation of something that you would never be caught dead eating in front of Anna Wintour. Thus, you must wolf it down as surreptitiously as possible while still keeping your composure. And in that is where the genius lies.

After committing such a deplorable act as inhaling a mini brownie in three seconds flat while crouched down behind a crowd of fashion photographers, you are overcome with remorse and shame. What has come of you? Have you no self-control? It wasn't even worth it! That's it- no more food for the rest of the night! Then you will ration out a mini green juice for the rest of the evening in hopes that it will at least help to dilute your transgressions.

Do you see what just happened? You got your junk food fix, yet your calorie count for the day will be kept low by the guilt that overwhelms you. If you're lucky, the remorse will spill over into the next day. Maybe even the rest pf the week! D you know what just happened? It's called psychology.

The I'm-fucking-rich-and-glamourous Diet

For the impossibly chic girl, it's raining oysters, sashimi and tartare every night, with a guarantee of accompanying champagne showers. She loves to order seafood towers for the table and is obsessed with rhubarb mignonette. "I'm basically on a raw food diet, as you know," she will explain to her friends as she persuades them into doing a $300 caviar tasting. "Just a really fancy one."

Or is black & blue filet mignon considered raw? Whatever. The chic girl loves her steak, especially if it's of the Kobe Wagyu variety. She'll do lobster or butterfish or even sea bream, but forgoes salmon because it's "so 2011." "I only do lox when I have Eggs Norwegian at Balthazar," she will say with a sniff as she pursues limited menus with disdain. "And I'm talking about Paris Balthazar, not the one on Spring."

She is like a culinary hipster in the sense that she basically shuns anything that wouldn't be available to the general public at Food Emporium. Um, farro risotto? With fucking kale? You better back away slowly before she scratches your face in frustration. How dare you offer her that. She doesn't do proletarian foods; didn't you know?

Basically, she will turn up her perfectly rhinoplasty job at the foods of mere mortals, rolling her eyes if someone suggests going out for pizza and snarling in disgust at the mention of gourmet burgers. "I tried a cheeseburger for the first time whilst on holiday in London last year," she will say as she lets out a harrowing sigh. "It was the worst experience of my entire life."

"Cava is not champagne!" she will vehemently cry out, snatching the menu away from the basic bitch who had the audacity to suggest it in her presence. "And oysters from New Jersey? Get the fuck out of my face."

This emaciated diva loves herself a good tasting menu, even if it consists of, like, 18 courses. But haven't you noticed how all of the nicer restaurants, like Per Se and Daniel, are basically just never-ending parades of microscopic low-carb morsels? Obvi the people in the kitchen get the picture! And as for dessert, this lavish betch never partakes- she's just so full, you know?

So be it foie grais brulee, organic rabbit rillettes or diver scallop carpaccio, this extravagant girl knows how to execute the zero-carb diet in style. And while other chic ladies around town may have to sacrifice pricey food in favour of fashion, this is never an issue for this rich bitch (or, perhaps, her sugar daddy). For the girl on the FRaG Diet, compromise is never an option.

[thenationofzaun]

It's after 1:32:00. Here's what she says:

"For me personally it was a moment to be like, oh we can actually kind of reclaim this trauma for Vi. We can help her heal in a lot of ways because I think that was for us something that Vi's arc really did for her, like I've mentioned that we wanted Vi to be able to ask who she was if she had no one left to protect and that meant Vi saying what does Vi want instead of what does Vi do for other people, and sort of one way to do that was for me was getting to sort of process that trauma and reclaim it for herself and work through it and now be able to move forward from it in a healthier happy way."

Incredibly bizarre for a number of reasons. Firstly, the only trauma she talks about is Vi feeling like she has to protect and do things for other people. And the "reclamation" in question is Vi finally being able to choose something for herself, in this case, eating Caitlyn out in the prison cell. Not once does this writer mention the trauma of, you know, being jailed as a teenager then enduring almost a decade of abuse, beatings, solitary confinement, and the grief of thinking her whole family dead. It's like this massive and torturous part of Vi's life that should realistically have a huge impact on her character doesn't even cross her mind. You have a character who endured teenage years in a comically evil prison. And when it's time to write a scene with her in a prison cell, a sex scene at that, the only trauma you feel it pertinent to dissect is a nebulous feeling of obligation? And not the borderline child torture?

There is also no mention of Caitlyn assaulting Vi in S2 episode 3. A rich Piltovian cop beating Vi, who suffered physical abuse at the hands of cops her entire life. This is another trauma that is never mentioned by this writer. Does being in a prison cell stir up any nasty memories of being beaten by wardens as a teenager for Vi? Did getting beaten by Caitlyn stir up those memories? Why, in a scene where she stands with Caitlyn in a prison cell, is none of this brought up? Did this truly not even cross the writers' mind? Or did they think it wasn't that important or significant to Vi's character?

Second, she says that Vi in this moment chooses something for herself instead of doing something for other people because she feels she has no one left to protect. Is she forgetting that this scene takes place directly after her little sister confesses suicidal thoughts to her? Even if Vi didn't pick up on the blatant suicidal implications in Jinx's words (she's not the brightest character after all), she still feels like she doesn't have to protect her clearly grieving and mentally unstable sister who ran off barefoot, unarmed and alone, in a city teeming with armed enforcers? Okay fine, I guess Vi really doesn't care about Jinx nor does she think much of Isha's death.

But then there's the entire idea of this "protect people" trauma being such a big deal for Vi's character arc. So we're supposed to find it empowering when she stops protecting her family and chooses intimacy with Caitlyn. Yet in the show, does this really land? In Season 1 Act 1, Vi definitely tried her best to protect Powder, Mylo, and Claggor. A significant moment was the ending of episode 2, when Vi turns herself in to the enforcers to protect her loved ones and the undercity at large from Piltover's crackdown. A truly selfless, brave, and protective act. But post Act 1, her protective nature is focused entirely on Caitlyn.

In Season 1 Act 2, her stated goal is to save her sister from Silco. Yet she agrees to aid an enforcer to hunt down her sister and is actually very helpful the entire time. She never even tries to hinder or redirect Caitlyn from finding Jinx, even though her Act 1 self was constantly hindering enforcers from getting to Powder. She reveals the name "Jinx" to Caitlyn, then leads her directly to Jinx without considering the consequences. In Act 3, she leaves Ekko to fight Jinx to the death, choosing to protect Caitlyn instead of either of her little siblings. Later, she gives up the name Jinx to the Council. Then she goes on a rampage on Silco's soldiers without ever looking for Ekko or Jinx to see if they survived the bridge fight. So protecting them clearly wasn't on her list of priorities. The next time she protects someone in Season 1, it's again Caitlyn, during the dinner party. Post Act 1, there is never any significant moment of Vi protecting anyone other than Caitlyn in Season 1.

