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blue-jisungs · 10 months ago

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YELLOW CAB

author's note. i kinda slayed w the banner ngl

summary. 3rd time is a charm, right? especially when the guy whose ride home you stole is kinda (very much) cute

word count. 2111

genre, pairing. crack and fluff lmao!! graphic design hybe worker!yn x idol!seungkwan;; sassy kwan.

warnings. one or two curses, mention of throwing up

letting out a deep sigh, you stepped outside the hybe building. holding the file with your notes and sketches, you pressed it closer to your chest as you whipped out your phone. the weather was quite stuffy, air no better than in the office.

some of your coworkers passed you by and walked towards the parking.

shaking your head, with a few swipes you ordered a cab. living without a car was manageable but quite a pain in the ass, especially on days like this when you didn’t feel like taking the metro.

you stayed overtime, again. it’s really a bad habit, you should work on it. your eyes were struggling to keep open, even while standing. speaking of which, your legs hurt too – probably a result of sitting for too long. and your back; oh god, your back. leaning over the drawing tablet for the whole day will definitely cause you to have a hump… fun.

someone left the building and sat on the bench, doing something in their phone. it was good to know you weren’t the last one to leave. yawning loudly, you struggled to stand still.

then, you noticed a yellow cab arriving. finally! you marched towards it, absentmindedly. you opened the door and greeted the driver, sitting inside.

before you closed it, you heard an offended:

“yah! that’s my cab! check the number, miss!”

but the door closing shut the voice down as you muttered the address. letting yourself relax for a while, only halfway home you realized you just accidentally took someone else’s cab.

well, at least they won’t be left alone – in such case yours should be arriving at the hybe building soon.

you observed in deep thought the water droplets racing down the window. someone tapped your arm and you jerked, blinking.

“y/n, we’re leaving. you should too, tomorrow is an important day” your co-worker smiled gently and patted your arm “you should get some sleep, okay? i’ll see you tomorrow”

nodding in agreement, you waved them goodbye and started packing your things.

tomorrow you’re going to be presenting your new album cover and other details for seventeen’s upcoming comeback. you were nervous, you didn’t know if they were going to like it. considering the time you spent and how much tears, blood and sweat you put into the design you tried to be optimistic that they would enjoy it.

you left the office and already ordered a cab while in the lift. you hoped that because of it, you weren’t going to wait in the rain for too long.

a distant chatter echoed and bounced of the lobby walls, mixing with the elevator-type-of-music.

then, your phone dinged with a notification that your cab arrived.

taking a deep breath and putting your scarf around your head, you headed out. running towards the yellow cab in the rain, droplets hitting your face. water splashed under your shoes and in a few leaps you reached the car.

you decided to hop on the seat behind the driver, putting your bag on your knees.

“sorry for the mess” you breathed out and tucked the hair that got stuck onto your face.

suddenly the door opened again and someone entered the cab.

your eyes widened and you looked at the stranger. he blinked, flabbergasted.

then you yelped upon realizing its seungkwan. boo seungkwan. the boo seungkwan from seventeen.

you bowed yet were speechless, too stunned to mutter even a single word.

his brows knitted as he pointed at you.

“hey, you stole my cab last time” he grunted and ran his hand through his wet locks. your cheeks grew hot with realization, fingers nervously playing with the material of your bag. that’s not good. not good at all.

“i’m sorry i promise it wasn’t on purpose! i was just so tired and didn’t realize–” you started.

“are we going or what? it’s not a cafe to chat endlessly in one place” the driver grunted impatiently.

“yeah, right. um, i’ll just leave and you take this one. i’m deeply sorry, mr. boo” words spilled out of you like the rain from the dark clouds.

before you could open the door, seungkwan leaned and smacked your head gently. you halted in shock.

“are you out of your mind? i mean, respectfully. whatever happened, happened. just be sure to check next time… and let’s just take this one. i assume you’re heading home?” he asked, catching the driver’s annoyed look in the mirror “you should go first”

you nodded and after saying the address, the car started.

“do you work here?” seungkwan asked, interested. you felt a little shy – even though you knew they work at the same building, you never met an idol. and yet here you are.

“yes, i’m a graphic designer” you smiled politely “oh, i’m sorry. my name is l/n y/n��

the idol returned your smile and reached his hand out. you shook it and he hissed dramatically.

“aigo, your hand is so cold!”

you giggled and took it back.

the nervousness gradually left your body as you had some small talk with him (and he insisted not to call him mr boo or mr seungkwan as – quote – “that makes him old and he’s still young!”), genuinely feeling comfortable. he seemed not to be faking his engagement into the conversation either.

before you realized, you arrived in your neighborhood. it was pouring now but luckily the driver stopped quite close to the building. the driver asked for seungkwan’s destination, wanting to put it in gps already.

as he did, you reached for your card. then, you asked the driver how much it would cost to take seungkwan to his place. the man replied and the idol smacked your hand once again this evening.

“you are really crazy” he grunted and shook his head.

“no, no. let me pay, as a form of sorry for the last cab incident” you frowned, discreetly nodding to the driver. he nodded back and put the full price for the route; seungkwan didn’t seem to notice.

“no, i can’t allow that. it’s literally nothing, i swear i already forgot” he whined.

the driver handed you the terminal and you paid with a bright smile.

“okay, fine. um, thank you for the ride, seungkwan” you said and grabbed your bag “it was nice meeting you. have a good day!”

with that you left and seungkwan observed as you ran to the building, heavy rain slurring your silhouette. he kept his eyes on you as long as he could before the driver was too far away.

only then he noticed something on the seat.

worker id.

he huffed and took it in his fingers, not realizing he’s smiling. it must have fallen out when you pulled out your card.

“the lady paid for you, by the way” the driver said softly, glancing at him through the mirror.

seungkwan rolled his eyes, not sure why his mood is so bright now.

you dug through your bag, heart rate being faster than when you took your friend’s niece to the rollercoaster park. feeling the guard’s displeased sight on you, you decided to turn your bag around and spill the contents on the floor. then, you dropped to your knees and ignored the weird looks from other workers.

“i promise i have it! i have no idea why it’s not here!” you whined, glancing at the clock. 9:55am. you had about three minutes to enter the building and arrive at the meeting place since it starts at 10am.

and currently you couldn’t find your worker id.

“i can’t let you in on a promise. i’ll need to escort you if you don’t have it” the bodyguard said, unbothered.

you looked through all the papers and sketches that fell out, sweat dripping down your temple. that’s not how it was supposed to go.

with shaking hands you wiped a tear that gathered on your cheek and checked your wallet again. nothing.

a sudden pat on your arm caused you to turn around sharply and the person jerked in surprise due to your dramatic reaction.

it was seungkwan.

“now that’s just embarrassing” you grunted, blinking the tears away.

“are you looking for this?” he asked with a soft smile, reaching for something from his pocket. your eyes saw the goddamn plastic card “and before you think it’s creepy, you left it in the taxi. i figured i’d drop it off at your office but you’re here so…”

nodding your head vigorously, you gathered all your stuff and put it into your bag.

“thank you, thank you so so much. i was just about to be late for a meeting as if the meeting itself didn’t make me nervous as fuck” you breathed out and took the id “thank you…”

“i get it, i get it. now shoo, you can’t be late! and good luck, fighting!” he grinned and you sent him a wide grin.

seungkwan watched you disappear in the lift before a gasp ripped out of his chest.

“what am i even doing?! i have a meeting too–”

he rushed to get another lift and cursed underneath his breath when it came late. seungcheol will whoop his ass for being late but first of all, it’s only like five minutes. second of all, he was helping you.

the man pushed the door from the meeting room, sending all eyes on him. he rose his hands in a defensive manner and then bowed.

“i apologize for being late, there was a small… incident” he mumbled and before he looked up, he heard a voice.

“it’s alright, mr. boo. we didn’t start yet”

your voice.

his eyes met with yours, causing his face to lit up. some of the members noticed the strange exchange between you, especially when a shared smile bloomed on your faces.

seungkwan sat down next to minghao, earning a smack on the arm.

needless to say, everyone came to a conclusion that for the first time ever seungkwan was laser focused in the presentation. and you.

“i feel like i’m gonna throw up” you mumbled to yourself, squatting down on the sidewalk. hiding your head in your knees, you heard a chuckle.

“i thought people usually got nervous before presenting?” seungkwan’s voice reached your ears and you looked up with a smile.

“well now i’m waiting for the decision, it is nervous too” you sighed and stood up, raising an eyebrow.

“you don’t need to worry about that. i know those guys and they liked your project, a lot. and if they didn’t, i’d convince them” seungkwan grinned and whipped out his phone “cab? let me pay this time”

“aish, we’re gonna be pushing and pulling all the time?” you scoffed and shook your head “wait, did you like it?”

seungkwan nodded, noticing the yellow cab approaching. good thing this was a busy street and there were lots of taxis.

“obviously!” he grinned and led you towards the car, opening the door for you. once inside, he waited for you to tell your address to the driver and continued. “i really like your art style, it’s very unique and original. the colors fit well with the concept, as well as the design. did you create the font yourself?”

you stared at him in shock, causing a giggle out of him.

as you indulged him into the details of your work progress, you failed to realize how quickly you got home. not even done with explaining how you got the idea for the design, you saw a mischievous spark in his ebony eyes.

“let me pay, please” seungkwan pleaded and you huffed “and… if you want, i’ll let you pay next time. for coffee”

he stared at you hopefully (ignoring the fact that he obviously wouldn’t let you but he somehow wanted to have an excuse), seungkwan noticed a cute smile bloomed on your face.

“i’d love to. tomorrow? 3pm?” you asked, unable to control your face muscles from grinning. seungkwan nodded energetically “we’re set then. get home safe, mr boo”

you leaned in, led by an impulse, and tried to place a goodbye kiss on his cheek but you accidentally pecked the corner of his lips.

blood flowing to your face, you left the cab panicked, yelping a nervous bye!

“hey there, misses! what’s with your kisses?” he mumbled, fingers ghosting over the area your lips brushed against.

looking at the whipped man in the mirror, the cab driver smiled.

main masterlist | event masterlist

taglist. @mirxzii ,, @primoppang ,, @l3visbby ,, @nicholasluvbot ,, @planetkiimchi ,, @weird-bookworm ,, @slytherinshua ,, @kazmura ,, @laylasbunbunny ,, @dazzlingligth ,, @eternalgyuuu ,, @rubywonu ,, @haecien ,, @mine-gyu

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thewater · 1 year ago

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genre i love: queer sports

examples:

Haikyuu!!

Creator: Haruichi Furudate

Sport: Volleyball

Medium: Manga + Anime

Queer coded to hell and back with no explicit canon. A popular anime that's very engaging. Whenever I watch it I feel like I should get my life together. It's super good, but fanbase can be a lil weird.

Fence

Author: C. S. Pacat

Sport: Fencing

Medium: 5 collated graphic novels + 2 novels

This one changed my life. I discovered it and haven’t been the same since. It’s cute, the two main characters are oblivious wee things, but there is canon representation in the older characters. Almost (if not all) of these characters are Queer As Hell. It’s brilliant. If you like Golden-Retriever-Sunshine-Boy-with-Troubled-Past x Grumpy-Black-Cat-with-Emotionally-Distant-Parents trope, then you’ll love this!

Check, Please!

Author: Ngozi Ukazu

Sport: Ice Hockey

Medium: 2 graphic novels

I saw this in my local public library once, picked it up, and never (emotionally) put it down. These books started my craving for 2D queer sports. This is what put me onto “Fence” in the first place. It’s canon, it’s sweet, the main character is a cutie, what more could you want?

Free!

Creator: Kyoto Animation

Sport: Swimming

Medium: Anime

I’ll be real, I didn’t finish all the seasons of this,,, the first two seasons slay the house down. But I dunno, guess it just didn’t keep my focus. I also don’t think anything gets canonized later,,, so it’s still just hashtag queer coded :( which is not slay.

AFTG

Author: Nora Sacavic

Sport: Exy (??!)

Medium: 3 novels

Now, you might think, “Exy isn’t a real sport” and you would be correct. Nora invented it for the novel. It’s like if the basics of lacrosse met the violence of ice hockey and it was played on a football (soccer) sized field with a mix of genders on the teams. This nonsense altered my brain chemistry, for better or worse, we will never know. However. If you seem intrigued, and want to read, PLEASE google the trigger warnings. Anything you think could possibly be triggering is definitely in this book. If you don’t want to google for fear of spoils, feel free to message me. These books are simultaneously the best and worst things I've ever had the (dis)pleasure of reading. I love them. They’re a mastery of metaphors set on a background of college sports with a mafia subplot. It’s like if a crazy fanfic got published. ALSO short king representation. Main man is 5’3, second main man is 5’0. I love this to pieces and I hate it to nothings.

Yuri on ice

Creator: MAAPA

Sport: Ice-skating

Medium: Anime

You know this one. If you don't, it’s not technically canon, but they buy each other (engagement) rings and kiss (sort of) on screen. Slays. Victor Nikiforov has my heart.

SK8 the infinity

Creaotr: Bones

Sport: Skateboarding

Medium: Anime

This one makes me feel all warm and fuzzy inside i love it so much. There's angst and love and found family and tragic backstories and funny characters. Not canon though. Hashtag Japan Definitely Doesn’t Have a Homophobia Problem and That’s Definitely Not Why All of The Anime’s on This List Aren’t Canon. Anyways, it’s really cute and I watched t when i was in my own skateboarding era so i loved it so much.

If i remember more, or watch, or read more, I will add them :)

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in1-nutshell · 1 year ago

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How would the tfp bots react to meeting a neutral bot who has a huge hatred towards human race because humans kill a human child they were friends and bonded with and swore revenge on humanity

Uh Oh... Poor Neutral...

Anyways... Lets see what happens when Neutral tells the Autobots the reason behind their vendetta against humans.

Hope you enjoy!

Autobots reaction to Neutral bot having a vendetta against humanity because their human friend was killed by other humans

SFW, Angst, mentions of Death, slight graphic but nothing too detailed, Cybertronian/ Bot reader

TFP

Neutral Bot explains to the bot in question their story. Long ago they had made friends with a small Earth child when they crashed landed on Earth. They loved their tiny friend with all their spark.

They had all sorts of fun together while keeping Neutral a secret from the rest of society.

One day they weren’t careful.

Some evil humans tried to take them away. The child tried fighting the much older humans off to protect them. Neutral quickly got out of their bindings, grabbed their friend, and drove off.

Once they were far enough Neutral had transformed and had their friend in their servos joking about what a rescue that was.

They didn’t know…

They didn’t know the child had gotten hurt.

They didn’t know that a bullet had ripped through their friend’s stomach…

Now they were desperately trying to stop the bleeding and begging for their friend to stay with them.

The child had merely looked up at them with teary eyes but pulled a tired brave face.

The child simply asked if Neutral could hold them while they went to sleep, one last time?

Neutral quietly stifled a sob while holding their friend.

Neutral felt their tiny body going limp against their chassis.

They remembered screaming in pain and anguish. Their entire frame shaking as their servos, bloodied, held onto their tiny friend’s cold lifeless body.

Neutral swore that day, that those humans needed to pay. They needed to pay dearly for the unforgivable action they committed and if any other human stood in their way… well… let’s say things would get messy.

Optimus Prime

He is surprised to hear this story and sympathizes with the bot.

The team nearly lost Raf not too long ago

The thought of one of the children dying…

He doesn’t agree with them killing humans, but there is so much he can do as the bot is not under anyone’s command.

Optimus does see the Neutral around sometimes and is always on alert especially in populated areas or if the kids are nearby.

All diplomacy will fly out the window if the Neutral bot tries on the children’s lives.

“While you may be hurting from the loss of your friend—”--Optimus

“They were my Amica, Prime.”--Neutral

“You cannot endanger the safety of others that don’t have anything to do with this.”--Optimus

“Tell that to my friend Prime!”--Neutral

Ratchet

He can empathize in losing someone dear.

He does not agree with how the Neutral wants to handle things.

He has made it clear that if the Neutral harms any human, especially the children, that he will come for them.

Does not leave the kids alone with them.

Does not trust them at all.

“You can’t simple slay every human that comes your way! You’ll be no better than the Decepticons. Do you think that’s what your friend would have wanted? Is that what--”--Ratchet

“DO NOT SPEAK THEIR NAME! You have NO RIGHT!”—Neutral

Bumblebee

He empathizes with the Neutral a lot.

He nearly lost Raf and there wasn’t anything he could do before they luckily found a cure.

He couldn’t imagine if Raf…

He is vocal about being against Neutrals way to handle the grief.

Never leave the kids alone with them at the base.

“Beep? (Do you want to talk about them?)”--Bumblebee

“…No…”—Neutral

Arcee

As someone who had recently lost a dear friend, she knows all too well about grieving and vengeance.

She does, however, try and talk them out of it.

She doesn’t agree with much of the killing, especially if innocents could be indirectly harmed in the process.

She would honestly not mind if it was the one person who did the harm, but going after others that weren’t even involved crossed the line.

Will never leave the kids alone and will shoot if they even look threatening at the kids.

“I’ve been there. I lost my partner not too long ago.”--Arcee

“Did you seek vengeance?”--Neutral

“I did… it didn’t do anything to the hole in my spark. And I don’t think he would be very proud of how I handle things. Do you think your friend would?”--Arcee

“… I think you need to leave Arcee…”--Neutral

Bulkhead

Empathizes with the Neutral

Miko has given him enough scares that he is very much afraid that one day she is going to stray in the line of fire…

He is uneasy about their whole vendetta.

Would try and talk to them about it, but if it doesn’t work then they are another enemy in his optics.

Another bot he has to watch in case some humans go missing.

Uneasy and try to get along with them.

Refuses to leave the kids line of sight when they are around.

“You can’t keep putting yourself and the humans at risk!”--Bulkhead

“Watch me!”--Neutral

“Some of these humans didn’t even know what happened—”--Bulkhead

“But the ones that do need to pay!”--Neutral

Smokescreen

He feels sad after hearing the story.

He hasn’t experienced much grief in losing a loved one, but he can’t even imagine if Jack got seriously hurt.

He hated the time he saw Jack trapped, feeling so helpless and angry.

Does kind of agree with the neutral for going and getting even with the person who killed their friend.

But not killing them, he isn’t going to cross that line.

He would try and talk about getting revenge in different ways besides murder. It doesn’t work.

“… it sounds like you two were best friends.”--Smokescreen

“…They were my Amica…”--Neutral

“Amica?”--Smokescreen

“Yeah… They were my little Amica… but now they are gone…”—Neutral

He keeps an extra optic open in case he sees their altmode around.

Wheeljack

Would probably the most in getting revenge with the Neutral

Maybe roughing up the human a bit or messing with things the human likes like their car exploding.

He might try and tell them about seeking revenge isn’t always the best thing, he should know.

It doesn’t work.

He is on constant alert for the kids whenever they get outside the base.

“Kid you need to stop this before anyone else gets hurt.”--Wheeljack

“Tell that to the monsters who killed them!”—Neutral

“…You know there is no way they are going to come back. Their gone, the best thing to do is to make sure they didn’t die in vain.”--Wheeljack

“Don’t you EVER talk to me on what they would have wanted.”—Neutral

Ultra Magnus

Sympathizes with Neutral for the loss.

But he knows that this vendetta is not right.

He is willing to fight Neutral if he finds out that they hurt any human.

While he had a rough start with the humans, they are rubbing on him.

Will protect the humans will sic the autoboot code on them.

“You know I can’t let this slide soldier.”—Ultra Magnus

“I’m not one of your soldiers Magnus. And I’d like to see you try. There is nothing on this Earth that would stop me from seeing the light leave their eyes! ”—Neutral

#transformers #transformers x reader #tfp #tfp x reader #tfp x platonic reader #tfp optimus prime #tfp ratchet #tfp bumblebee #tfp bulkhead #tfp arcee #tfp smokescreen #tfp wheeljack #tfp ultra magnus #maccadam

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freshbakedbreadstick · 1 year ago

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No. 1 Party Anthem - Mikey Berzatto x F!Reader - Chapter Six

Past!Mikey Berzatto x F!Reader

Carmy Berzatto x F!Platonic!Reader

Richie Jerimovich x F!Platonic!Reader

Summary: The human mind is a very scary thing.

Warnings: All my fics are 18+ regardless of the content. Heavy spoilers. Mentions of death, funerals, grief, angst, strained relationships, minor injuries, arguments/yelling matches, details of anxiety/panic attacks, bad coping mechanisms, mental health issues, running away, addiction, interventions, al-anon. Depiction of a gun and implication of suicide in a portion, not graphic but heavily implied/hinted at during a possibly distressing nightmare sequence.

Word Count: 3.4k

A/N: A little late bc i just moved into my dorm for the year <3 its been quite the adjustment so i took a bit of time to myself to just relax and get used to things ! ! ! Anyways today was my first day of class and it went SO GOOD ! ! ! ! Im so excited for the semester and the school year in general ily all sm have a slay day besties ! Also this is just angst again im sorry i swear it will get better at some point but probably not nowwwww 😭

Taglist: @marysucks-blog @shinebright2000 @jadeittic @eternallyvenus (MWAH <3 )

Masterlist

You stood in the back of the room, leaning against the wall and wearing some sunglasses you dug out from your bag. Your arms were crossed and your face was neutral but, behind those dark frames you wore, your eyes darted back and forth between each person who sat in the chairs around the circle and to Amanda, the leader of this Al-Anon meeting.

Some were at ease, sharing freely and even throwing jokes in between their talks, while others sat stiffly and managed to get up on their shaky legs and share their own narratives.

But somehow, none of them judged one another.

Beside you stood your mom, gripping her purse straps so tightly that you could see the straps bending in her grip. She tapped her foot softly on the linoleum, smiling empathetically to each person and applauding politely when needed. But every once in a while, she would glance over at you and look away quickly, shoulder slumping and smile fading.

Your lips formed a line as you continued to look as neutral as possible, staring as the meeting started to get wrapped up. Amanda spoke to everyone, clasping her hands together before waving everyone off with a soft smile.

Everyone got up from their chairs, some joining one another to talk while others moved toward the door a couple feet away from you. They passed by you, most not really turning to you while a couple politely nodded and left.

But as the room started to get emptier and emptier, that scared-nauseous feeling came back in full force when your mother put a hand on your forearm and looked over at Amanda.

“You know, Natalie was the one who recommended me to take you to some Al-Anon meetings… but it was Carmy who told me to take you to one after you ran out…”

You glanced over at your mom, eyebrows furrowing.

“Why?”

Your question was both a rhetorical and actual one. Part of you was confused as to why Carmy was the one who spoke to your mom about the argument at The Beef earlier. Carmy was the person who didn’t bother to show up to Mikey’s funeral and refused to reach out to those who tried to contact him, so why would he even bother to care about you facing your own feelings about this situation?

But another part of you was touched.

Carmy was the kid brother who would follow you and Natalie around when you were in middle school. When you were in high school and started to date Mikey, Carmy was the kid that you would playfully bother when Mikey wasn’t giving you attention. As an adult, Carmy was your sense of peace whenever he was around, providing you with a much needed distraction during Berzatto family gatherings when he would finally open up (after much pestering on your part) about his own life away from Chicago. And while it seemed like that sense of peace was gone as he got farther and farther away from everyone, this news made you realize that it had never left.

He still wanted to give you that peace you desperately needed when it came to his family.

Your mom turned to look at you and gently reached up to take your sunglasses off. She looked into your eyes, seeing the way the bags under your eyes looked darker while you both stood in the corner of the room.

With a heavy sigh, she responded, “Carmy told me that he had just started to attend some meetings himself. Natalie told him over and over to go to some but he… he hadn’t gone until now. And when he heard the news that you came back, he jumped to tell me about taking you. Especially when he saw your erratic behavior, he knew you wouldn’t go unless we were the ones who took you.”

You looked away, arms falling to your sides.

“Please give it a try, please… you know that Mikey wouldn’t want you stressed out like this…”

Your chest tightened, “I… I don’t know what Mikey would’ve wanted anymore.”

Amanda called your name as she began walking over to you, making you quickly rub your eyes and look at her, “Hey you two, how are you feeling about possibly coming to a session?”

You shrugged and looked to the floor, “I’ll have to think about it but… I might.”

Amanda smiled and nodded, “I know this is a huge first step and I understand that you need time to think about it. Our next session will be in two days, you're free to join us if you would like to. And, you're free to bring someone for support.”

You nodded and glanced at your mom, seeing her smile at you from the corner of your eye.

You soon found yourself back in your car, packed haphazardly full of your stuff, and looking out of the passenger’s seat window.

You leaned your head onto the glass as your eyes looked out the window at the way the sky started to turn from blue to orange. By the time you got home, the sky was filled up with colors similar to the ones you saw while sitting on the hood of your car all those months ago.

The car slowly pulled into the driveway and standing on the sidewalk, with his hands in his pocket, was your dad. He waved and smiled sadly, making you sigh and look away. You could feel the way your cheeks began to burn and your chest tightened.

Silently, he approached the car and opened the trunk. You passed by him, watching him begin to start to unpack the trunk that held the boxes of your life, one by one.

The three of you, in silence, emptied the entirety of your car. Any of the boxes and other belongings you had previously kept there were now placed in your room, each getting a designated spot and most getting unpacked completely.

The way that everything just seemed to fall into place in your own childhood bedroom made you shiver and walk away as your parents continued organizing.

In the dark hallway, you paced. Your fingers busied themselves with picking the skin of your bottom lip, leaving it raw and sting whenever your tongue ran over it. It wasn’t until your parents came back out that you managed to get yourself to pause, ignoring the way it stung.

Your mom smiled sympathetically and passed you, placing her arm comfortingly on your shoulder. You dad though, he paused and let your mom get downstairs and away from the two of you before he spoke up, “Some habits are hard to break, I know that, but staying here for a while will be good for you, okay honey? I love you so much, we all do, and we want you to stay.”

Your eyes stung a bit, making you flutter your eyelids to stop any tears from forming, “Okay… I think… okay.”

Your dad wrapped his arms around you and hugged you. His arms squeezed around you, tight, as if you were going to fall into pieces if he didn’t hold onto you hard enough. You winced and he did so, but let him hold onto you.

“Your my little girl and I would,” He began to speak again, pausing as his voice cracked to clear his throat before continuing, “Your mother and I would never be the same if anything happened to you. We love you so much.”

“Love you too, Dad.”

As you watched him go down the dark hallway and down the stairs, you felt your lips sting as you began to taste a salty wetness. The decision was done: you would stay here for however long it took to heal and would attend the Al-Anon meetings in the meantime.

Now that this major decision was made, it was time for another.

“Time to fix my fuck up,” you mumbled to yourself.

Later that night, after you had dinner and began to unwind for the night, you went over and sat on your bed. After washing the day’s bad choices and tears down the drain, you had changed into something comfortable for bed. You hummed, feeling satisfied with the soft clothes you wore that you completely forgot you even had, thankfully your parents’ unpacking and organizing allowed you to find them easily and happily.

With an exhausted groan, your back hit the plush mattress. You bounced softly for a second before wiggling around to get comfortable before pulling the blankets onto your body. With a glance to the ceiling, you began to think.

You had messed up majorly with Carmy, Sugar, and Richie; well, with the entirety of The Beef. You knew that you definitely needed to apologize and try to make things right, especially considering that you would be staying here now and could run into them. You might be the type of person to flee in the face of trouble, but you knew that not apologizing would sour your relationship with them even more than it already is.

And while it was a bit overwhelming to be around them now, you did miss them.

Showing up and just apologizing en masse made you cringe a little. You knew that Carmy probably wouldn’t receive that well, he was stubborn and held onto anger so this wouldn’t just be an easy thing to forgive for him. Richie would be a bit hesitant to show vulnerability in front of everyone so the tough and funny guy act would be brought up, and that wouldn’t feel like you properly apologized to him. And Sugar… she would take your apology in a heartbeat but… you didn’t want her to. She was tough when she wanted to be but was always too kind with you. You didn’t just want this to be a forgive and forget moment for her, you wanted her to be upset with you and let you work on gaining her forgiveness.

“I can’t let her be a doormat…” you whispered to yourself.

But while you laid there, on the soft mattress of your childhood bedroom, the cocoon of blankets and fresh air that made it perfect to get all snuggled up started to work against you. The warm plushness made your thoughts get blurrier and your eyes droop and while your breathing got deeper and deeper, your body gave in to sleep.

You narrowed your eyes at the orange sun, letting yourself blink until your eyes got adjusted to the room. You then looked around and gasped when you realized where you were.

You were back in the kitchen of the place you and Mikey lived in together. The bright setting sun had come from the giant window of the kitchen, the window that overlooked the streets and had a view of the city, the exact window that made you and Mikey decide to rent this place in the first place.

Everything looked and felt hazey, half drowned in the warm yellow lighting of the sun. As you looked down at your hands, you saw them also overlaid with the sun, feeling warm and looking… healthy.

Someone started humming behind you, voice deep. You whipped your head around to see who it was and was faced with the back of a tall, broad man.

He wore a black shirt that stretched over his muscular body. As your eyes wandered up his form, you noticed the attractive and slightly messy dark hair that was on his head.

“Baby?”

Your heart stopped.

You began to stumble backward, gasping giant gulps of air as your eyes zeroed in on the man in front of you. Slowly, he began to turn around, and give you a good look of himself.

His dark brown eyes focused on you. His eyebrows creased together as he watched you reel back, almost falling to the floor.

“Baby, what’s wrong?”

You let out a strangled cry as he began to move forward, reaching his toned arm out to grab you. You froze, eyes trained on his large hand as it came closer and closer to your skin. You squeezed them shut, terrified.

His hand felt warm as it gently wrapped around your own.

You felt yourself being gently guided up and forward. The hand then let go of you and an arm wrapped around your body, resting the hand against the small of your back. Another hand wrapped around you on the opposite side and you were pulled close against a broad chest.

You could feel the way his relaxed heart was beating, unlike your own racing one.

“Mikey…” you whispered in a broken breath, eyes still clamped shut.

Your entire body was stiff as a board as you stood there, but it began to betray you and give in to the person in front of you.

“Look at me baby,” The voice said, rumbling but calm.

With a sharp inhale, you began to blink your eyes open. You looked at the face in front of you, your own eyes connecting to those dark eyes you missed so much.

“Mikey… is it really you?”

You felt a deep rumble in his chest, followed by the twinkling of his laugh. He threw his head back, letting his unruly hair flutter as he moved.

“Yes baby, it’s me. Who the hell else would it be?” He smiled at you, letting his eyes half lid as he looked at you.

“But… but you…” you began, but were quickly interrupted.