In Season 2 she joins the enforcers for Caitlyn, gasses Zaun with Caitlyn, lets Caitlyn take multiple kill shots at Jinx. Again, she never looks for or even thinks of Ekko. She doesn't do anything to protect the Firelights. She does protect Isha and by extension Jinx. But again, this is after allowing multiple kill shot attempts at Jinx and gassing Zaun. Sure, she states out loud that she thinks the Grey was protecting the people of Zaun, but the narrative itself calls her out via Jinx. So we're not supposed to agree with Vi's assessment that the Grey was protective, are we? In Act 2 we see her protective nature towards her family return when she protects Jinx and Isha from Warwick. (Fun fact: in the leaks she says "he's gonna kill us" before charging at Warwick. In the actual episode she says "he's gonna kill you." Presumably they changed the line to be a bit more selfless). Then she also protects Vander, and later when Isha explodes she protects Jinx from the blast.

But these moments pale in comparison to how much she protects and does things for Caitlyn throughout both seasons. If you keep track of every protective/selfless action Vi takes throughout her run on Arcane, Caitlyn takes the cake as the recipient. At times she either passively doesn't do anything to protect Jinx, Ekko, the Firelights, and Zaunites in general. At other times she is actively the one causing harm to Jinx and Zaunites. So this supposedly profound moment where she "breaks free" of the burden of protecting everyone and chooses to be intimate with Caitlyn........... just falls flat. Because it's just more of the same of what she's already been choosing to do for the last season and a half. This isn't a huge turning point for her character. She's doing the same thing she's been doing for most of her screentime. Choosing Caitlyn over her family.

It was just so baffling hearing this take from this writer because it's so incongruent with what's actually onscreen. There are many moments in the show where it really feels like the story in the writers' heads and the story we all watched don't add up. And many, many moments where it seems the writers don't really grasp the disturbing gravity of some of the things they wrote into the show. Like Vi's time in prison or her being hit by Caitlyn. It's like they sprinkled those things in for spicy drama with no thought to how they would impact Vi as a person. Very shallow and bizarre writing choices.

An Arcane writer saying Vi had sex with Caitlyn in a dank prison cell to "reclaim her trauma"

[igglemouse]

My day starts with my paper delivery job. Oh, yes, I guess I never mentioned that I do have a new job? Just something to supplement my jewelry thing as a little extra income never hurts and the job is easy enough. Drop papers at doorsteps and move on, that's it!

When I do make it home I find a surprising little bowl of stew sitting right on my counter. This must be the work of Niklas, who else would randomly do me a kindness like this? My only question is, did he make it with magic or cook it by hand?

And hey, whether it was made with a dash of magic or pure culinary skill it was pretty good all the same! Seriously, what doesn't he do? Maybe he's just showing off at this point.

In the middle of my meal Niklas strolls out of my restroom, as if he lives here, mind you, and asks if I'm enjoying the food. Honestly, yes, I am. Okay, alright, it's about a 6 out of 10 but it gets 2 bonus points simply because I didn't make it.

"So did you sprinkle a bit of magic in it?" I can't help but ask, it's a harmless question, but I imagine if I could make my dishes better with magic, I would.

"No? I mean I guess I could but-"

"Could you make the perfect meal with a touch of magic?"

"I guess you could? Never tried it though," he admits and from the look on his i can tell he's never really thought about it. He really doesn't like using his magic, huh?

"You really don't like using your watcher given abilities, do you?" I can't help but shake my head as he's made that very clear. It's a little frustrating. Having so much power at the tips of your fingertips and denying it all.

"Honestly, Grace, the whole bit is overrated."

"You keep saying that and yet just last night you waved your hands around and poof, clean tub. Just that alone is amazing."

But he's not convinced, he's shaking his head as if I don't get it at all and takes a deep breath before continuing. "The Realm and all it deals with is not only overrated but dangerous. The regular person lives a nice and safe calm life while we? Well, we could be called upon to face horrors you could never imagine."

"Well..." I falter behind his gaze just a bit because who wouldn't when facing unimaginable horrors? "I umm, yeah, I guess it's that whole great power great responsibility thing then."

"It's exactly like that."

"Alright then...but still, I don't see anything wrong with a little sprinkle of magic to make a pasta just a pinch better."

"I could try, mess up, and accidentally poison your food and you'd be in the hospital right now instead of just eating an average bowl of soup."

Ok, I guess I get his point.

So the man wants the normal life. I can't blame him for that. It sounds like he wants to just move to Henford and live out the rest of his days there or something, I don't know. Again, I can't blame him for that but personally...I'd like to be able to do something magical. I guess it is true, you always want what you can't have, unlesssss you want to soak in milk I guess and relax. You can absolutely have that.

Magic or no magic I am handling my bills pretty well. Thankfully, this place isn't too pricey so I can manage. It always feels good to have things under control financially.

Especially when I can sell a piece of jewelry for 1k. It's not a fortune in the grand scheme of things but it's enough to cover rent and still have simoleons left over. A little breathing room helps!

Hopefully this little ring will sell!

With the rain pouring down outside I can only decide to settle at my computer for the evening and dive into video games. There really isn't much else to do in my little place especially with Niklas off doing whatever he does. So it should be a quiet and peaceful night. Just me, the rain, and my laptop.

At least that was the plan but it looks like I'll be having a late night visitor.

Standing at my doorstep in the middle of a storm is none other than Lilja, the vampire I met earlier in the spring. Our first meeting was strange and now I can't help but wonder what brings her here on this rainy night. It's hard to tell from her expression as it is completely neutral and her eyes, cold and seemingly lifeless, stare right through me.

"So, may I?"

"Come in, you mean?" I ask, stupidly. Of course she needs an invitation. She's a vampire. "Y-yes, I guess so."

"Thank you."

"So, you're not going to like abuse my invitation, are you?"

Lilja chuckles softly at my question, amused in that delicate way of hers. "No, if I wanted to take you then you would have been taken," she says with precision. Perhaps she's right. I have been a little casual with my night time activities but she has made it clear that she's not out to harm me.

"So, then," I take a steady breath and gather my courage. "What brings you here? Despite the fact that I don't remember giving you my address or anything." But I'm sure she's been stalking me. Vampires are natural born stalkers, I might not know much about them but I do know that.

"Did you know that there was a ward put up around your house?" she asks that question with a tilt to her head, as if she is testing me.

"What? Yeah, a magician friend put one up, I'm not sure why-"

"Friend huh?" She gives me a knowing look. Does she know about Niklas? "It was a very weak ward but it did tingle just a little bit, it seems your wards are...weakening."

"Yeah, he's..." I trail off but then stop myself. Why am I explaining this? "Are you stalking me?"

"Watching you, did you forget our deal?"

"I..." guess I have. "Can you remind me again?"

"The blood magic," she says, watching me, her eyes intent and focused upon my expressions. "Do you remember?" and so it comes back to me, the deal, the offer of her maker willing to teach me blood magic. It felt theoretical at the time but now it feels much more concrete.

"I-, yes, I do remember now. Is it difficult to learn?"

"No, just costly."

"Costly? May I ask why you're willing to do this? What is in it for you and your umm...maker?"

"Everything," the weight of that word brings silence and for a moment I'm not sure what else to say. "The Realm have hunted our kind to near extinction and only the help of a blood witch can save us now."

"Oh," so am I the chosen one? "You can't just find someone else?"

"It is in your blood, your mother-"

"Yes, yes, she was a blood witch, I know."

"I am inviting you back to the castle," she says, and I'm reminded me that she had warned me against coming back because her maker might attack me again and she sees that concern and memory in my eyes. "He rests still, he is still weak. He needs...blood."

"Umm, yeah, sure, since you are inviting me I guess, does Saturday work."

"Yes, sounds perfect."

I'm not sure what the time is but I am getting a little uncomfortable with her here. "Umm, now, it's getting kind of late for me so if you don't mind..."

Episode List - Next Episode 3.4

[cantgetworsethanthistbh]

Don’t know if you’re still taking prompts but if you are you should totally write about ford eating out fem!stan for the first time plz🙏

hey anon! sorry i took a really long ass while to respond to this since i couldnt think of any specific scenarios to write this prompt of that wasn't just, you know, the prompt— but it finally hit me like a truck today! and also cuz i was sick and doing this in between homework djdndhdsn

anyway, VERY explicit under this read more, since i got SO carried away, hope you dont mind its the geezers pre-weirdmageddon in this one AND that you dont mind a little sex pollen also ty ty ty so much for your fem!stan request i love it when people enable me dhdndhdbdu also sorry to everyone who exoected a "read more" but tumblr hides my stuff when i do that so heres the warning, please scroll if thats not your thing

~~

"Constance, get down!"

"Wha—"

It was too late. Cloud of pink glitter exploded in her face and sent her into a coughing fit so hard her lungs shook in her ribcage. She drops to the floor and hears Ford's "Constance!"

Then she hears him fire his space gun. Just out of her periphery was chunks of blue goo that would be a fucking bitch to clean out of the walls and carpet, but la di da, there it was. There isn't a second to groan about that or the way her breathing turned heavy when Ford runs to her side, grabbing at her arm and forcing her to her back.

"Constance, are you okay?"

"Stanford..." Stan wheezes, turning her head into a hafl glare. "What... the HELL was that...?"

Ford's eyes narrow, inspecting her face, before his thumb brushes against her cheek. Stan shivers, a full body quake and confusion over taking her while Ford inspects his thumb. From down here, Stan can only stare because what else can she do when she's down, dizzy with virtigo from whatever magical poison that got sprayed across her face.

From down here, Stan feels the heat from Ford's grip, the pads of his fingers and the large mass of his palm against the bare skin of her arm, tickling the nerves underneath into sending sparks that go through her body and meet at the coil of her stomach. Even Ford's knee, under all that cloth and was much father from her face than Stan seems to think it is, illicited some deep, twisted something in Stan again she hasn't felt in a while.

"Ford?"

Ford's eyes snap back to her, blown and widened with alarm. Suddenly, he grabs her arm again, slips it over his shoulders, the other encircling her back. Stan thinks, alright, he's going to help me up, before a squawk rips from her throat when his arm loops under the back of her knees and lifts her to the air.

"What are you—?!"

"No time to explain, let's go," Ford says with all the urgency of a man on a mission. Carrying her out of their fairy-thing-guts covered living room with way too much ease, he sprints into the giftshop, ignoring Stan's confusion and dragging her into the basement.

It doesn't take a too long to find herself sitting on Ford's desk, trying to pump the breaks on the now doubled speed of her heart and the vibrations that run through out her body, working its ways to adjust to the surrounding. When Ford plopped her down and breathed the same air she did for less than a second, she felt it— ignition to an burnt out furnace suddenly bursting to new life. there was so much heat simmering through her veins, her nerves, every god damn thing was way too much to handle.

She's hot. Ford's desk and the glass plane behind her was cold, cold to a chill, and her thighs clench and rub together, onto the desk, aching for that rub of friction because she needed something hot, hot now, just as hot as her. Her mouth was dry, all the spit went on her tongue to her lips. Things— way too many things jumble in Stan's head, ranging from what the fuck is happening to holy shit, when did Sixer get that strong.

What stood out the most through was her brother saying he messed around with fucking nymphs, and all morning he's been hunted down by them. The one dead by their living room? A fucking nymph-assassin.

"Sixer, what the hell?" She pants, and oh God, she's panting? When the hell did that happen? Stan sucks in a breath again when Ford turns from rummaging through his stuff again to finally throw her a glance. Red hot heat crawls up her neck and she bites down on her lip when his eyes zero in on her squirming, her thighs. Stan might've thought she saw his jaw flex but, fuck if she wasn't also just going delirious.

"Why the hell were you messing around with those things in the first place?"

"I needed something from them, Constance," Ford answers measuredly, and Stan hears another racket from him looking for some goddamn thing through out his mess. "I've made an ammicable deal with them in the past, and now they're pushing for more. That's out of my control."

"I bet you backed out of that deal," Stan accuses, because it was pretty clear to them that Ford wasn't a god damn master of trickery or whatever. "What, you tried to swindle them for more of this fuck-powder? You know they sell viagra at the store?"