“Come here babydoll, come try this for me.”

He moved away from you and ushered you forward with one arm, but regardless, you had no choice as the other arm that was still wrapped around your waist pulled you close into his side. Your body slotted against him, as if the missing piece to his puzzle.

You watched as Mikey dipped a finger into the giant pot of sauce that was bubbling on the stove and you slowly began to smell the scent of roasted garlic and fresh basil, straight from the pot you had growing on the windowsill.

He gently blew on his finger as steam rose from the sauce, he slowly brought it up to your lips, pausing just before he would touch them to look at you in the eyes again.

“Go on baby, try it and tell me what you think.”

You gulped and parted your lips. Leaning forward, your mouth encased his finger. As your tongue hit the sauce, your eyes shot wide open.

A multitude of flavors exploded in your mouth, all so familiar. That made your knees buckle.

With a laugh, Mikey caught you before you went down, taking his finger from your mouth and wrapping both arms around you again. He carefully lifted you up and placed you on the empty kitchen island to sit.

“Was it that good? How come you don’t react like that every other time I make it, hmm?” Teasingly, he smirked at you and turned away to wash his hands.

But all you could do was sit there, stone cold, and in shock. No matter how many times you swallowed, the taste of fresh sauce with a ton of garlic, basil, and San Marzano tomatoes would still linger on your tongue. A sauce that Mikey would make, claiming to be a recipe that only he could make perfectly, for family spaghetti night.

His voice interrupted your thoughts, bringing you back to where you sat, “Do you think it needs anything? I wanna make sure it’s perfect before Carmy, Sugar, and Richie get here.”

You coughed and shook your head rapidly, unsure what to do but along with it, “Yea it’s, it’s perfect, my love.”

You paused, eyes wide again. A slip of the tongue. You hadn’t said “my love” for such a long time that it felt foreign coming from your mouth, despite it being a nickname you commonly used for Mikey.

But Mikey either didn’t seem to notice or didn’t seem to care when you said that. He just beamed and turned back around to stir the pot for a second.

As you gathered yourself on that counter, you looked around again. Everything was… everything was exactly like how you left it. The pots and pans were in their usual spots, the curtains were drawn just the way you liked them, and every framed photo in the house showed you and Mikey, grinning and holding onto one another.

You were home.

But you knew you weren’t supposed to be here.

“Give me a second babydoll, i’ll be right back.”

Your head whipped around to look at Mikey as he stood in front of you. He smiled and reached over, kissing your temple, before walking off in the direction of the bathroom with a hand in his pocket.

Once he disappeared, you immediately threw yourself off the kitchen island.

Your hands immediately went to the back of your neck, holding onto it as your eyes raced over everything.

“What the fuck am i doing here?!”

Everything around you was perfectly in place, as if untouched by time.

The world around you spun as you threw your body around, desperately trying to find something that would prove that something was wrong. But alas, everything seemed okay.

You were too terrified to open any drawers or touch anything, so all you could do was hyperventilate and turn around over and over and over, scanning the walls to see the photographs you knew you buried under boxes and decorations you tried but failed to throw out.

Suddenly a phone began to ring.

You froze.

There was no phone in the kitchen, nor the living room, or anywhere else in the house. But there was a phone whose ringing sounded exactly like this one’s; the phone in your parent’s house.

It was an analog, rotary style phone that rested on a table in the hallway of your parent’s house. This hallway led the front door to the living room and had picture frames of you and your family throughout the years. Next to the table with this phone was a small, single sofa chair/

A chill went down your spine as tears began to sting your eyes.

This was the phone you found out about Mikey’s death. And that chair was the one you collapsed on before screaming.

The ringing stopped. Then, Mikey’s voice echoed from the other room, calling you.

Hesitantly, you turned to the direction you heard his voice.

He called your name again, but this time, he beckoned you over.

“Come here for a second baby!”

You stared at the empty doorway where you watched him leave. From that direction, his voice called your name out again.

As your foot slowly inched forward, you held your breath.

“I just need you real quick, come over here!”

Your footsteps were silent as you stepped forward, closer to the sound of his voice and to the doorway that led from your kitchen and dining room to the hall.

His voice got louder and louder as you slowly rounded the doorway, continuing to call you.

Down the hall and in front of you was the bathroom door, wide open. There stood Mikey, back towards you, standing in the dimly lit hallway and dark bathroom.

Now, he was silent and still.

With a quiet and shaky voice, you managed to whisper out, “Mikey?”

You heard a click coming from him, coming from his hand. When you looked down, you saw metal.

“I'm sorry babydoll.”

Your body jerked up with a strangled cry. You ripped the blankets from your body and threw yourself out of bed, falling straight to the floor with a loud thud.

Your knees ached and your palms did too as you hit the floor, but you didn’t care. In that moment, all you could think about was what you saw. All you could think about was the shine of the metal.

As a loud cry escaped your shaking body, your door swung open to reveal your alarmed parents. They called your name, rushing forward to hold you as you sobbed and screamed only for their alarmed questions weren’t heard as you continued to see the glint of the metal, despite it not being there.

#the bear #carmen berzatto #reader #carmy berzatto #carmy berzatto imagine #carmy the bear #michael berzatto x reader #mikey berzatto #mikey berzatto imagine #mikey the bear #carmen berzatto x reader #richie berzatto imagine #richie the bear #richie jerimovich x reader #richie jerimovich #sugar berzatto #natalie berzatto #the bear fx

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velidewrites · 1 year ago

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Summary: When 19-year old Feyre Archeron voluntarily takes her sister's place in the Hunger Games, she expects nothing but her imminent demise. But Feyre is a survivor, and as she is thrown into a battle between life and death, she discovers there are things worth fighting for.

Pairing: Feysand

Warnings: Graphic depictions of violence, graphic depictions of blood and gore, Feyre being sexy and unhinged, wait a second is that Rhysand? Is he also sexy and unhinged? AKA Feysand (literally) slaying the game

Read: Chapter I || Fic Masterlist || AO3

Chapter IX: There Can Only Be One

Rhysand remembered the name of every single child the Capitol ever murdered.

The same could not be said for them, of course. Their memory faded as quickly as the funds Panem’s elite poured into the Hunger Games—forgotten as soon as the bloodshed was over. Year after year, Rhys watched as history repeated itself, more innocent blood spilled as the sponsors learned how to get creative.

First, there was all the betting. If there was one thing the Capitol loved almost as much as watching its children die one after another, being right had to be one of them. The endless battle of wits, all done behind the arena’s bloody curtain where the Tributes were nothing but numbers, nothing but pawns the elites forced around their imaginary board. Rhysand had never seen so much money in his life—certainly not before his own Games started. He sometimes wondered just how much of it went out of the Capitol’s pocket just to get him through to the end—right behind that curtain. Right into their laps.

Some people called him lucky to have ended up here. Others—the Victors, mostly—preferred to call him names he’d rather not think about right now. Rhysand, though—he liked to call himself a strategist. Part of something bigger.

After the sponsors poured all their money down the drain, there came the worst part of it all—the waiting. Countless pairs of eyes glued to the holoscreen, either widening in shock as their favoured fell, or narrowing in smugness as they cut down yet another victim of the country sworn to protect them. Each time, Rhysand would etch the victim’s name into his memory, knowing it was already forgotten by their sponsor, the funds already moved to their executioner.

These, Rhysand learned far too late in his life, were the true Hunger Games. The Tributes, their families, their Districts—all meaningless, all mere pawns to satisfy those at the very top. To feed the Capitol, starving for entertainment.

There would come a time when they starved to their deaths—or, better yet, choked on their own greed. It was the only hope he held onto these days. The only thing that kept him going through the past decade.

So Rhysand waited, eyes focused on the holo as he began writing yet another name into the most shielded corner of his heart.

Nuan of District Three must have been one of the cleverest Tributes he’d ever seen. Even through the screen, he could practically hear the wheels of her mind turning. For someone so young, her intelligence and wit had already gained her a sponsor, determined to see the ceremonial crown placed atop her head—to see the gold reflected proudly in her black hair. The man had made sure she’d lasted through the winter day with a coat and the proper tools to light a fire—all proven useless in the end, though, with Nuan figuring out how to keep herself warm hours before the package was delivered. The freshly killed elk’s body heat and warm blood had not been a sight the sponsor particularly enjoyed, but Rhysand watched the entire spectacle with a smile on his face.

That smile was long gone now. Nuan was clever, yes, and she’d managed to make it to the final four—but it was not enough.

It was not nearly enough.

Rhysand, frankly, had no idea how the girl had learned about the coming storm. The sponsor couldn’t have told her—it was against the rules and closely monitored by the Gamemakers—which only meant more credit was due to Nuan’s skills. With the autumn day still around the corner and the spring and summer days seemingly following their old pattern, there were no signs of the coming changes. Only a handful of sponsors had been told of the Prime Gamemaker’s plans to “make things more interesting,” as Eris Vanserra had called it. The fire, he’d said, had been a spectacle, yes—but he hardly enjoyed watching the same show twice, a sentiment the sponsors certainly shared with the final hours of the Games approaching at last.

The wire, Rhys had to admit, was perhaps one of the most brilliant strategies he’d ever witnessed in his ten years of experience. He’d been confused about Nuan’s choice of weaponry ever since he saw her sprinting for it at the Cornucopia—armed only with the long, metal string and a short dagger, Rhys did not anticipate the girl to last this long.

She’d wrapped one end around the bark of an oak tree, the thin cord disappearing in the dried-up grass before dipping into the neighbouring river. It was the perfect trap—if timed correctly. The moment her victim’s foot stepped on the wire—and the lightning struck the tree—would be the moment they drew their last breath. The only thing left for Nuan to do was to hide in the bushes and wait for the storm to come.

It was already too late.

The camera zoomed in on the girl’s face, her gaze focused on the sky above. The sun was starting to come down, greyish clouds already shielding the arena from its light. Rhys could almost hear the thoughts churning in Nuan’s head—the storm is coming. But Nuan did not—could not—see what Rhys saw.

Brannagh was coming, too.

And she was a lot faster than the storm.

A smirk twisted Brannagh’s dirt-smeared face, unease curling in the pit of Rhys’s stomach at the sight. She looked more like an animal than a girl now, he thought, the urge to kill almost primal as it flashed in her eyes. A predator ready to dig her claws into her prey.

The live footage followed Brannagh’s every step, dreadfully quiet against the sun-scorched soil as she made way for the river. If Nuan stayed hidden well enough, perhaps Brannagh would’ve set up camp nearby—would’ve stayed until the rain started pouring.

But Nuan’s attention remained on the clouds high above, her expression tight with anticipation, and Brannagh…Brannagh moved too silently to make her presence known.

It would take a sound—a single crunch of a twig beneath Nuan’s feet, a rustle of the bushes wrapped around her slim body to let Brannagh know she was not alone in the clearing. Rhys’s heart picked up, thumping loudly against his ribs, as if to yell loud enough for Nuan to heed its warning. If only he could be there, somehow—or send a message, one of those silver parachutes to carry a weapon of more substance than the pathetic knife strapped to Nuan’s boot. The holoscreen separating them reminded Rhys that, just like any other Tribute in the past, Nuan was all on her own.

“Come on,” he murmured, chin propped up in his hand. “Look down.”

“Nervous, Rhysand?”

The voice snapped him back to reality so suddenly he nearly flinched—he certainly would have, had he not gotten used to hearing it almost every night. On the holo, Nuan fidgeted with the spare wire in her hands, as though she, too, heard the syrupy question.

Rhys turned to Amarantha with a lazy wave of his hand. “This has been dragging on too long,” he complained, motioning to the screen. “That District Two girl should just get on with it.”

She took her seat on the couch beside him, the deep maroon of her hair spilling over the back. “So bloodthirsty,” she purred, trailing a long, sharp nail down his shoulder. Before he could stop himself, Rhys shivered, and Amarantha smiled, clearly misinterpreting his reaction.“I’m surprised you’re so eager to see Brannagh move forward,” she added, her gaze flicking to the holo.

“Why wouldn’t I be?” Rhys asked, letting his own mouth curl in a smile. “The sooner the Games are over, the sooner I have you all to myself again,” he teased, brushing a thumb over her pale hand.

Amarantha did not so much as look in his direction, her focus on Brannagh now as she kneeled by the stream. “That is not what I meant.”

Rhys’s smile faltered. “Oh?”

Her head angled an inch. “Brannagh seems to be awfully determined to get to a favourite of yours,” she mused quietly.

For a moment, Rhysand’s heart stopped beating.

Did she know?

She couldn’t have—she simply couldn’t. She’d shown no apprehension towards him in the lounge the other day—and certainly none in the night that followed—and he’d been so careful, lot more than in the past few years. There was no chance anyone had found out about his meeting with—

Rhysand composed himself quickly.

“Come now, Amarantha,” he hummed, pressing his lips to the cold hand on his arm, willing her eyes back on his own. “You’ve known me long enough now to know I don’t play favourites. Well,” he winked. “Except for one, I suppose.”

Her eyes narrowed, but she seemed to ease up a little, her lips pursing playfully as she countered, “I’ve known you long enough to know you’re a shameless flirt, Rhysand.” He chuckled, letting Amarantha study his face as she explained, “I meant Feyre Archeron, of course.”

She looked briefly to the live footage, where Nuan finally seemed to have taken notice of the Career a mere few feet away from her.

“Our shining Star of the Capitol,” Amarantha hummed absently.

Rhys forced his gaze away from her face, letting that trained boredom fill his own as he looked to the screen as well. “Feyre Archeron?” he asked, scrunching his nose slightly. “I thought she was already dead.”

The words soured in his throat, the strange sense of betrayal they carried making his stomach tighten painfully.

Amarantha hummed again. “Not yet.”

Rhys blinked. Somewhere, in a world far away from this one, Nuan began silently stepping out of the bushes, the wire clenched tightly in her palm as she crept up on the Career. Brannagh would be far gone before the storm even started—she must’ve decided to act now.

“What do you mean?” he asked somewhat breathlessly, her answer knocking nearly all the air from his lungs.

Amarantha blinked, too, her dark eyes flicking back to him as she explained quickly, “I’m only saying if you’re not even half as bloodthirsty as that dirty Career, our lovely Feyre is unlikely to hold her own against such…”

A loud scream sounded from the holo as Nuan fell to the ground, a knife deep in her throat, fresh blood staining the corners of her mouth. Brannagh hunched over the girl, breathing in an out sharply, hand pressed to her side—just below her liver, Rhys realised, where Nuan’s wire had managed to bury itself seconds before her death.

“…talent,” Amarantha finished.

Nuan coughed for the final time, blood gurgling out loud enough for the cameras to hear, before her eyes stilled, a glossy veil falling over her panicked gaze. The cannon boomed, marking the Tribute’s death.

Amarantha sighed, rising from the couch. “And then there were three.”

Rhys forced himself to look up at her and smile. “Shall we watch the finale back at my place?” he asked, his voice dipping suggestively.

She took his jaw in her hand, thumb brushing the crest of his bottom lip. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” Amarantha teased. “No, I’m afraid I will be watching with Grandfather tonight.”

Rhys’s eyes widened. “Since when?” he blurted before he could really think the question through.

Her smile faded. “The President values my company, Rhysand.”

Fuck.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

He shifted in his seat. “Of course—that’s not what I—”

Amarantha laughed—a low, raspy sound. “I like watching you squirm,” she said. “Don’t worry, you’ll see me after the ceremony—you can be sure of that.”

Fuck!