"That wasn't what I dealed with them for," Ford mutters lowly and, damn, if it were any other time, Stan would make fun of him. Stan would tease him, laugh at the embarrassed pout on his face, the bright red flush over his cheeks and ears. But she can't, not when Ford's back was what she's staring at, the broad, plane of his back and wide slopes of his shoulders, hidden under that stupid trenchcoat and sweater combo.

Where they could be ripped off and Stan could see all the things she never would have imagined her cute, nerdy but unappreciatedly handsome brother growing into if not for the one perk of getting shoved into a portal to whole universes of things trying to kill him. When she couldn't imagine him getting any hotter than he already—

They're back, those stupid god damn fantasies. They came at night, they came in the morning. They came whenever she and Ford would pass each other in the hall in their mutual agreement of no-talking, and his shadow almost engulfs her completely nowadays, and all she thinks is how stupid this whole avoiding each other thing is and they could be siblings as thick as thieves again.

Or even better— Ford could shove her into the wall and kiss her until she can't breathe. He could let her push that coat of his shoulders and sweater off his back so Stan's hands could crawl up them again. He could bite her neck, unbutton her blouse and pants, put one of those big palms to use and grope and squeeze around her tits, put those extra fingers to use and slip them into her pants, underwear, her, while Stan barely holds herself together biting at the firm skin on his shoulder.

Put that smartass mouth to use and say "Thank you, Stan" or "You're so good for me, Stan."

Get on his knees and put that mouth to even better use if he'd just shove down her pants, place his hands on her hips, nose against her bush and his mouth on her—

It takes a second too long to realize, but it happened. one hand slid between her legs, pushed the fabric of her boxers away to brush at her wet and even more senstive pussy. A second too long to stop that haggard mewl that came out of her lips.

A second too long to see that Ford finally turned back with a jar in way too tightly gripping hand, staring slack jawed at Stan behind his glasses.

Fucking great.

"Constance," Ford breathes shakily, and no, this can't happen. Their relationship can't get any worse, and sure Stan is gross for thinking about her brother that way, but she can't help that they're coming at the worst time, when she can't hide in her room far, far away from the basement and ride on her fingers to quiet cries of Ford's name.

"G-God, don't be so dramatic about it!" She says, sweat prickling at her neck. "You-you've seen me change and get naked before! This isn't that different!" Because there wasn't totally a difference between getting used to changing infront of your brother when you could barely live in one small space together when you were kids to touching yourself to them, right infront of them.

Right?

Man, she's such a sucker.

Shame is mixing with her already sizzling skin, and she needs to go. Take that jar-of-something to her room and figure it out on her own because obviously, Ford already wanted nothing to do with her and would want it even less now. Goddamn it, this would be so much easier if Ford didn't have eyes that were identical to hers, but wore it with that cutting stare that tore through her. Since they were teens and she was in denial about getting off to her twin brother who stared a little too hard— or even since forever.

Or at least if she wasn't still so hot and bothered thinking about him where she thinks she might've already came to his god damn desk.

Stan starts pushing herself off of it, face sweaty and pink. "F-Fine, I'll go. Just gimme that antedote and I'll—"

Ford closes the gap quicker than a lightning bolt, the jar already rolling on the floor and Stanford's mouth already crushed against hers, all hungry and desperate like he couldn't physically hold himself down anymore and their glasses knocking askew. He's nudging himself between her knees, his hands onto the fat on her hips, and shit, did he just moan? From just kissing her? Oh damn.

"Nevermind that. I think I have a better antedote," Ford says against her lips. "I'd like to test it out."

"Just fuck me already, Sixer, oh my God."

Stanford lights up, smiles like he won the damn lottery or fifty research grants or whatever. He dives right back in, kissing Stan, and sinking twelve nails into her hips as he drags them together. Stan groans, feeling the already hard tent go even harder against her, and her skin is on fire again, but this time melting the frigid parts of nerves into a liquid heat that's flowing directly down into her stomach, warming her up inside. Ford's hands move quick, from pushing the straps of her tank top down until she feels breeze touch her nipples to taking no sensitive measures to tugging and eventually ripping her boxers off her. Ford pulls away, and drags is mouth onto her neck then chest and Stan finally gets to put her hands on his shoulders, how big and strong he's gotten. One goes through his half greyed hair, and even when he was a teen she loved the dark, curly mop she'd pull into a noogie, but now it just makes him look better.

It makes her so mad, specially with what a grade A dick he's been. But she can't be that mad when Ford reaches her boob and takes a nipple into his mouth, nipping then sucking hard. "Shit—" Stan hisses, and there's nothing more to say than that.

"Fuck, Stan," Ford mutters against her skin, his breath tickling with the wetness on her nipple. "You drive me crazy."

"You're the one who fucked– ah– with Nymphs," She points out, and yeah maybe she could be a little jealous about that, but it dissapates when his fingers make their way into the warm, wetness of her pussy, just as special as Stan imagined it'd be. "Were– hh– they g-good lays, at least?"

"Not what I dealed with them for," Ford repeats, like that answers anything, and sinks loudly onto his chair, right between Stan's knees. His eyes drag down slowly on Stan, from her definitely fucked up hair, to half down tank top and tits hanging out, to right between her legs, and if Stan wasn't full on blushing then, well she sure was now. For a second it looks like he considers taking off his glasses, before deciding against it. Nerd.

Hooking the back of her knees over his shoulders, he smirks up at her again with that tear-her-apart stare again. "I doubt they'd ever taste this good."

Before Stan could respond to that, Ford's face goes between her thighs and his mouth is on her. If Stan thought she almost came earlier, then she's holding on for dear life when Ford's tongue laps at the outside before sinking deeper into her, sending shockwaves through out Stan. Moaning against her like he's the one getting head, like he's getting off from the taste of her on him alone. The flat of his tongue pushes against tight muscle, the heat almost pulsing, and making the wetness there grow more and more

Fuck, just Holy shit, how did he get this—

"Oh!" Stan gasps, one hand finding her own breast and the other on his desk, barely feeling the cold anymore with the clashing heat taking up her whole body, and all she can really feel is Ford's nose bumping against her bush when he only lets up for his teeth to graze against the nub of her clit while his fingers take over below. Stretching her out with his big, thick fingers, just so he could watch her like some pervy, old—

Then he sucks gently on it, and Stan is seeing white.

"Shit– Ford, I'm–"

"Just let it out, Stan," He says, still mostly against her. "You've been so good this whole time.

Thick thighs closing around Ford's head, that's what does her in. Of course it is. Her mind completely blanks out, turning to the white static on TV for a few moments until she realizes she's riding the rest of her orgasm on Ford's mouth at the end of it, while he laps it up like he'd die if he doesn't, like he's the cursed one.

Stan could barely register the murmurred whispers of her name and the movements of his arm from under the desk she's on until he's letting out a shuddering breath, forehead against her belly. Stan couldn't help the grin lighting up her face then.

Great, at least she's not the only one.

Just like that, the heat... doesn't really leave. Just wrapped around her cozily like the trenchcoat Ford threw over her when he finally stands up, only to drag Stan back on his lap. She's not getting used to that thirty years long honed strength anytime soon.

"Suppose I have a new more effective measures now," Ford says, lips finding Stan's, and she could taste herself on there, passed like a secret.

She's not getting used with this affection either, but Stan wants to see Ford try.

They stay a couple of moments there basking in this glow, until Stan peers up again, scratching the back of her neck when realization hits her.

"Hey, Sixer... you're the one cleaning that carpet upstairs, right?"

[one-annon]

PROTECTIVE ADAM DRABBLE

haha hi guys... so huge shout out to @quinngefail for trusting me enough to write out a bit for this idea they had! really not my best writing but its okay, i still had fun writing it <3 heavy tw! slight fatshaming and disability shame!! dont be like these guys

adam was never the protective type. he knew lawrence could hold himself up and he knew he could protect himself. he had no reason to be mean to others. of course, there were times where he would tell someone to fuck off. he hated it when people would stare at lawrence. not only was staring rude (funny from a voyeur huh?), but lawrence was his. the older man belonged to adam and he had a ring on his finger to prove it.

the two of them knew their limits with each other but others didn't. which, in adams opinion, it should be common fucking sense. who the fuck would comment on a guy's weight? thats like…asking if a woman is pregnant. well. he actually doesnt know if that translates right but…you get the point, don't you?

like that one time when they were at a restaurant. they were sitting across from each other, lawrence had ordered a nice glass of wine and adam had a dr pepper. really, they needed the rest. hard week for them both. they had been patiently waiting for their food and once it finally was in front of them, these fucking kids were seated across from their table.

both of them paid no mind. it didnt matter. truly, looking back at it, they shouldve left them alone. but in adams defense, they were looking at larry wrong. his larry.

"you really think hes gonna eat all that?" "course he is. look at him!"

adam had heard the whispers, he noticed the stares. he inhaled slowly, trying to keep his cool. he wouldnt ruin their date. not over this. taking a quick peek up at his stunning date, he took note of how unbothered lawrence seemed. maybe it bothered him more than it did the blond. or maybe not. he didnt even know of larry had heard those fuckers talking. he knew the man's hearing was getting just a little worse. he didnt mind. it worked. adam was loud anyway.

he let his hand move over toward lawrence's, locking their fingers together and watching him take a few bites of his meal. it wasnt a ton of food. he didn't get the issue. steak, a salad he had already finished, and a bowl of soup. of course, he also ordered fries that were mostly just something adam could steal off his plate, and they had shared mozzarella sticks and chips for an appetizer. but that wasnt too much. that was a good amount of food. they had no reason to make fun of him but adam had every reason to knock their fucking teeth in.

larry's gaze caught adams, a soft smile pairing with those beautiful blue eyes. he didn't seem bothered. not one bit.

"could you uh..go get me a drink, lar?" he asked, nodding over to the bar near the back of the restaurant. he wanted to have a small word with the very kind people next to him.

"oh, of course." lawrence lifted his hand, pressing a loving kiss to his knuckles. he always treated adam like a princess. would that make lawrence the princess' bride? haha. adam's never seen the princess bride and neither has the author. sorry.

the blonde took his cane in his hand, huffing out a tired breath as he stood up. "easy on your leg.." adam warned, watching him carefully and staying on high guard to make sure he didnt need to step up and assist his lover. he was fine. he could handle himself, adam. calm down. he heard the people across from them snicker. their eyes followed lawrence as he left for the bar and adam couldnt have been more pissed.

adam turned in his seat, eyes wide with the insane urge to set the building ablaze and a smile so sarcastically pissed off that he felt he could be the next big actor. he spread his legs just a little, letting his elbows rest on his knees. he clasped his hands together, staring directly at the table. "hey there!" he greeted, the gears in his head running on just enough cigarette smoke to keep the 'protect lawrence' and his 'destroy everything and everyone in your way' gears in overdrive and the 'think rationally' and 'work this out' gears held at a complete stop.

the table focused their attention onto adam, one of the members cocking an eyebrow and mimicking his positioning. of course, adam wasnt expecting them to take him seriously. how could they? he wasnt anything special. he was just an average looking loser with a boyfriend who owns a fucking bmw.

"hey there back!"

adam hated that fucking smile. little fucking demons is what they were. he lifted his head to check on lawrence. he was still at the bar, chatting with the bartender and waiting ever so patiently for adams drink. he wasnt even sure what he was getting and truly he didnt care. he had bigger problems to handle at the moment. "is there a fuckin' problem here?" he tilted his head.

the person mocking him shrugged. "im not sure what youre talking about."

the shorter had to resist the urge to stand and slam his hands on the table. of course they didnt know. why would they know what they just fucking did? that makes so much sense that adam almost forgot why he was about to break their fucking teeth in! almost.

"yknow, youre not exactly quiet when it comes to shit talking people. though, i suppose you would really like it for someone to do the same to you, yeah?" he motions to the outfit of another member. "like how your shirt has a cute little logo for nirvana on it but i bet you cant name three songs by the damn band, huh?"

before they could defend themselves, adam continued. "or how you," he pointed to another member, "have that beautiful necklace on! oh my it looks so expensive! but yknow i saw the same thing at claires! and, really i would say your outfit makes up for it but green just is not your color. i would maybe go for a dumpster fire red next time! which i dunno, i think a nice bitch blue would go great for all of you!"

one of the members stood up, which caused adams confidence to falter just slightly. he straightened himself up, his brain suddenly racking through old memory files to find the fight tips that scott had given him. just in case.