He was an idiot—an utter fool for not keeping his cool when it mattered most. This was it—his chance to be there, to get her to take him with her, to finally get to a place where only one person before him had ever managed to get to.

And Rhys ruined all of it.

She took him by surprise—she’d always stayed with him for the finale, with Hybern preferring his own company as the Games reached their climax. If he’d been smart, Rhys would’ve waited—would’ve fucked her senseless for it if need be, just as he’d done a thousand times before.

He missed his chance.

“I’ll miss you,” he threw in desperately, a pathetic attempt to gain what was already lost.

Amarantha leaned over the couch, the crimson of her lipstick flashing before she captured his mouth with her own, her tongue demanding immediate entry. He let her in, the way he’d always done, responding with the passion he knew would make her seek him out one way or another later—perhaps he’d manage to pull some information out of her, when she was tired and exhausted and naked in his bed.

Her teeth dug into his lip for the final time before she pulled back, a secretive smile playing on her pale features. “I’m sure you will,” Amarantha said. “Until next time.”

With that, she was gone, the door to his room closing with a light click.

Rhys vomited.

***

“Feyre.”

Feyre kept her gaze on the path ahead. She had no interest in stopping—not with the sun minutes away from setting, and certainly not with the fire sure to start within hours. She would not survive the autumn day again, that she was sure of. This—all of it—needed to end.

Now.

“Feyre,” Tamlin pressed behind her, his large hand reaching to capture her own. Even with the summer’s wet heat slipping away, his skin felt clammy against hers. Feyre ignored the feeling. It was nice to feel someone else’s touch, she realised. Especially since she might very well be dead in a matter of hours.

“Stop.”

She did, the new firmness in his tone halting her in her tracks. Tamlin’s face was hard as stone as she faced him, though the look his eyes was enough to betray exhaustion—they’d been walking for two hours now, moving from one corner of the arena to the other, guided by the river’s shimmering stream.

It had flushed out Tarquin’s blood within minutes, but even now, miles away from where they’d left his body, Feyre swore she could see red staining the water. Feyre knew the Capitol’s ship had probably picked him up soon after they’d left the clearing, and yet, she couldn’t shake the horrid image off her mind. Rotting flesh, slowly sinking into the mud or slipping into the river. Limbs caught up in the net—the net meant for her.

How many had already died so that Feyre might live?

She began counting them mentally, averting Tamlin’s searching gaze. The girl from Four, killed by a dagger seconds after they Games had begun—a dagger Ianthe aimed for Feyre’s throat. Devlon, terrible as he might’ve been, caught up in Brannagh’s bloodlust. Even Ianthe, whose bow now lay strapped to Feyre’s back.

Ressina.

Ressina, who would’ve lived had it not been for Feyre trying to play the Capitol’s game. She was good, her mind as sharp as her physical ability. Had it not been for the trap Feyre had set up, Ressina could’ve very well managed to survive until the very end. It could’ve been her friend now marching for the Cornucopia, ready to put an end to all of it.

Instead, it was Feyre, who only got this far because of sheer luck and whatever it was that Tamlin felt for her. She’d kissed him in that clearing, with Tarquin’s body as a witness. They’d barely spoken since then.

Perhaps, just as Feyre did, Tamlin was starting to realise they could not leave the arena the way they were now—hand in hand. Only one would survive.

And if they managed to kill the two Tributes left…

“Tell me what’s on your mind,” Tamlin said quietly.

She slipped her hand out of his grasp.

“Nothing.”

“Don’t lie to me.”

Feyre looked up to meet that emerald gaze, now stern with conviction. “The sun is setting,” she explained.

“Yes,” Tamlin agreed.

Feyre sighed. Her answer, apparently, was not good enough. “I’m worried about the fire.” Not entirely a lie—she had been thinking about it just a moment ago.

Tamlin’s shoulders fell a little—as though in relief. “There’s nothing we can do about that now.”

“Yes, there is,” Feyre countered. “Once we reach the Cornucopia—”

“We don’t even know if the other Tributes are there,” Tamlin interrupted. “The Games will not end tonight, Feyre. We should find shelter for the night.”

It wasn’t the first time he’d suggested it in the past hour. Feyre’s lips thinned—no matter how many time she’d pressed, Tamlin simply refused to back down. As if he wanted to prolong the Games, for whatever reason. He’d have to kill her eventually, anyway.

Feyre certainly wasn’t going to kill him. She had enough blood on her hands to understand there was no going back.

She could never go home again. How could she? To face Elain, so kind and gentle and good, and expect her to love a murderer? To face Nesta, who valued loyalty above all else, knowing she had watched as Feyre killed the one friend who’d looked out for her? No. Her sisters were lost to her.

Tamlin, at least, would get to go back. It was the one consolation she had left. After everything she’d done, at least she could set things right with him. He protected her—had lied and killed for her out of nothing but the affection in his heart—and he would get to go home because of it. He deserved it. District Twelve deserved it.

If it came down to the two of them at the end, Feyre knew what she’d have to do.

And there was not a shred of regret in her heart because of it.

“Feyre,” Tamlin’s voice, deep and unwavering, sounded again.

“We are so close, Tamlin,” she said, something heavy building up in her chest. “So close.” You could be going home.

Tamlin sighed. “That’s what worries me.” He turned slightly, gaze sliding over the trees around them until they settled at some point far to their right—as though he could see something there. A bird nesting deep between the leaves, a stray squirrel, perhaps, or worse—Brannagh, her favourite dagger already in hand, ready to slice it through their throats.

A split second later, though, Tamlin seemed to relax, powerful shoulders relaxing a little as he reached for her hand, thumb gently swiping over the back of her palm. She couldn’t help but lean into the touch—just how many of them did she have left?

“Tamlin,” she admitted, her voice quieter than a breath lest the Capitol could hear. “I’m scared.”

He squeezed her tightly. “There’s nothing to be scared about,” he told her with a rare smile. “I’ll protect you.”

No, you won’t, Feyre thought, though the words remained silent in the back of her throat. I won’t give you that chance.

He must’ve seen it, then—the pained look twisting her face, the shadows clouding her stare—because his brows knitted slightly, and he straightened. “Feyre,” Tamlin started, “Why—”

His question died with the loud boom of a cannon, so close to the two of them it might as well have been their own deaths it marked.

Feyre’s heart stopped beating entirely, her blood chilling into ice.

“Brannagh?” she dared to ask, the question no more than a whisper.

Tamlin’s eyes widened. “We need to move,” he urged, tugging on the hand she forgot he’d been holding. “Now, Feyre.”

She did not object this time.

They ran back into the forest, far away from the path laid out by the stream, the trees offering shelter from the fading sun. Three—there were three of them left.

The Games were coming to an end.

Feyre could only pray—pray to whoever would listen—that the cannon had been set off for Brannagh, that the girl from Three had somehow managed to kill the Career hell-bent on coming after the two of them. The thought almost made her stumble over her own steps.

Feyre considered the prayer again. Then again. And again.

Perhaps…perhaps this was her solution.

She already knew she wasn’t making it out of here alive—not when Tamlin was still by her side, breathing and in perfect health. She also suspected that if it came down to the two of them, Tamlin would not let her sacrifice herself for him.

Brannagh, though…

Feyre was certain the District Two Tribute shared no such sentiment.

Tamlin could handle her on his own—Feyre had no doubt of that. And Brannagh…Brannagh could handle Feyre.

Feyre swallowed thickly.

Elain, Nesta. I’m so sorry.

“There’s a cave just ahead,” Tamlin said beside her, motioning to the pile of rocks hiding an entry just under an oak tree. “We can wait out the fire there.”

Feyre nodded.

The moment Tamlin fell asleep, she would be gone.

Just as the cave she’d hidden in before, the space was cold and dark, the wet soil clinging to the soles of her boots. Near the entrance, a plush patch of moss laid waiting, the grassy scent mixing with the pungent mud. Feyre coughed once, then twice, earning a concerned look from Tamlin. She shook her head.

“It’s not poisoned,” she said. “It’s just…the smell.”

Tamlin scrunched his nose—then shrugged. “It’ll have to do.”

“You should get some rest,” Feyre told him, willing strength into her voice. “I’ll keep watch.”

“Feyre,” Tamlin’s tone invited no argument. “I’m not sure if you’ve forgotten, but you almost died today. Died, Feyre.”

She huffed a bitter laugh. “Yeah, well, what else is new?”

Tamlin rolled his eyes. “Very funny. I’ll go out and try to find us some dinner. We’ll need something to hold us over during the fire, won’t we?”

Feyre chewed on her bottom lip. “I don’t think—”

She didn’t get to finish. Without warning, Tamlin pulled her in to his chest, arms wrapping tightly around her as his mouth crashed into her own.

The kiss, unlike the one they’d shared by the river, was quick and chaste—but it was enough for her body to slump a little, exhaustion hitting her all at once. She could wait a little, Feyre decided. The forest was still ripe with prey, and the sun had only just now set. She could sleep—for the final time.

“Wake me up when you’re back,” she told him when he finally pulled back.

Tamlin nodded. “I will.”

And just like that, he left.

***

Ressina’s laughter was warm even underground, the sound echoing through the training ring.

“I’m really trying,” Feyre grumbled.

“Oh, I can tell,” her friend teased, teeth flashing in a mocking smile. “You really showed that dummy, you know.”

Feyre followed her gaze to the back wall—right where the dummy stood proudly, untouched by what seemed like a hundred daggers at its feet.

She sighed deeply.

“You’re doing it wrong,” Ressina tried again, stepping in closer to Feyre’s side. “Your stance has improved, but the issue is in your grip. Here,” she instructed, long, slender fingers wrapping around Feyre’s wrist. “Loosen it up a little. Not that much,” she said when the dagger fell flat in Feyre’s hand. “You still need the strength to throw it—but its the flexibility of your wrist that will guide the knife to its aim.”

“Where did you learn all of that, anyway?” Feyre asked her absently, eyes narrowing on the target once again as she adjusted her stance.

“I’ve told you,” Ressina said. “Apple farms.”

Feyre gave her a look.

Ressina chuckled. “You’re clever, Feyre. More clever than you think. Oh, that’s a good thing,” she added at the sight of Feyre’s rising brows, then nodded to the knife in her hand. “Daggers can only get you so far.”

Feyre followed her gaze—then looked to the dummy once again. She made herself count to three, releasing a deep, deep breath with each second until her shoulders steadied, and the knife became as much as an extension of her own hand.

A moment later, the blade lodged itself right in the puppet’s heart.

Feyre turned to Ressina. “I don’t know about that.”

Ressina smiled.

***

Feyre’s eyes shot open.

Propped up on her elbow, she lifted herself off the cold ground, heart thumping loudly in her chest. The sound of Ressina’s laughter still rang somewhere in the corners of her mind, the memory, too, like a knife burying itself deep into Feyre’s heart.

She blinked the stinging sensation away, her vision adjusting to the darkness around her. She could just barely make out the moss growing at the cave’s entrance, ruffled slightly by the night’s gentle wind.

It was then that Feyre realised she was alone.

She jolted upright, hand nearly slipping on the wet ground. Just how long had she been asleep?

“Tamlin?” she dared to whisper. Perhaps he was simply keeping watch outside. But no—he’d promised to wake her when he returned. What if…

What if Tamlin was never meaning to come back?

He could’ve planned for his own death the same way she had—the cannon told them Brannagh wasn’t far, after all. What if Tamlin had left for his own death, hoping to spare her from having to kill him at the very end?

“Tamlin,” Feyre tried again, voice growing desperate. She had no doubt there were cameras in the cave somewhere—she didn’t care. Not right now, when she needed to go and find him—needed to try and—

A quiet jingle sounded outside, breaking out of her panic.

She recognised it almost immediately, rising to her feet to meet the parachute outside. Perhaps, for whatever reason, Rhysand had taken pity on her again, and was now sending her some sort of protection from the fire. Or maybe, just maybe, the parachute was meant for Tamlin—and, hearing its gentle call, he was already on his way back to her.

The moment Feyre stepped outside, the parachute landed right in her hands.

Not for Tamlin, then.

The package was smaller than her last—only a small box hung attached to the silver fabric, nearly invisible in the darkness. She couldn’t have been asleep for long, then—the sky seemed nowhere near clearing up, the few stars above her only light as she unscrewed the top.

She wasn’t sure what she was expecting—a protective balm for her skin, maybe, anything to let her know the wild, ravaging fire would not be how she went out of this world.

Inside laid a neatly rolled piece of paper, the elegant, familiar handwriting no more than five words:

Don’t let the Hunger win.

Feyre read the message again. Then again—and again.

She gave up with the sixth time.

“What does that even mean?” she asked the stars, twinkling playfully in response. Feyre threw her arms up in exasperation.

“I don’t have time for this,” she grumbled, shoving Rhysand’s secretive message into her back pocket.

She needed to find Tamlin—and she needed to do it now.

***

“And you’re certain,” Rhysand said, his voice shaking slightly on the chill, underground air.

“Positive,” Nuala confirmed. “The parachute went out ten minutes ago.”

He loosed a breath. “Did she already receive ours?” She nodded. “Good. How much until the other?”

She shifted on her feet—a rare sight, and it only made his stomach tighten. If anything went wrong…

“Cerridwen is monitoring the cameras,” Nuala said.

“No names,” Rhys hissed.

“Right,” she scrambled. “Right, of course. I—yes. Tamlin should receive it within minutes.”

Rhysand forced another, frigid breath. “Did she send it personally?”

“She’s not stupid. And, from what you told me, she is occupied.”

“Right.” He’d almost forgotten.

Silence fell, filled by nothing but darkness between the two of them. It seemed that the waning hours of the Games were getting to Rhys, too—and more than he’d anticipated.

“We warned her,” Nuala said quietly—a shred of comfort in a situation like this.

“She won’t understand until she sees what they sent him,” Rhys countered. “And even then—”

“And even then, you’ll have done everything in our power to keep her alive,” Nuala pressed. “The only thing left for us to do is wait.”

The waiting is the worst part, Rhys remembered.

Still, he had no other choice.

It was up to Feyre now.

He could only pray she’d understand.

***

She found Tamlin not even ten minutes later, crouched behind tall bushes, eyes fixed entirely on whatever they were hiding. A sob nearly shook through her body at the sight—he was still alive. He still had a chance.

Feyre approached him silently, her bow strapped securely to her back as she kneeled beside him. “Tam—”

A large hand clamped her mouth shut as Tamlin whipped toward her, his gaze shining with alarm. Feyre’s breath quickened—his reaction could only mean one thing.

They were not alone.

Slowly, Tamlin released her face from his hold, his own finger pressed to his lips tightly, urging her to keep quiet. It was then that Feyre noticed a glimmer of silver near his feet—a piece of familiar fabric abandoned on the grass. Her brow arched in question.

Tamlin shook his head. Fine—he’d tell her later. Whatever it was the sponsors had sent him, it could apparently wait.

Feyre moved in closer toward him, reaching for the thin branches shielding her vision from view. She suppressed a hiss as a sharp pain shot through her finger, tearing the skin open at the tip. Thorns.

Tamlin’s gaze remained focused on the path ahead as she tried again, quietly opening a gap between the leaves to reveal whatever it was that commanded Tamlin’s full attention.

Her heart nearly froze at the sight.

They’d reached the Cornucopia.

She hadn’t seethe horn-like structure since the Games had begun, made of the same metal as the boxes sent from the Capitol and gleaming with its own, humming light. Feyre had forgotten just how large it was—just how much it could hide.