"who the fuck do you think you are, dude?" they shouted. other tables turned to look at the pair. adam wasnt sure what to do, so he did what he did best. he imagined it was scott. truly, he did this for every fight. it was a lot easier yelling at that fucknut than some stranger.

adam vaguely pointed to the bar, "oh, so its okay for you to insult my fiance but i cant insult you? i mean, cmon, i just told you that you all had trash outfits! you fucks were making fun of his body! not so fuckin' fun when its you is it?"

he wouldve keep going. he shouldve kept going. if it wasnt for lawrence wobbling his way back with a beer bottle in hand, adam probably wouldve gotten physical. larry carefully slid his way back into the booth, setting the drink down. the doctor took note of how riled up adam and the other table seemed to be. now that the member of the group had sat and adam had his drink, they could continue their date.

"i heard you shouting." lawrence whispered in that all too calm voice of his. "you dont have to defend me, adam. people are going to make fun of me, i know it. but i can handle it. im an adult too."

adam scoffed as he took a sip of his beer, "i fuckin hate people, larry."

"i know you do, sweetheart."

the date ended soon after, a quick kiss and a hefty bill that adam was shocked lawrence was able to pay for in full cash concluding their time spent at the restaurant. adam gave the table a very nice fuck you flip off as they left, taking larry's - his larry's - hand in his own and leading them out to that fancy ass bmw.

______

how 2 write ending?

[maddy-k-reads-all-day]

Lunchtime!

Finally, all the homework is done. Sophie sighs in relief. Now I can watch the next tape. Sophie takes the tape and sticks it into the VCR. It begins to play. 

“Hi friends, I’m Amanda.” Amanda beams. 

“And I’m Wooly…” Wooly smiles. They are standing in the kitchen. 

“And today we’re going to make lunch together for our picnic!” Amanda announces. “We had a picnic with Riley once! It was fun.” Amanda grins. 

“A… picnic…” Wooly says quietly.

“Hm? What was that?” Amanda wonders, Wooly doesn’t respond, he looks deep in thought. “Okay anyway… First we need to make some sandwiches! What’s your favorite kind of sandwich?” Sophie thinks for a moment. BLT. she answers “Really? Oh my gosh me too! Guess what? That’s what we’re going to be making today!” Amanda cheers. 

“I… think I’ll have a PB and J…” Wooly mumbles. 

“What? But you have that every day! And we went out of our way to grow the vegetables and buy the bacon!” Amanda protests. 

“I don’t think I want bacon…” 

“You could just have lettuce and tomato.” Amanda suggests. Wooly still looks unsure. “You know, you should never be afraid to try new things!”

“I want a PB and J.” Wooly pouts. Amanda smiles. 

“Okay Wooly, you can have your PB and J.” she chuckles. “Let’s get our ingredients first! We’ll need bread, lettuce, tomatoes, bacon, and… peanut butter and jelly.” She grabs a step stool and climbs up on the counter. “Can you tell me where the bread is?” she asks. Sophie clicks on it. “Alright, then the peanut butter?” Sophie clicks on that too. “Great!” Amanda stumbles a little as she climbs down. Wooly’s face folds in worry, and he immediately runs over to help her. “I’m okay Wooly, just lost my footing a little. How about you have a turn?” she suggests. 

“Can you tell me where the fridge is?” Sophie clicks on it. “Nice! We need bacon and peach jelly. Do you see them?” Sophie clicks on them. “Thanks!” He puts them on the counter and waits patiently, looking toward Amanda. 

“Wooly… we still need lettuce and tomatoes.” Amanda reminds him. 

“Oh right… those should be…” he walks back to the fridge. Amanda transports them to the garden. “Oh right! I forgot! We gotta pick some more!” Sophie clicks on the lettuce and tomatoes. Amanda and Wooly pick some and put them into a bowl. Then the tape freezes and glitches back into the kitchen. “Now it’s time to make sandwiches!” 

“Um wait a second Wooly, we gotta rinse off the vegetables first.” Amanda reminds him. 

“Right, right.” Wooly chuckles nervously. Amanda looks at him with concern. She waits a moment. As if expecting him to say something more. 

“It’s important to rinse off your vegetables before eating them, and check them for any bugs! You wouldn’t want to find a worm in your sandwich, gross!” Amanda says, “Where do we rinse off our vegetables?” Sophie clicks on the sink. She watches Amanda rinse them off. “Alright! Now it’s time to make sandwiches!” Amanda separates the bread. Wooly just stares at it. “Wooly, is something wrong?” 

“Oh um… I’m… fine.” 

“Really? Are you sure? We can take a break if-” “No Amanda, I’m fine. Really!” 

“Okay…” Amanda still looks worried, “Um…” Amanda looks unsure as to what to do. “Let’s make sandwiches!” the tape glitches and the sandwiches are made. 

“Okay, we got the sandwiches, a blanket, some juice boxes, now all we need is a special treat!” Amanda explains. 

“Wait Amanda… did you fast-forward the tape?” Wooly asks. 

“What? No, I had all this prepared before the episode, remember?” Amanda answers. 

“Amanda you didn’t have to do that.” 

“Wooly I don’t know what you’re talking about. I prepared them all this morning, remember? Oh right, you were asleep.” Amanda recalls. Wooly looks, kinda mad. “If you think I did it for you because I know you’re tired, I didn’t okay? Now let’s get some cooki- you know what, forget cookies. I want cupcakes. Let’s grab some of those instead!” 

“Amanda…” 

“Alright, we got the cupcakes!” the tape glitches. “Now let’s pack our lunch!” Amanda starts putting everything in the picnic basket. “Yay! We’re done, and look, it’s lunchtime! Let’s go have our picnic!” the tape glitches to the park where they had a picnic before. 

“Yay! It’s such a nice day out! It’s a perfect day for a picnic!” Amanda beams. 

“Amanda, those clouds are looking pretty dark.” Wooly points out. “And it’s pretty windy…” Amanda gives him a little glare. 

“Let’s set up our picnic!” she smiles. “First we need to lay out the blanket!” Sophie clicks on the blanket. Amanda tries to lay it out but the wind makes this very difficult. “Wooly, a little help here?”

“Right.” They both try to lay the blanket down, but a gust of wind blows it out of their hands.

“Wa-wait! Wait! Wait!” Amanda runs after it but it flies far away. “My picnic blanket…” she says sadly. “Mmm… Well whatever, we’ll sit in the grass.” 

“But I don’t like sitting in the grass…” Wooly protests. 

“We’re sitting in. The. Grass.” Amanda demands. Wooly nods. “Ah! Sorry! I just… got a little mad about the blanket and… aaaah… I just wanted this picnic to go well!” she groans. 

“It’s okay…” 

“No, I shouldn't have shouted at you like that.” Amanda sighs, “anyway… let’s just eat and get out of here before it rains.” She hands Wooly his sandwich and takes out her own. “Mmmm! These are so good! How’s yours Wooly?” 

“It’s good…” he mumbles, but he hasn’t even taken a bite.

“Are you sure you’re okay Wooly, you’ve been acting kind of… off… today.” 

“No no… it’s fine… I’m…” tears start dripping down his cheeks. “Oh my… heh heh… I guess my allergies are really bad today…” he tries to wipe them away. Amanda comes over and gives him a big hug. 

“Hey… you’re allowed to not be okay.” Amanda tells him. Wooly responds by hugging her really tight. Really really tight. “Ow ow ow… but you are not allowed to break my back.” 

“Amanda… remember our last picnic?” 

“Yeah I- Oh.” Amanda suddenly realizes their last picnic was not so pleasant.

“Sometimes… I feel myself rotting too…” he says quietly. “Amanda… I know I ask this all the time… but are we really getting out of here? Are we really going to be able to go to the real world and do… I don’t know… fun stuff together?” 

“Maybe not Wooly… maybe not…” Amanda sighs, gently petting the fluff on his head, “that’s why I decided… that we might as well have some fun adventures here… make here as comfortable as possible.” 

“Okay…” he sniffles. 

“So Wooly? How are we going to make this place as fun and comfortable as possible, for both of us?” Amanda asks. Wooly thinks about it for a bit. He takes a bite of his sandwich. 

“This really is good.” he says, “Um… I… don’t want to eat meat anymore… it kind of freaks me out.” 

“That’s fine.” 

“And maybe you could stop commenting about my weight?”

“Urk! Have I? Okay… I’ll keep that in mind…” “And… could we lower the cabinets so we can reach them?”

“Alright.”

“And I don’t like it when you do dangerous stuff… and I’d rather not go out at night.” 

“Aww… but what about stargazing?” Amanda asks. 

“That’s fine… and I don’t like it when you talk about death and rotting and stuff…” 

“Mmm… okay. Got it.” “And… could we have warm milk and cookies before bed.” 

“Like… every night? That’s a lot of milk and cookies!” Amanda laughs. Wooly looks sad. “Yeah we can do that…” 

“What about you?”

“Me? Hmm… Well, I don’t like being interrupted. I don’t like it when things go wrong. I wanna try and see just how much we can do in this imaginary world. I don’t wanna go to the library anymore… and I don’t want to talk about Hameln or whether or not we can leave. What happens will happen and whatever happens I’ll be right here by your side, okay?” 

“You’re like a big sister Amanda.” Wooly smiles.

“Is that right?” Amanda chuckles forcefully. She pauses for a moment, “Here’s something else that I want to… and I’m not sure how to say this… because I don’t want you to take it the wrong way but… every now and then… could I have some alone time?”

“What do you mean?” 

“Like… an episode where I just do an activity on my own…” 

“Huh? Why? Di-Did I do something wrong?”

“No, you’re fine. I just want a little me-time sometimes.  Sometimes… I wanna do something by myself with Riley. Or… like you talking to Sophie with the cookies…” 

“How did you-” “I couldn’t sleep either… I guess we kind of had a similar idea but… I didn’t want to interrupt.” 

“Oh… so you heard all that…” Wooly looks a bit… distraught. 

“Not all of it… ah! I didn’t mean to eavesdrop or anything… it was an accident!” Amanda frantically explains, “Look, the point is… I’m glad we’re friends again… it’s just… this time I want us to really be able to depend on each other… but not be dependent on each other.” Wooly looks hurt. Amanda sighs, “I knew this was a bad time…” 

“No no, it’s fiiiine.” Wooly says, sounding annoyed, “I totally get it.” 

“I don’t think you do.” 

“You’re just sick of me aren’t you?” Wooly laughs, pushing Amanda away. 

“See you don’t get it at all!” 

“What do I not get?” Wooly snaps.

“I’m not sick of you! I want to be your friend, I want to be a better friend! I’m trying really hard to respect your boundaries and make things better for you Wooly, all I’m asking is that you do the same.” 

“But I don’t like being alone…” 

“Why not?” 

“Because when I’m alone I start thinking a lot of… dark thoughts… sad stuff…” 

“Well, what do you do when you're alone?” 

“Um… nothing?” 

“Well that’s your issue, you gotta do something. Get a hobby.”

“Like…” 

“Whatever you want. Personally I like to draw.” 

“But I’m not good at drawing.” Wooly pouts.

“Then find something else you like.” Amanda shrugs, “How’s this? If you find something you really like, we can do it together sometime!” 

“Well okay…” he turns to Sophie, “What do you like to do?” Amanda facepalms. Reading. Sophie types. Wooly makes a very disinterested face. 

“See, you got plenty of time to figure it out next time I want some me-time! Got it?” 

“I guess so…” 

“Don’t worry so much Wooly!” Amanda says, this seems to bother him a little, “I’m not saying we’re NEVER going to hang out. I just want a little bit of me-time, okay?” 

“Okay…” Wooly sighs. Just then, the picnic blanket blows by. “Oh, I’ll get it!” Wooly shouts, running after it. He jumps up and grabs it, falling onto the ground. 

“Wooly, are you okay?” Amanda asks, running over. 

“Look, I caught it!” Wooly beams, seeming super proud of himself. Amanda laughs and helps him up. 

“Yeah, you did!” 

“Now we can sit on it!” Wooly points out, “Can you help us?” Sophie clicks on the blanket and they lay it out. 

“Now let’s have some cupcakes!” Amanda beams. She goes back and grabs them. “For you Wooly.” 

“Why thank you.” he giggles. 

“So, are you feeling a bit better now?” 

“I guess so…” Wooly replies. 

“Good. Now let’s enjoy this dang picnic!” Amanda announces, digging into her cupcake. “Mmm so good!” she glances over at Wooly and laughs, “Wooly, you got a bit of frosting on your nose!” 

“Oh really? Ha! Take that!” he snickers, sticking a blob of frosting on Amanda’s nose. They both laugh. 

“See, we can have fun here too.” Amanda says. 

“Ye-yeah!” he replies, still looking a bit unsure. 

“Enjoy your picnic!” Amanda calls out to Sophie, and the tape ends. She turns around and sees a picnic basket. Inside are some toy cupcakes… and the next tape. Aww… I was enjoying those puzzles. Sophie thinks to herself. It looks like things are working out but… I still sense a storm on the horizon. Just then, Riley comes inside. 