It was Brannagh’s whines that gave her away.

She sat on the east of the horn, back resting against the hardened walls, each one of her breaths falling flat. Feyre’s eyes widened—even the bushes seemed to go lethally still at the sight of the injured Career.

Brannagh’s hand laid pressed to somewhere near her stomach, her clothes bloodied slightly, though Feyre knew her well enough by now to know there was no telling if the blood was truly her own. There was no denying she was injured, though—perhaps injured enough to kill with enough ease.

This ruined her plans a bit.

Tamlin’s hand on her thigh snapped her back to their hiding spot. “We have to kill her,” Tamlin whispered, the sound barely audible on the midnight wind.

Feyre’s heart reset, stumbling over a beat. “Tamlin,” she breathed, “No—wait—”

“There’s no time, Feyre,” he urged. “We have to end this now.”

“Tamlin,” Feyre said, panic rising in her voice, “if we kill Brannagh, we’ll be the only two Tributes left.” She couldn’t kill him. She wouldn’t.

Once again, Tamlin’s face became stone. “We’ll have to deal with that later.”

“No,” she pressed. In the distance, Brannagh whined again—as though in confirmation. Even the wind seemed to pick up, howling somewhere in the distance. Could Feyre truly kill her like this? “There is another way. There has to be,” she said, more to herself now than him. What if—what if they could all get out of there alive. If they stood against the Capitol

“Feyre—”

“We’re not killers, Tamlin,” she pleaded. “We have to try. We can’t let them win.”

Don’t let the hunger win. Was that what Rhysand meant?

Surely, if we all refused to kill each other…I doubt they’d keep us trapped in here forever. Those were her own words, weren’t they? Spoken to Ressina shortly before her death. Perhaps that was why she’d dreamt of her earlier—perhaps the dream was her friend’s final message, her final lesson to keep Feyre alive.

She’d written off her death so easily, Feyre thought, a new sense of guilt washing over her at the realisation. She’d promised Elain to survive—she’d promised Ressina to bring the Capitol down after she did.

And Feyre would. She would make the Capitol pay for this—for all of this.

But first, the three of them were getting out of here alive.

Feyre stood abruptly and marched straight for the Cornucopia.

“FEYRE!” Tamlin roared behind her. Too late.

Brannagh, to her credit, shot to her feet instantly, a hiss managing its way past her lips with the movement. Not even her injury, it seemed, managed to keep the cruel smile off her face.

“Twelve,” she greeted, rising to her full height. “I’ve been waiting.” A look past Feyre’s shoulder, where Tamlin’s hurried steps now sounded. “And you’ve brought the traitor, too.”

“How did you know I’d be coming?” Feyre asked, her tone calm to her own surprise.

Brannagh shrugged, face twisting painfully—wrong move. What had the girl from Three done to her? “You’re the Star of the Capitol, aren’t you?” A raspy laugh. “Of course you’d want to have your moment to shine. Sorry to disappoint,” she added, “but even in my state, I can kill you right where you stand.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure about that,” Tamlin said behind her.

Brannagh’s eyes narrowed into thin slits. “Stay out of this, flower boy. This is between us girls.” A smile at Feyre. “Isn’t it?”

“I don’t want to kill you,” Feyre told her.

Now that seemed to throw her off. “What?”

“We can get out of here, Brannagh,” she told her the same thing she’d said to Tamlin. “All three of us—we can go home.”

Brannagh looked as though she’d gone insane.

Still, Feyre continued, “Please—please just hear me out. I know you don’t want this—I know you wouldn’t be this if it weren’t for the Games. We can all get out. If we stand our ground—if we refuse—”

Brannagh erupted in laughter.

The sound quickly turned into a cough—a flat, shuddering sound, her arms wrapping tighter around her sides.

“They got her,” Tamlin murmured, now a mere step behind Feyre. “It’s her liver, I think. Look at her hand.”

“You dumb bitch,” Brannagh laughed, “I knew you were crazy, but this has got to top it all.” Her dark gaze, now clearer than ever before, settled directly on Feyre’s. “You think you have a chance here? You think any of us do? Open your eyes, Twelve,” she hissed. “Only one of us is getting out of here tonight. And that someone is going to be me.”

“You’re dying,” Tamlin pointed out quietly. Somewhere in the distance, the sky rumbled loudly—enough to make all three of them flinch, as if in confirmation of his words. Was that a storm coming?

It couldn’t be, Feyre thought. Not with the fire a few hours away.

Brannagh tore her gaze off the sky to face them once more. “The Capitol will take care of me the moment you two are dead.”

“You’re a fool if you think the Capitol is ever going to take care of you, Brannagh,” Feyre said.

Brannagh’s eyes widened at that—and, for a split second, Feyre believed they had a chance.

If only.

“I’m no bigger fool than you,” she said, and attacked.

Feyre had no idea how Brannagh managed to launch for her this quickly—or when, exactly, the daggers appeared in her bloodied hands. She could only see the two flashes of silver as the Career swung, inches away from her neck.

Tamlin’s hands on her waist pulled her back with a force so strong Feyre gasped out in surprise. She swayed, heels digging into the ground as she tried to regain her balance, Tamlin’s own weapon already in his hand and charging for his enemy.

Brannagh ducked just in time to avoid his sword slicing her in half, but the move cost her—the strain on her wound made a sharp cry slip past her throat as she fell, back hitting the hard, solid ground. Her scream was cut off as she choked on her own breath, eyes threatening to fall out of their orbits at the impact. Brannagh grasped at the weeds around her, her hands weaponless now with her daggers abandoned from the fall, then choked again as she realised—it was over.

Feyre stepped in closer until her boots covered Brannagh’s blades—better safe than sorry, she told herself. Even disarmed, she was still dangerous.

Tamlin hovered above her, the tip of his own blade pointed at the defeated Career. Brannagh closed her eyes.

“Wait,” Feyre told him. Tamlin’s head whipped toward her.

“What?”

“Brannagh,” she urged, not daring another look at Tamlin. “Please. You have a chance here.”

Lightning tore through the darkness with her words—as if the night sky itself was in agreement.

With her remaining strength, Brannagh shook her head. “Y-you,” she wheezed, body convulsing with the effort, “You don’t mean that, Twelve.”

“We’re more than just numbers, Brannagh,” she told her. The sky rumbled again.

“Go…” Brannagh coughed, “…go fuck yourself.”

“That’s enough,” Tamlin said, hands wrapping tighter around the hilt.

Feyre’s vision flashed with alarm. “Tamlin, wait—”

Brannagh did not get to close her eyes again as Tamlin drove his sword deep into her throat.

Her body slumped against the grass, so small now that the soul was gone from it entirely. Feyre looked away from the blood—from what seemed like a sea of it pooling around her, turning the lush green into crimson—and yet, no matter how far she seemed to avert her gaze, the red found her still. She saw it everywhere now—the grass, the walls of the Cornucopia, the bark of the trees at the edge of the forest. Her own hands, marked by it forever.

The cannon sounded with the first rainfall.

Beside her, Tamlin was panting, those emerald eyes fixed on Brannagh’s dead body. Feyre could see the blood in them now, too. The water would wash it away, she realised, watching as the rain dotted her skin. It would wash it away and make space for more to be spilled.

“Tamlin,” Feyre whispered, the sound drowned out by the howling wind. The rain intensified, accompanied by more thunder, closer and closer with every roar. “Tamlin!”

“We need to take shelter!” he called to her, his hair already wet and clinging to his neck. He motioned to the Cornucopia—and took off.

Feyre had no choice but to run after him, Brannagh’s body discarded for the storm to claim.

“Tamlin,” she tried again once they stood under the silvery roof. Yet another cave of the Capitol’s making.

“The fire isn’t coming,” he said, as if that was the answer she was seeking. “I’m not sure which one of these is worse.”

“Tamlin.”

Finally, finally, Tamlin looked at her, something like a shadow clouding his expression. Feyre exhaled shakily. “What do we do?”

His jaw tightened. “We can’t get out of here. Likely for the next twenty-four hours.”

Feyre couldn’t believe what she was hearing. “Tamlin, I’m not talking about—”

“When was the last time you’ve eaten?” he interrupted, something urgent in his eyes with the question. Something pleading.

He’d just killed Brannagh, Feyre understood. And, if they failed to oppose the Capitol…he’d have to kill her, too.

She could give him one more minute.

“Okay,” Feyre breathed. “Okay.” She considered. “Since the spring day. But, like you said—we can’t go out.” Not with the storm raging by the minute.

Tamlin swallowed thickly. “I have food,” he said, then reached into the pocket of his jacket to pull out a shiny, silver box.

Feyre’s shoulders fell. It was decently sized that the two of them could share it, she supposed. “Is that what they’d sent you earlier?”

Tamlin nodded. “I’ve already had some before you found me—I’m sorry I didn’t go wake you. I thought she’d die on her own there.”

Feyre kept her eyes on the box. “It doesn’t matter anymore.”

Tamlin sighed. “No, I suppose it doesn’t,” he said, then opened the lid.

The box was filled to the brim with something—fruit, Feyre realised, making out their small, round shapes in the semi-darkness of the Cornucopia. Berries. It wasn’t meat, but it would be enough to hold them over for some time—especially if they’d been sent from—

Feyre blinked.

I had a sister once, you know, Tamlin said, not looking her in the eye as the city lights twinkled in the distance. She died when we were little.

Feyre remembered Tamlin from back home. Tamlin Rosethorn, the florist’s son. They’d never spoken, but ever since she was old enough to roam the District streets, she would see him around, clinging to his mother’s leg. She remembered his brothers, too—older, working their days in the mines or fighting each other in the streets whenever they got the chance.

But a sister…

Are you doubting yourself, Tamlin? Amarantha’s syrupy voice poured into her head.

No. But I do wish there was another solution.

That was the night she’d overheard them after training.

Her name was Dalia, Tamlin had told her minutes after, stumbling over his words. She was a lot like you, I think.

Feyre stopped breathing.

Poor Tamlin, Amarantha had crooned after the interviews. Young love can be so heartbreaking.

Be careful who you trust, Feyre, Rhysand had told her moments later.

One day, my sister was going back from the mines through the forest, Tamlin’s voice sounded again. And she picked up some nightlock berries.

Don’t let the hunger win.

Feyre swallowed. Hard.

“Tamlin,” she started slowly, looking up to meet his gaze. “What was your sister’s name?”

Tamlin’s brows furrowed. “What?”

“Just…tell me. Please.”

“I…” he hesitated, his stare dropping to the berries, then back to Feyre—then to the berries again. “Lila,” he said slowly. “Her name was Lila.”

Feyre’s chest tightened.

We all have to survive somehow. Her own words, said to Isaac shortly before her life fell apart.

This, apparently, had been Tamlin’s way.

“Wrong answer,” Feyre whispered.

Tamlin took a step back. Then another, until she realised he was not backing away—no, Tamlin was adopting his stance.

“It doesn’t have to be this way,” Feyre begged, even as she knew he was already lost to her.

Tamlin shook his head. “I really wish you had chosen the berries, Feyre.”

And with that, he reached for his sword.

“There can only be one.”

He betrayed her.

He’d been betraying her since the very beginning.

I’ll always protect you, Feyre. Lie, lie, lie.

She could protect herself.

Ressina’s dagger found its way into her hand naturally—like an extension of her wrist, part of her own flesh.

The world slowed down as Feyre made herself count to three, the rain outside blurry as her vision sharpened on one, singular target with a sword in his hand and pain in his eyes.

One.

Two.

“Three,” Feyre said, then plunged the dagger right into Tamlin’s heart.

***

Rhysand sat on the edge of his bed, unaware of the storm hurling at his windows.

He could only see the storm in the arena, clear on the holo as if it was happening right in front of him. Could only see as Tamlin swayed back into the wall of hardened rain with the knife buried in his chest to the hilt.

He looked at Feyre, mouth agape, as though he would say something—anything. None of it would matter.

His sword fell a second before Tamlin, his body hitting the ground with a loud thud.

He did not move again.

A few feet away, Feyre watched as the last Tribute stilled into nothingness.

And then, she blinked.

The determination Rhys had seen on her face moments prior faded instantly, replaced by a panic so palpable he swore he felt it in his own chest. Her blue-grey eyes went wide, freezing in terror as she waited for Tamlin to rise, to take another breath. Rhysand knew—he remembered. Tamlin was lost.

And Feyre was alone.

Slowly, Feyre took a staggering step forward, her face as though in a haze. Then, she took another—and one more, until she reached Tamlin’s side at last.

Rhysand stood, feet carrying him to the holo as if they could reach her, stopping only when he faced the shimmering blue screen.

The camera zoomed in on its star, close enough to capture the tremor that shook through her body, the wobble of her knees as she realised there was no going back. As she, too, understood, just how alone they were in this world.

Her legs gave out.

Feyre fell to her knees beside Tamlin’s dead body, looked up to the storm-torn sky, and screamed.

Rhysand’s palm found the screen. As if to brush the tears off her face.

I understand, he wanted to say. I understand.

For the first time in ten years, Rhys let himself cry.

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gingergofastboatsmojito · 8 months ago

Text

Shooting for the Michelin stars comes with a price

I keep thinking about the debt.

Walk with me here: In writing when you give your heroes what they want, you make them pay a price, it's not just a plot twist it's a literal "rain on your parade" moment that comes after the honeymoon period, which is usually fairly short in dramedies and it's a full-on breaking point. Meaning: Status quo does not stand a chance. Something's gotta give and usually that happens in the form of a crisis. The usual suspects include (but are not limited to) death, a fire, a trial, and a departure of some sort that doesn't include death but represents the end of an era anyway.

So, outta those possibilities, which are the most common and the ones I think will be brainstormed in The Bear's writers' room, I wish they went for the first one → death.

And here's where I get cutthroat, sorry, some characters make more sense dead. Their deaths mean progress, they are the omen, their wakes are the rites of passage, they help the plot move forward in a way no other plot device would and if handled correctly, they can even serve the ulterior motive of a happy ending (totally Austenian, I know).

Before I get into that full-on, I should clarify that all my musings have only one goal: determine the Sydcarmy friendliness level of a character, scene, storyline, etc. I couldn't care less about what's gonna happen on the show as a whole, I just care about how what may or may not happen on the show is compatible with my Sydcarmy endgame purpose and to what extent exactly? Full stop. The rest of the predictions are fun, sure, but don't really spike my curiosity or interest that much, I can totally live without them. Whilst I have dived into them and nailed some, obviously, it's like watching grass grow for me, IDGAF. The only predictions I truly care about are the Sydcarmy ones, mine and others´, because we have an awesome fandom that really pays attention to detail and treats the matter with the importance it has. It's not just a ship like any other, shipping Sydcarmy became a mission because it's us against the world pretty much, even though we have grown in numbers since The Bear slayed during the past award season, we still need to deal with a lot of 💩💩💩 from the anties and the neutrals and of course, the racists, and the gaslighting cast and crew, so it's literally us against all odds. Hence, I may not agree with everything I read around here all the time, of course, but we are brothers in arms, guys. #RESPECT.

That being said I think Cicero (aka The Godfather) is better off dead so The Bear's debt dies with him. Because, and here's the whole argument I took my sweet time to make, thanks for sticking around:

Source: Chef's pencil.com (2024)

In the graphic above we can see the ever-rising prices the customers have to pay to dine there, those are only the current ones, that graphic will be outdated by fall of this year when menus rotate. Naturally, those numbers are directly proportional to the ever-rising production costs. Besides, let's not forget that when a restaurant is granted a star, to maintain it, it needs to innovate. They can't keep it by doing the same thing they were doing when they were rewarded that star to begin with. If the "inspectors" don't perceive there's enough innovation in the menu the next year, they can remove the star/s that was/were previously granted, that's why retaining stars is a lot harder than getting them. So that equals higher costs, in other words: more money and sometimes, less revenue.

Michelin-star restaurants' costs are always on the rise, always, no matter what. That is why they are usually acquired by "Groups" or corporations that can endure the financial blow of keeping the restaurant operational and still maintain a somewhat solid profit margin. Also, their business model tends to branch out to books, private events or collaborations, etc to get different streams of income, other than the actual dining experience provided to their customers on-site. Usually, all of that has a cost structure that requires the backup of a corporation, and there are investment groups that specialize in providing that kind of support to the restaurants, kind of what Cicero does but at a much larger scale, and legit.

So: when The Bear gets its star (notice I say when and not if) our heroes will get what they want and shortly after will be "payback time", sorry I didn't make the rules. More details that back my assumption about the star can be found here.

What I want and wish to happen is that the "payback" is a crisis along the lines of: "OK, we got the bullshit star but we are still not making ends meet and if we wanna keep it, then that means we are nowhere near paying off the debt we have with The Godfather and thus he will take it all, that was the deal, we are gonna be left with nothing, all of this for nothing -I'm sorry, Syd, but hey! We still have each other, right?-". See the dramedy?

And that leads me to think that if Storer kills Cicero off we will all be happy, The Bear will keep its star (debt free) and will continue operations and Sydcarmy can flourish after that crisis, which most likely strained the relationship but they will be able to make it up.

Unrelated (?) Plus The Godfather, in the movie, really dies and gives the inheritance to his son (Al Pacino). You can watch that death here and I hope I'm not the only one who can see poetry in his death, surrounded by tomatoes on a beautiful sunny day... Awww.

I have plenty of reasons to call Cicero the Godfather but I won't dive into those yet. Raincheck? After watching season 3 I will give Cicero a run for his money if Storer doesn't ax him first as a cliffhanger, that is (which I think would be all kinds of awesome but I won't hold my breath for that one). He's shady, he does "Risky business", I can tell.

Summing up: At the end of S3 we should have a star or James Beard award which is the prequel to a Michelin Star and that will take us straight to payback and the need to tie that loose end either as a cliffhanger in S3 or in S4, which I think will be more like a series finale because I never saw The Bear as a 5 season arc, I always thought that 4 were enough and I was right about the renewal, so even though I hope I'm wrong in thinking there will be no S5, I don't think I am because the story can totally get a great closure in 4 seasons. So, by then, Cicero should be gone and we should be starting to see that in S3.

He should be the price they will all have to pay to get what they want. 🤞

I haven't forgotten about my ulterior agenda:

Level of Sydcarmy friendliness of Cicero's death → 💯

It will secure the restaurant, liberating them from the debt and bringing them closer together because Syd's shoulder can be the shoulder Carmy cries on when the only father figure he has left, after Mikey's death, is gone = 😍.

Remember to follow my tag #Gingerpovs 💋

#sydcarmy #the bear #carmy x sydney #the bear fx #carmy berzatto #the bear hulu #sydney adamu #syd x carmen #carmen berzatto #cicero #gingerpovs #the bear meta

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stuck-in-jelly · 7 months ago

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Does Soren even have an arc anymore? Whats up with Soren and dragons?

Hey. i am so sorry you activated a neuron i didn’t know was in my brain so im giving you a chance to turn away from the essay below.

TLDR

Soren’s Arc heavily centers around his conflicting feels for his family and shame he feels at times for the love and care he still harbors for them despite everything.

I think Soren’s Arc is stagnant right now (probably due to the fact the dragon prince unfortunately had to cut a lot of content since they weren’t given enough episodes) but i believe that we’re building up to his conflicting feelings with his family.

His arc is centered around family specifically who you consider family, family with conflicting ideals, and how much of your own self are you willing to give up for the sake of family.

We know that Soren still loves Claudia even after everything. He waited for her he hoped she would come back home. (Season 4 Ep 7)

We also know that he felt relief knowing he hadn’t killed his father but at the same time wondered if it would’ve been better if he did (Through The Moon Graphic Novel)

It puts him in a weird painful spot. Although they both hurt him and although he recognized the situation was bad enough that he had to run away and turn against his family to do the right thing he still at his core loves them.

His dad once carried him with love and pride, his sister once held his hand as they ran around playing. They both once used to carry themselves with charming curiosity before it turned morbid.

These coming seasons I hope we get to hear more it, more of Soren’s feelings towards his family and how much he misses them cause at the end of the day Soren loves deeply even after being wronged or hurt.

As for the dragons it feels very symbolic in a lot of ways. I think often of this one post I unfortunately couldn’t find but it shows all the credit arts that show Soren and his plush dragon, it starting off with him hugging his plush then turning to him pointing a toy sword to it then back to him as an adult hugging it again. They speculated it going in order of: before Soren’s mom left and him just being a kid, after his mom left and him wanting to make his dad proud by ‘slaying’ the dragon, then him as an adult embracing the dragon again.

I personally also see the connection with the two different versions of The Del Barian Legend of The Serpentongue Rivers.

The first story claiming the first King of Del Bar fought a tyrant dragon, slaying it and flinging its across the land.

The second claiming a simple hunter instead charmed a dragon pulling its tongue to form a river for the land.

One is about strength, power, and status. (Ideals Viren holds close)

The other is about charisma, community, and humility. (Ideals Soren holds close)

I also think of the general wind and dragon motifs around Soren.

When he was a child he had a hard time breathing. He had to learn breathing exercises in order to not get winded.

When the dragons land Soren waves happily and unlike everyone else who flinches and braces themselves for the strong gust of winds from the dragons wings Soren stands straight and strong almost unfazed by the strong winds.

He also stands the most confidently on Zubeia when they are flying.

Then of course his bond with squeaky how quickly he was able to decipher what she was feeling and immediately helping her out.

I know this turned into a whole ramble but at this point i don’t care i had fun

#jelly tarts #the dragon prince #tdp soren #tdp meta #i guess

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finishwhatyoustarted-event · 3 months ago

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Finished It Friday - AO3 Collection Special Update - October 6

I realized I have neglected to check the Archive of Our Own collection for this event during Fridays! There are so many! This post shows off all the ones posted in September that I missed. I'm trying not to repeat ones that did get included in other weeks' counts, but a duplicate might slip through on accident.

Talk To Me by kaitou (misbehavingvigilante)

NSFW - 阴阳师 | Yīn Yáng Shī | The Yin-yang Master (Movies - Guo Jingming) - Rated M - Bo Ya/Qing Ming, Qing Ming & Zhu Que | Vermilion Bird - Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst with a Happy Ending, Fox Demon Qing Ming, God!Boya, Miscommunication - "Boya becoming Qingming’s shishen means it’s much harder for Qingming to get into a relationship with him. (Un)fortunately, a little matter of presumed death and godhood can fix that."

https://archiveofourown.org/works/58613179/chapters/149340082

Nemesis by eerie_enchantress

NSFW: Graphic Depictions of Violence (with 'Dead Dove: Do Not Eat' modifier tag!), Major Character Death, Cannibalism - House of the Dragon (TV) - Cannibal the Wild Dragon & You, Aemond "One-Eye" Targaryen/You, Aemond "One-Eye" Targaryen/Original Female Character(s) - Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence, Dragon death, Revenge, Angst, this might actually be a fix-it in the grand scheme of things, POV Alternating - "A terrible war is afoot, the one you used to love having risen up as Prince Regent, the path that led him there littered with corpses of those you care about and don't alike. You must fight fire with fire. One cannot defeat a monster without being prepared to become one themselves. To make an ultimate sacrifice. You shall not rot in idleness while everything you love falls apart around you. No matter the cost."

https://archiveofourown.org/works/57774448/chapters/147044929

flame feather by kaitou (misbehavingvigilante)

NSFW: Sexual Content, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con - 阴阳师 | Yīn Yáng Shī | The Yin-yang Master (Movies - Guo Jingming) - Rated E - Bo Ya/Qing Ming - Alternate Universe, Abuse Outside of Boya/Qingming, Bird Boya Enemies to Lovers, Fox Demon Qing Ming, Happy Ending, Misunderstandings, Uncle kink, Prince Boya, Prince Qingming - "The living nightmare on the battlefield from the immortal realm is captured in the demon realm. Or, is he? Boya and Qingming have history as enemies, but it doesn’t stop Qingming from marrying Boya right away to keep him out of everyone else’s hands."

https://archiveofourown.org/works/58786693/chapters/149813983

Unhappy Prince by kaitou (misbehavingvigilante)

NSFW - 阴阳师 | Yīn Yáng Shī | The Yin-yang Master (Movies - Guo Jingming) - Rated M - Bo Ya/Qing Ming - Alternate Universe, Post-Canon, Fox Demon Qing Ming, Prince Boya, Prince Qingming - "Or after slaying the Evil Serpent Qingming gets the unexpected news he’s demonic royalty and needs to get married fast. In which, Boya is quick to agree to marry Qingming, and even quicker at being better at politics for Qingming who is too busy flailing from this unexpected development, and that Boya’s his wife now to pay attention."

https://archiveofourown.org/works/58815022/chapters/149889706

Even In a Different Life You Still Would’ve Been Mine by DogsAreTheBest312

Doctor Who (2005), Doctor Who (TV Movie 1996), Doctor Who (Big Finish Audio), Rose Tyler: The Dimension Cannon (Big Finish Audio) - Rated T - The Doctor/Rose Tyler, Ninth Doctor/Rose Tyler, Tenth Doctor/Rose Tyler, Eleventh Doctor/Rose Tyler, Eighth Doctor/Rose Tyler - Anthology, Alternate Universe — Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe — Human, Alternate Universe — Modern Setting, Dimension Travel, dimension hopping Rose Tyler, Kid Fic, too many AUs to tag, There’s 31 of Them, Some Plot - "Rose’s search for The Doctor is far from easy. It takes her through dozens of parallel worlds, each one different from the last. In many, she encounters parallel versions of her parents or other people she loves. And in some, she comes across parallel versions of herself and her Doctor. 'Cause I believe that we were supposed to find this So, even in a different life, you still would've been mine We would've been timeless"

https://archiveofourown.org/works/57670348/chapters/146758819

Diminished Greed by kaitou (misbehavingvigilante)

NSFW: Sexual Content, Dubious Consent - 阴阳师 | Yīn Yáng Shī | The Yin-yang Master (Movies - Guo Jingming) - Bo Ya/Qing Ming - Alternate Universe, Dragonfucking, Heavenly Attendant Boya, Qinglong Qingming, Under-negotiated Kink, Oviposition, Knotting - "Qingming is diminished enough that he gets mistaken as a demon by Boya, rather than the Divine Guardian he is. He enlists Boya to be his heavenly attendant whilst he gets back to his normal power. (Un)fortunately, Boya’s also very pretty, so Qingming’s newest heavenly attendant, may also become his heavenly tribute, too."

https://archiveofourown.org/works/58971997/chapters/150331363

besties in blood by kaitou (misbehavingvigilante)

NSFW: Sexual Content, Graphic Depictions Of Violence - 阴阳师 | Yīn Yáng Shī | The Yin-yang Master (Movies - Guo Jingming) - Rated E - Bo Ya & He Shouyue, Bo Ya/Qing Ming, He Shouyue/Princess Changping | Fang Yue - Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Bigotry & Prejudice, Fox Demon Qing Ming, Prince Boya, POV Alternating - "Boya and He Shouyue are murder besties this fixes things, until it breaks them by making a snake and a fox very jealous."

https://archiveofourown.org/works/58642204/chapters/149418415

Lies of S by kaitou (misbehavingvigilante)

NSFW: Sexual Content, Dubious Consent - 阴阳师 | Yīn Yáng Shī | The Yin-yang Master (Movies - Guo Jingming) - Rated E - Bo Ya/Qing Ming - Alternate Universe, Inspired by Lies of P, Temporary Character Death, Pretty Boya, Qingming is a Creep, doll kink - "Or, a meeting between a puppet and a pretty doll. Qingya in an inspired Lies of P au."

https://archiveofourown.org/works/58840468/chapters/149961757

#finished it friday #finish what you started 2024

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irvin-servin · 7 months ago

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hi!

welcome to the mountain water therapy center!

my name is irvin and i'm a design student based in sydney. graphic design might be my passion, but as any person does, i also have quite a lot of other interests. most of them involve writing, so what better place to put it all out in the world than (former?) hellsite tumblr.com?

here's what you can expect from me here:

the suburbia chronicles a young adult urban fantasy series set in a mysterious town called hawkshire, oregon. most children and teenagers in hawkshire seem to gain unique magical powers which all fade away after they turn 18. i've been working on this one on and off for over 6 years and many of the characters mean so much to me so i hope you enjoy this one!

musical projects i find myself to be much more honest in poetry than any other medium of communication, so i use it as a form of reflection and even a coping mechanism. i have a few hypothetical albums (stillwater, it barely rains anymore, this side up) and whether it be posts with song lyrics or audio files, you'll learn a lot about me through my music.

...and more lately, i've been getting into quite a lot of new hobbies, the most significant of which being dungeons and dragons (my characters are so cool and slay and everything) so there may be lore posts and nerdy ramblings here and there. i also play a lot of video games (casual ones) and i might post about them too.

i'm not the most diligent about social media, so expect posts to be slightly sporadic, but that's all for my long ramble intro. if anyone reads this, thank you for attention!

#introduction #intro post #music #indie music #writing #creative writing #lyrics #i am mentally unstable #don't worry i go to therapy

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twistedtummies2 · 8 months ago

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Top 10 Portrayals of Dr. Seward

In Bram Stoker’s Dracula, Lucy Westenra - Dracula’s first female victim of note - is desired by three separate men. First, the man she chooses to be her husband, Arthur Holmwood: he’s the single most boring character in the entire main cast of the novel, and yet somehow he makes it into multiple adaptations…most of which do very little to make him a whole lot more interesting. I fail to understand this. Second is Quincey Morris: he’s more interesting, in several ways, and is even one of the gents who slays the undead Count, sacrificing his life to avenge his beloved Lucy and destroy the vampire. He also almost never makes it into any adaptations, and even those that do feature him usually conflate him with Holmwood - I’m guilty of this, myself. And last but not least, there’s Dr. Jack Seward - the only one of Lucy’s Suitors I plan to discuss. In the novel, Seward is a young and brilliant psychiatrist and physician combined, and the head of a local mental institution. He’s a skeptical scientist, who needs to be shown the reality of the utterly horrific and fantastical nature of vampires. He is also the “caretaker,” for lack of a better word, of Renfield, which makes him important to the team due to his connections with Dracula’s Servant. It is through Seward, in the book, that we learn so much about Lucy and Renfield alike, and it is Seward who summons Van Helsing in the first place to try and help out. While many adaptations DO include the character of Dr. Seward, nearly all of them change the character from his literary origins. Most make him an older gentleman, and focus more on the connection to Renfield than anything else. Indeed, many times Seward is made to be either Mina or Lucy’s FATHER, rather than a potential suitor. Even a few that do stray closer to the novel sometimes excise important elements of his character. Give Mina and Lucy credit, they usually still resemble their original forms to some degree: Seward is essentially a 50-50 shot. He’s either going to match the book version, or he very much isn’t. With that said, let’s take a look at some of those attempts at Seward now. These are My Top 10 Favorite Portrayals of Dr. Seward.