“Oh hey, did you get the tapes?” 

“Yeah… only four of them though.” 

“I got some toy cupcakes, and a tape from Amanda without even needing to do a puzzle!” 

“She just gave it to you? Like a freebie? No way! How many tapes have you watched with her?” 

“Only like… four…” Sophie smirks. Riley looks so frustrated and betrayed it makes Sophie laugh. “Maybe she wouldn’t mess with you if you didn’t mess with her so much!” 

“Well fine!” Riley pouts, “If that’s the way it is I guess you’ll be the only one watching the tapes from now on! They shouldn’t mind since they like you sooooo much!” Now Sophie is absolutely cracking up. 

“No no, don’t do that! Amanda was just talking about wanting to spend time with you! Like… just you!” Sophie explains. Riley now seems touched. “She really misses you a ton.” 

“And Wooly?” 

“He seems… happy that you’re gone.” 

“That little-” Riley grumbles, “Oh right, about those demons I mentioned, don’t get Amanda and Wooly too pissed off at you or they will attack you!” 

“Um… excuse me?!” Sophie gasps, immediately catching Riley in a noogie, “Listen here you! I don’t mind you getting me mixed up in this weird, creepy, cult business, but demons? Well I guess they are a demonic cult… but huh? You didn’t think to tell me this BEFORE?”

“I told you the demons were attached to the tapes! I wasn’t really in the best headspace at that point so it kinda slipped my mind.”

“So those cuts and scrapes on your arms?”

“The other demon saved my life. But uh yeah it’s kinda my fault… shouldn’t have pushed Wooly’s buttons like that…” 

“That poor kid constantly looks one wrong word away from a mental breakdown.” Sophie observed. 

“So has Amanda absolutely lost it on you yet?” 

“She gave me some hard puzzles for a bit… but I think I finally got on her good side.” Sophie explains. 

“Scary.” 

“Huh?” 

“You are scary good with kids Sophie. I don’t know how you do it.”

“Well I am studying to become a daycare provider.” 

“Girl you could go to much higher places-” 

“Maybe…” Sophie sighs, “One day I might want to be a child psychologist… but I want to have enough money saved to go to a better school for that.” 

“I told you, I have some inheritance from Aunt Kate-” 

“That you should use for yourself. It’s fine.” 

“I’m sorry Sophie… I shouldn’t have-”

“Nuh-uh. Shut up. You are not going to apologize for getting me involved. I am happy to be involved. I want to be involved. Now do you want to watch the next tape with me?” Sophie smiles, gently rocking the tape in her hand. Riley kisses her on the forehead.

“Of course I do.”

Authors Note: Kay I lied. Ended up having some free time today and I really wanted to write. So here's the next chapter. :) Riley and Sophie's conversation was really funny to write. Next fic is completely fluff. I am committing myself to one completely fluff fic for you guys (This will be very hard for me, lol). But only cuz I want Amanda and Wooly to have some fun!

[alexanderwales]

I finished the rest of Save the Cat almost in a single sitting, not because it was particularly riveting, but because I had time to kill, so this pseudo-liveblog is at an end.

Chapter 6 and 7 are basically the same, collections of small tricks and tips. Neither of them are terribly helpful, and all the tricks have terrible shorthand names like "Pope in a Pool". There's very little in the way of any thematic cohesion to these bits of advice, and no grand theory of the Laws of Storytelling emerges, in spite of the laws being invoked a number of times.

The advice itself is, I think, generally good:

give the reader something to root for early on to kickstart investment

spice up exposition with something entertaining

only one kind of magic per plot

don't tell a story that requires too much setup

don't tell a story with too many moving parts

include a ticking clock

have character arcs

keep the scope limited to the characters we care about

make the hero proactive

show, don't tell

make the bad guy very bad

the plot should go faster the further in it goes

use the whole spectrum of emotion

make sure each character has a distinct voice

make sure desires are "primal"

give characters something that makes them stand out

I don't endorse this whole list, and I especially don't endorse the way that Blake Snyder talks about them or the examples that he gives. And if I endorsed the list, then I would include a lot of caveats, and some general principles of storytelling that should be followed, rather than these specific pieces of advice, which are all conditional. Like ... okay, here's an example:

Exposition is a broccoli that the audience doesn't want to eat. There are very different ways of dealing with this, but we can start with "minimize exposition" as the first "law" of storytelling, and from there, we have different strategies:

Spruce up the exposition, making it into a mini-story, delivered in an entertaining way, so that people aren't bored.

Run something alongside the exposition so that people aren't bored, like sight gags in a comedy or an action scene in a thriller.

Have the exposition delivered through implication and clues, rather than stated outright, like having a character limp rather than explaining to the audience that they were wounded in the war. This is show, don't tell, and it's harder than it seems.

But while Snyder lays out some of this advice, it's all in different sections even though it's dealing with the same fundamental problem, and I'm not sure that he really understands that. If he does understand it, then he's not making that clear for the reader.

My thesis is that to understand storytelling, you want to understand root issues and classes of solutions. I have not written a book on writing, nor do I think there's a market for that, nor do I think I'm qualified, but it's the kind of thing that I would strive to deliver. There are a lot of writing problems that are parallel to each other, and there are a lot of structural elements that are mirrors of each other, so why not try to put it all together that way?

But Snyder makes basically no attempt to put even very related problems together, it's just little bits of advice to gnaw at the most common problems, and ... maybe that's fine, but it felt lazy to me.

Chapter 8 was the final chapter, and was mostly about trying to sell screenplays. This was irrelevant to me, but kind of interesting, and also made me feel like Blake Snyder is a better marketer and salesman than a screenwriter, and also maybe just got lucky to be working at a time when scripts were getting huge bidding wars for no good reason. The efficient market hypothesis gets clowned on again, I guess.

I'll probably write up some overall thoughts, a short review: I think I am unsuited to liveblogging because I go long. But the even shorter version is that I think I picked up a few things that were interesting to think about, and while Blake Snyder is a hack, he's an entertaining writer.

[sea-jello]

hong kong miku,,,

[iamthepulta]

The best thing about Italy and Europe is that linen just- exists here. I can go buy a shitty cheap 100% linen dress like I would go to Fry's and buy a shitty cheap 100% polyester dress in America. Absolutely revolutionary for my wardrobe. I can't actually buy wardrobe enhancements because I have a carry-on suitcase, but the fact I still have the option is amazing.

[varjopeura]

.