10. Orson Welles, from the Mercury Theater Radio Version.

The Mercury Theater Radio production of Dracula is interesting in that - much like a few takes on Quincey Morris in other adaptations - it conflates the characters of Seward and Arthur Holmwood. In the radio play, Seward’s work at the asylum is barely referenced, and Renfield is nowhere to be found: instead, he’s depicted as Lucy’s fiance, and the only major connection he has to the book version (aside from the name) is that he is an old friend and student of Professor Van Helsing. The main reason this version makes the list at all is because Orson Welles plays both Seward AND Dracula in the radio play, which is certainly an interesting choice of double-casting.

9. Buz Setton, from Disney’s Dracula, Pages From a Virgin’s Diary.

In the Disney graphic novel, Chief O’Hara (hold your horses, Batman fans; I’m talking about the Mickey Mouse character) plays the role of Seward, or, as he’s called in the comic, “Buz Setton.” (Not sure why the name was changed.) There’s really not much to say about this version except that it’s expectedly amusing, and aside from the name change and the goofiness that lies abundant, it’s a more or less accurate depiction of the character. Also, Pete is Renfield. This makes me chuckle.

8. Herbert Bunston, from the 1931 Film.

The origins of Seward being reimagined as an older gentleman, and the father of one of the main ladies in the play, begin with the Hamilton Deane stage adaptation. When the play went to Broadway, Herbert Bunston was cast in the role of the good doctor. When Universal decided to make their film version of the story - based more heavily on the play, rather than the original book - Bunston was one of the actors from the stage version who got a chance to reprise and immortalize his performance onscreen. While I feel his work is a bit “stagey,” even by standards of the time, it’s clear he’s comfortable with the material, and fully immersed in the character.

7. Jose Seriano Viosca, from “Spanish Dracula.”

The Spanish-language version of the previous film is, in my opinion, largely inferior to the original. While a few things in it are certainly interesting, much of the cast, in particular, just doesn’t strike me as being as strong as the cast in the English version. There are, however, two chief exceptions: one is Lupita Tovar as Mina, or “Eva,” who I spoke of in a past list. The other is Jose Seriano Viosca as Dr. Seward. Viosca’s Seward feels so much more natural in his performance than Herbert Bunston, in my opinion. He’s got more of a sense of humor, too, which is refreshing compared to Bunston’s more proprietorial character. There’s also a wonderful warmth between himself and Tovar, as well; they really do feel like father and daughter in this version. It’s still not remotely close to the book, but it is, in my opinion, a generally more interesting portrayal to watch.

6. Patti LuPone, from Penny Dreadful.

This version strays about as far from the path as you can get; thankfully, the character here is still very interesting, so that ultimately doesn’t matter much. After two seasons of teasing Dracula’s appearance, the third (and sadly final) season of “Penny Dreadful” finally brought several of the characters from the novel to life. Among them is Seward, here reimagined as a female doctor, and an alienist (an early term for psychologist), who has some unusual ties to the main protagonist of the series, Vanessa Ives. Never thought I’d see an older Evita meet Dracula, but here we are.

5. Donald Pleasance, from the 1979 Film.

This film, like the 1931 Universal pictures, is based largely on the stage version of Dracula. Pleasance’s Seward is depicted as the father of the Mina character once again, and this time is very deliberately played up as something of a comic relief figure. He’s a somewhat bumbling character, who ultimately has to stand up to the challenges Dracula’s presence creates for himself and his family.

4. Mark Burns, from the 1977 BBC TV Film.

FINALLY, a properly accurate interpretation of the character from the novel! Burns’ Seward gets a lot of focus in this movie, as not only does he have the relationship with Lucy intact, but the character of Renfield is given some more focus in this adaptation as well. As a result, Burns gets more time in the spotlight by extension.

3. Daniel Weyman, from the 2006 BBC Radio Version.

Once more, not pictured in costume, because this was a radio version. Much like the Orson Welles adaptation, this version conflates the characters of Arthur Holmwood and Jack Seward together, so that he is now Lucy’s fiance and gets sole focus - no Holmwood or Quincey Morris in sight. HOWEVER, unlike the Mercury Theater rendition, we do get to see (or, rather, hear) him in the Asylum, and learn of his relationship with Renfield, which I think is a vast improvement in comparison, since you now get the best of both worlds.

2. The Version from Anno Dracula.

“Anno Dracula” is a series that takes place in an alternate universe, where Van Helsing and his team failed to stop Dracula, who is now effectively the ruler of England, acting as Queen Victoria’s royal consort. In this world, vampires are now the norm: at least 50% of the population are vampires. The interesting thing with this is that vampires aren’t depicted as naturally evil, monstrous beings; they’re just…people. Like anybody else. Some are good, some are bad, but they aren’t inherently diabolical. This is where Seward’s role in the first novel comes into play: it’s revealed that Seward is the only human survivor of the original story, and has basically gone insane after his experiences. He becomes none other than Jack the Ripper: in this universe, his attacks are a pithy attempt to destroy the vampires he’s come to believe are evil creatures. While Seward’s motivations and perspectives are tragically understandable, he is still in the wrong. It’s interesting to see this character in this light, and he’s one of the most memorable figures in the book, as we see the story from his side several times.

1. Richard E. Grant, from the 1992 Film.

A great actor playing the role basically as Stoker wrote it. For all the things Francis Ford Coppola changed in his version of Dracula, one thing that pretty much stayed true to the source without any deviation was Richard E. Grant as Jack Seward. This is pretty much exactly how I imagined the book character to be, and that’s really all I need to give this version top marks on the list. Case closed.

#list #countdown #best #favorites #top 10 #dracula #dr. seward #jack seward #john seward #actors #acting #film #movies #tv #comics #literature #radio

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tomesandrosebud · 2 years ago

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CHAPTER 6: DANCES WITH WOLVES! My Babysitter’s A Vampire! Fanfic!

Grandma Weir at first wasn’t so sure what to think of it when the idea of Courtney attending school came up in conversation. She was a little worried of the possible consequences but when they discussed it at dinner that Saturday night, Benny stood up for her cause, promising that he’d keep an eye on her. That this could be really good for her, and it’d be better than her being left at home by herself everyday for hours on end. Grandma didn’t necessarily love the idea but she had to admit that she was very proud of her grandson for stepping up and it seemed he was beginning to understand the responsibilities. So she did end up deciding to pick up the phone and make a phone call to the school that next Monday morning.

The only thing that really sucked was that since they couldn’t get any previous records for Courtney’s schooling, she didn’t have any, they had to lie and say how she’d been homeschooled up until this point but the records burnt down in a house fire. So she ended up getting enrolled at a Freshman level, and even with that there was a lot they’d have to work on if they’d want her to be even able to get away with attending the school at all…

So whenever there wasn’t some freak mission the group was going on slaying whatever supernatural monster, most of his free time Benny would come home and help teach Courtney how to read and write, some basic math knowledge, and then just as a bonus so she could survive in the house alone, taught her about how to prepare her own food like he’d promise.

And Courtney was so appreciative for it and excited, she could not wait until she was good enough to tell Benny how she’d read the entire “Space Werewolf” comic he’d given her by herself. Would definitely take her some time and hard work but she was determined to get there just as a way to thank him.

But also speaking of promises; Benny finally took her to the mall and she could get some clothes. Neither of them really understood style, but when Benny saw the men’s graphic tee section and how much of their stuff had werewolves on it like it was merch, he’d picked one up to show her, at first she’d laughed but then she actually wanted to try it on. Which Benny shooed her away from because that was probably kind of a weird and bad idea, if anyone somehow got any suspicions having it plastered on her clothes probably wouldn’t help, and wouldn’t look too good either. Benny knew that much, that was the section he knew Ethan and Rory to shop in and they were trying for her to actually resemble a teenage girl.

So he led her there. Honestly neither of them really had an idea of what to even grab, they kind of just looked at what options for colors would look good with her hair, and while not innocent in any shape or form, Benny did just kind of see stuff that he knew other girls to wear at school and recognized some of the type silhouettes and how they looked on the girls bodies and how he’d found them attractive, so when all else failed he’d grab something like that.

And then it just kind of turned into one of those cheesy movie scenes of the guy waiting on the girl he likes, as she went to the try-on rooms at the couple of stores they visited. Sitting on the little plush couches and maybe a couple times trying to not entirely creepily but just glance and see if he could get a peak of her while she tried the stuff on, and then almost a montage of her coming out and her asking if she looked okay in the various items, which he always would say yes to as she to him always did. More than just okay….

And he’d always have to snap himself out of it in between outfits and yelling at himself in his head. It wasn’t like this was a date...was it?

No...right?

Later in the night Grandma reminded Courtney that she hadn’t forgotten about that potion she was making for her, trying to get her memories back. But honestly at this point, she wouldn’t say it but she kinda just hoped that it’d never get completed because she didn’t really want them back, not entirely. Yes, she wanted to know about her family and see them again and try to explain to them the situation and why she couldn’t go back entirely, but she didn’t want to know the events that transpired to bring her here in the first place, so it’s safe to say that she was conflicted.

But Grandma did admit to struggling with it a little bit so with that she smiled, giving Courtney more time…

Besides, she wasn’t ready to tell Benny yet about what she’d seen.

Yeah she had to admit things were going pretty well now. It's been a few weeks and they’d definitely gotten to bond and get closer, with him helping her with her learning and everything. But yet again, it’d been going on a few weeks now, at this point and neither did either of them bring up that moment between them from her first couple days, or did another come up between them when they’d gotten that close again for another to possibly.

It seemed to Courtney that Benny was purposely trying to keep a little bit of distance between them at all times and it made her wonder if she’d gone too far before. Anytime that she had to scooch her chair in, he’d back his away from her. Anytime she threatened to close the space between them when standing at their lockers, or at home, even with his friends, it was like he’d cringed away from her if she even threatened to take a single step closer. Rubbing at the back of his neck and looking at her awkwardly. Or maybe the floorboards could really be that interesting?

And thus got her started back on picking at the skin underneath her nails, a bad habit from whenever she’d be nervous, or itching at her skin like she’d gotten a rash.

Speaking of being nervous; Courtney hadn’t been able to make herself transform since that night either. Seems it must’ve just been that she was able to figure it out in the heat of the moment with her emotions being so strong, but whenever she’d try to just do it casually at home, try to channel the power and become the wolf again, she’d always fail. The most that she’s been able to manage was once when she got as far as to make a few patches of hair start prickling up onto her arms, so she knew she had to be heading in the right direction, but just nothing was ever enough yet to push it all the way. And she just hated this feeling, like everything was making her insecure lately.

It seemed the only constant positive she had now was Rory always being around. He could be annoying sure; but he was the only one that straight up accepted her out of the get go. Maybe his intentions weren’t the best, but he didn’t judge her right away for what she was even though being a vampire, he was one of the ones with the most reason too. He could treat her how Erica still does. Alongside showering Benny’s grandma constantly kept stock of that potion to help keep Courtney’s canine scent under control, but even still Erica still made comments about her stench. She never would react not wanting to cause a fight but it did still hurt her feelings especially being that the only ones that seem to want to combat Erica for the nasty things she says and does; are again Sarah and Rory. Courtney understands that Ethan may still not be in love with having her around, but again in these moments Benny wouldn’t exactly speak up for her, but again just choosing to simply ignore it and stare at the floor in the awkwardness of the moment.

But Rory didn’t do that, whenever something mean was sad about her while Rory was around; he’d come to her defense. He always made really cheesy jokes or told stupid stories that always seemed to get Courtney blushing and laughing. He was becoming her best friend and she was so very thankful for him too. So much so that the rest of the group kinda always wondered if there was actually something more between them behind the scenes. But on Courtney’s end there really wasn’t. There couldn’t be thanks to her imprinting.

He was just always around to talk to and be kind in her moments of need, he’d always pretend to be this chivalrous knight, while she was this high princess or queen that he needed to cater to her every whim. Or it was just as simple as whenever her and Benny seemed to be going through a bit of a rougher patch and she’d be worried about not being enough for her grades, Rory would always want to jump in to try and help her study because he could see how important it was for her to do well, and he also didn’t want her to get thrown out of White Chapel either so, he did what he was able. Or she would also lose her spot on the football team..

***

Remember that story that Rory was trying to tell Benny and Ethan?

It was during that first day’s gym class, Rory had encouraged Courtney to want to play with them, although she was definitely nervous. But she did go to play and for a little while it was just some mind numbing fun, the girls kinda just found it stupid and couldn’t care less about “waste of time” but Rory and her were smiling so wide they were having a blast.

To Rory it felt like the first time he’d had someone in his life who just seemed so genuinely so happy to be around him and having fun. He loved the guys and their friendship meant so much to him but he did quite often feel like he was being left out or abandoned, that they possibly didn’t like him as much as any of them did each other and so he was often left disappointed. But with Courtney he just felt this positive energy that radiated off her and her genuine smile as they had fun together. So much so that at one point of the game they decided to break their group in half and do it like teams, Eric and Sarah against her and Rory.

The girls obviously not really trying since they didn’t care, but the 2 of them didn’t care if they weren’t really in it, they enjoyed it anyways, but there was just this point when Rory threw the ball to her for “run past and make a touchdown”

Courtney threw the ball down with so much joy as she ran back and just tackled Rory. Almost knocking him down in a hug, she was surprisingly heavier than she looked, Then lifting him up above herself while screaming in glee. She was also surprisingly so much stronger as well.

“HEY! YOU NERDS!” But their celebration was cut short by some pretty meathead type jocks. A group of 3 giant guys came running up wearing their jerseys and were all suited up with their shoulder pads, helmets, and mouth guards on. The one guy spitting his out to come yell at them.

“WHICH 1 OF YOU THREW THIS?” The nameless jerk screamed loudly, held up their football, it was definitely a dinky, little kids, type football compared to their actual ball, but they must’ve accidentally somehow interrupted their teams practice. Rory, trying to be cool, just took the credit for the mistake and was actually trying to be nice to them and apologize but they just laughed at him and were being so snarky and rude.

“WELL YOU NEED TO WATCH WHERE YOU’RE THROWING NERD! YOU INTERCEPTED MY PASS!” And the guy took off his helmet just long enough to spit on the ground right in front of where Rory stood and throw the football back at him really hard, being a vampire it didn’t hurt him like it would’ve if he wasn’t and he did catch it but that was enough to charge Courtney up just a little bit and her eyes started glowing, but not sparkles, more like a blue flame and she snarled her teeth a little at them to which they just laughed.

“OH LOOK AT HER! THINKS SHE’S A DOG! WHAT YOU GONNA DO PRINCESS?!” The large jock continued to spit.

This just made the fire starting in her eyes all the more and her snarl really starting to come out with her canines showing through the grit of her teeth.

The boys started trying to walk away but she was just getting so annoyed and frustrated as they kept laughing at her. Thus causing her to completely lose her patience and as Rory was useless to stop her…

Courtney ran up to and did a perfect tackle on the quarterback of the football team, but with no protective measures and no injuries, of course to herself but luckily nothing more than back pain for him as well. This definitely caused Mr. G. to come by and notice what had happened...Courtney thought about how she was going to be in real trouble and maybe now she’d never get into the school, or at least she’d already ruined a potentially good student teacher relationship that she’d accidentally even started really building...

But thanks to some lucky main character syndrome, that isn’t what had happened at all..

Mr. G. loved her energy, strength, initiative. Overall he was obsessed with her drive as a student so far and he asked Courtney if she wanted to try playing with the team, she did have to be shown how to play with Mr. G. Being extra nice to her and Courtney getting a complete crash course from the team, but once she got it, turned out at least when it comes to athletics, Courtney was a real natural.

Mr. G. Thought it had all gone over so well that day actually; that he even told Courtney that as long as she could actually get enrolled in the school that he would love for her to be on the team and maybe be the new Quarterback with some practice….yeah Mr. Meathead didn’t like that one bit!

***

Since that incident and talking to Benny about it, he promised her he wouldn’t tell Grandma about her being on the sports team as it was pretty possible that if she knew she would want to shut that down and possibly take Courtney out of school altogether being that the idea was too dangerous. Too much of a risk to threaten for something bad to happen with her powers if her anger were to become too strong. But that was the reason that she absolutely loved the sport. The more she played, yes she did still have to try to keep herself in check, and Benny watched over her about it sometimes, but they both knew she had no intention of hurting anyone. Not even really hurting that jock from before aside from a tackle, so they shouldn’t have to really worry. But football was the one thing that she had where what was different about her for once was her strong suit and not what made her any worse or set her apart. Or if it did was always in a good way. And she was even starting to make a new friend in one of the guys from before named David, he’d even gone as far as to drop his jerkwad friends, preferring Courtney’s positive attitude and her aura. Although there was another reason that she just hadn’t known yet..

So that finally leads us back to now when Courtney has just gotten out of football practice, heading to her locker, still in her pants and her elbow and knee pads. On the way to grab her things and then get in the showers. Courtney’s face and outfit, aside from a black tank top that she wore underneath her jersey, are covered in dirt as she walks along the hallway, carrying the top half of her uniform, lifting off her helmet, taking out the mouthguard, and revealing her hair tied up in a ponytail underneath. She wasn't the Quarterback yet but with hope she was well on her way, but that meant that “Mr. Meathead” was still in charge for the time being and so he was sure to be extra hard on her after the previous events, so she was definitely getting exhausted and needing to take some migraine pills after this. Yawning, she turns the corner when her new best friend sees and catches up with her, throwing his arm around her shoulders, oblivious now to her new state, grass stains and smelling of sweat (it not being werewolf related this time).

“Where’d you get the popsicle?” Courtney sleepily askes Rory who in his other hand is holding and then sucking on a bomb-pop. “Wait, I thought Vampires don’t need to eat?” She asks genuinely curious after looking to make sure no one else is in close enough proximity to hear her.

“Well, technically we don’t have to eat.” Rory starts to go on a rambly tangent, to which Courtney is a little extra giggly and groggy as she tries to keep paying attention as they walk together. “But I really liked the flavors of these before and I’m really bored, and they can be a really good distraction from when we’re really craving some bl-”

Courtney starts leading Rory to where they need to turn the corner of the hall to cross to the other side to get to her locker, when they come across the other two guys of their friend group and Rory gets cut off mid-sentence by Ethan and Benny going on and on how they cried to each other, pretty much in nerd speak about their failed meeting with the yearbook committee.

“ATTENTION ALL STUDENTS!”

The intercom was going off about how tomorrow would be “Picture Day” at White Chapel.

Getting to and opening up her locker she pulls out her backpack that holds her school supplies for the day, shower essentials, and a change of clothing. Throwing it over her one shoulder and tossing in her football equipment and then reaching down to take off the pads on both her elbows and knees, throwing them in as well. Waving goodbye to all the guys until lunch, Courtney slams shut her locker and turns her head towards striding over to the showers.

“I am not even going to ask…”

#mbav #my babysitter's a vampire #my babysitters a vampire #sarah mbav #erica mbav #benny mbav #mbav stuff #mbav rory #benny weir #sarah fox #ethan morgan x reader

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acacia-may · 2 years ago

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Take Care of Yourself Chapter 4 (Finale)

Chapter 4 Description: When Giyu is injured as part of the Hashira Training, he visits Shinobu for the first time in a long time. She patches him up once again--teasing him as always about taking better care of himself, but this time, there is something in her voice when she says "I'm not going to be around to patch you up forever, you know?" that gives Giyu pause and makes him wonder: if Kocho is the one who is always telling him to take care of himself, who is there to tell her the same thing? And would she even listen to them if they did?

Story Description: Giyu & Shinobu's relationship through the years and an origin story of how they became friends.

Fandom: Demon Slayer/Kimetsu no Yaiba

Genre: Friendship, Developing Friendship, Hurt/Comfort, Angst

Relationships: Giyu Tomioka & Shinobu Kocho Friendship (though I suppose you could take it in a romantic way if you really wanted it to be) [A/N: This story focuses on how their relationship developed over time and how deeply and genuinely they care about each other so how you want to qualify that (platonic or romantic) is really up to you. My intention was to write about their platonic friendship, but I have been told that the final chapter could lean a little more romantic than the others(?) so warnings for that upfront...]

Characters: Giyu Tomioka (POV Character) and Shinobu Kocho. [Kanae Kocho and Sabito are mentioned but do not physically appear in this story. Sanemi Shinazugawa is briefly mentioned once in every chapter as an easter egg for my sister who loves him and encouraged me to write this story in the first place].

Rating: T for Thematic Elements (Please see "Warnings" below for more details)

Warnings: Heavy themes (i.e. grief, emotional trauma, & survivor guilt), mentions of (non-depicted) past deaths, and depiction of injuries as well as some discussion of demon slaying violence related to those injuries. Ch. 3 has some action sequences and mild, non-gory/non-graphic depictions of demon slaying. All chapters contain SPOILERS for and through Ch. 131 of the manga. Ch. 3 & Ch. 4 contain vague spoilers from and through Ch. 163 of the manga and some related foreshadowing.

Word Count: 2033 (Chapter 4) [7573 Total]

Link to original post on AO3. Please do not repost to another site.

Tumblr Links to The Previous Chapter: Chapter 3. This Chapter (Chapter 4) is the Final Chapter.

Note: This is an older story of mine, but I am posting it here to Tumblr for Shinobu's upcoming birthday (since as much as I want to write another story to celebrate my favourite Demon Slayer character, I'm afraid I will not have time this year...)

Chapter 4 below the cut. Please Note: Chapter 4 contains spoilers and foreshadowing through Ch. 163 of the manga and has an angsty ending. (Apologies in advance for that). Thank you for reading! 🦋

“Only this once” quickly turned into a recurring, regular stop at small, hole in the wall restaurants or food carts after their missions. Eating together like that was such a mundane thing, but it almost made Giyu feel normal. In his life as a demon slayer, he had very few fond memories of the regular, everyday experiences others took for granted like stopping at a tiny diner and chatting over a bowl of Udon—or, he supposed, technically Kocho did most of the talking while he listened. He sometimes wondered if she, too, appreciated the chance to be ordinary, even though he knew that even in the absence of demon slaying there was very little that was unremarkable about her. Her skills as a doctor and pharmacist, for instance, were extraordinary in their own right—especially when one was on the receiving end of her treatment, as Giyu was now.

“Hold still,” said Kocho as she stitched the gash in his arm which tensed involuntarily each time the wound was poked and prodded. Maybe that’s what she meant by ‘hold still.’ Giyu tried to make a conscious effort, but when he flinched again, she huffed, “Tomioka-san!”

“Sorry,” he mumbled. Given how many times Kocho had stitched up his wounds, he thought he should be used to it by now. Even so, it was a relief when the suture was finally complete. She huffed again.

“Shinazugawa did this to you?”

Giyu nodded but added graciously, “I don’t think he meant to. We were sparring as part of the Hashira training. Wind Breathing is rough…”

“And I bet you were spacing out again, weren’t you?” Kocho rolled her eyes but frowned at the gash in his arm and the other injuries that she had already bandaged. She shook her head. “At this rate, you won’t be in any shape to fight Muzan or the Moons.”

Giyu sighed. He didn’t think he would be in much shape to fight the remaining upper rank demons even without getting a bit beaten up by Shinazugawa’s Wind Breathing as he doubted he would be able to manifest a mark like he was sure the others would—they were so much stronger than he was. That reminded him…

“Kocho, have you participated in the Hashira training yet?”

She turned away from him and walked over to the shelves of medical supplies. “No,” she answered curtly with her back to him. “The Master has given me another task that’s kept me very busy.”

She sighed as she rummaged around in a cabinet, and her voice grew quieter though still matter-of-fact, “I doubt I could even manifest a mark anyway—my breathing isn’t like yours. I can’t…” She stopped. As Giyu expected, when she turned towards him, she had that hollow smile on her face again. “Besides, I spend all my extra time healing careless demon slayers like you. I don’t have time for any special training, and I’d prefer to save my energy for Muzan and the Moons anyway.”

As Kocho took a seat next to him, Giyu couldn’t help but wonder how much energy she had these days. She appeared more ragged each time he saw her, which had been getting less and less frequent ever since the demon activity had inexplicitly stopped and the Hashira training had begun.

He wondered if she was feeling alright—not that she would tell him or anyone if she wasn’t. Kocho was the master of the brave face—always pretending she was at her best and pushing herself to be strong for everyone around her. She looked out for others before herself without even blinking an eye. She had an unbelievable strength and resolve that Giyu still couldn’t wrap his head around—but he knew it must be a heavy burden and he couldn’t help but wonder if she was growing tired under its crushing weight.

“I think there’s only one left,” said Kocho pulling Giyu out of his thoughts. As she unspooled some bandages and began to dig through her pocket, a handful of something small and brown fell on the ground with a clatter. Giyu’s eyebrows twitched.

“Acorns?”

Kocho sighed and rolled her eyes as she bent over to pick them up. “From Inosuke. He had a nasty cut on his head that I bandaged up for him earlier today, and he gave me those for some reason...” She shook her head, but her mouth twitched into an almost-affectionate smile as she placed the handful of acorns on a nearby table. She turned back to Giyu with the gauze, he assumed, she was trying to get out of her pocket in the first place, and added with a teasing smile, “He’s almost as reckless as you are…”

"I would’ve thought he was like Shinazugawa…” answered Giyu dryly—the Wind Hashira and the boar mask boy both seemed to have the same hotheaded aggression.

“Yes, him too. The three of you are far too reckless…especially you, Tomioka-san,” glowered Kocho as she began to clean the cut on his shoulder with a huff. “Did you really get all of these injuries from sparring?” Giyu nodded.

“You need to take better care of yourself,” she scolded but her violet eyes looked tired and her weary voice started to fade as her gentle hands wrapped the gauze around his shoulder. “I’m not going to be around to patch you up forever, you know?”

Something twisted in Giyu’s chest. He turned towards her with a start. “What?”

“Tomioka-san, hold still,” she snapped in frustration—his rapid movement having unspooled her bandaging. His brow furrowed, and he stared at her as if searching the irritated expression on her pale face for the unnerving twinge he had heard in her voice.

“What do you mean?” he asked, and Kocho whipped away from him pulling the bandage tight. When Giyu flinched, she loosened her grip and sighed with a slight shake of her head.

“Nothing. I just meant…you never know what’s going to happen. I’m sure you’ve felt it too—our final battle with Muzan could happen any day now, and it would be foolish to think that we’ll all make it back from it alive and unscathed. We’re Hashira…we’ve always known we might have to make the ultimate sacrifice—it’s just part of our job and our duty. That’s all I was saying…” Her answer was calm, nonchalant, and sensical—somehow respectful to the gravity of sacrifice but dismissive of her original comment—such were Kocho’s skills of deflection. Giyu blinked, and his brow furrowed as his insides coiled.

“Kocho…” he began. “You look tired…”

“Well, you don’t look so great yourself,” she bristled as she finished bandaging his shoulder.

“Maybe you should rest,” he suggested earning an indignant glare.

“Maybe I would have time to rest if a certain airheaded water pillar didn’t keep getting himself beaten up.” She flashed him a teasing smile, but Giyu could tell she had stiffened.

With a guilty sigh, he downcast his eyes. “I’m sorry…”

“You should be,” she bantered before returning to her bandaging with, Giyu knew, no intention of continuing this conversation. He watched as her hands trembled as she wrapped his wound and noticed the dark rings under her eyes, the gauntness of her face. He couldn’t help but think that if he had looked like that, Kocho would be scolding him, ushering him into a hospital bed, and insisting ‘you need to take care of yourself.’ Something panged in his chest. Kocho was the one who had always told him to take care of himself, but who was there to tell her the same thing? And would she even listen to them if they did?

“Are you sick?” he asked surprising himself by his boldness in pressing the issue, and, he supposed, Kocho as well as her hands stopped moving for just a moment before she pointedly tilted her head.

“No, and how is that any of your business?” Giyu supposed she had a point. He wondered if he should just leave the subject alone, but the knots in his stomach made him feel queasy. He wasn’t always the best at picking up on Kocho’s deflections—wanting to take her at her word—but this time…

“Your face is pale, and your eyes are red…like you haven’t been sleeping…”

“Oh, you’re one to talk about sleeping, insomniac…” she teased, but he could see the tension in her shoulders.

“Something is wrong…” he observed or perhaps admitted aloud as his heart beat faster.

“You’re so rude, Tomioka-san,” Kocho scolded with her empty, teasing smile but her voice hitched as she stood up from her seat and turned to leave with a shaky huff. “You know, this is exactly why no one likes—” Kocho stopped. She stared at Giyu’s hand which had suddenly wrapped around her wrist.

“What…what are you?” she spluttered as her gaunt cheeks flushed pink, and Giyu swallowed hard as he felt her pulse pounding against his palm. He hadn’t meant to do that—had only meant to stop her before she left and buried his concerns somewhere on the other side of the great abyss between them, with all of the other words they left unsaid.

Kocho huffed and jerked her arm away from him, but he asked, shocked by his own boldness, “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong,” her words tumbled rapidly as she grew visibly huffy and glared directly at him. “I told you I’m fine. Just forget it!”

“Kocho—”

“I said drop it, Giyu!”

Giyu’s mouth fell a bit slack in spite of himself as Kocho’s eyes widened in realization of what she had said. She had never called him that—not once in the many years that they had known each other. A blush crossed over her cheeks but whether it was from embarrassment or frustration, Giyu didn’t know.

She glared at him at him almost threateningly. “Please,” she gritted through her teeth. Her stormy eyes were irate and intimidating, but there was something else, something almost distraught, almost desperate. Giyu’s insides twisted. He almost wondered if he should try to stumble through an apology but couldn’t seem to find the words as he shifted under the weight of her gaze.

Seemingly shaking it off, Kocho bristled and stiffened before she gathered her medical supplies and said curtly, “All your wounds are taken care of. You can go now.” She stared at the ground and wouldn’t look at him, and when she sighed, her voice was calm almost quiet, different than the teasing banter with which she would’ve usually said the following words, “If it makes you feel better, I’ll try to get some extra sleep tonight. Okay? Happy?”

Giyu blinked at her. He didn’t know what to say, but he somehow managed a brisk nod. Kocho nodded in return, and they stumbled their way through awkward, curt goodbyes. However, when she turned to leave, something gnawed and twisted in the pit of Giyu’s stomach, a truly horrible feeling—the same one he had had when Tsutako had hidden him urging him to stay quiet or Makomo had waved goodbye before leaving for Mount Fujikasane or Sabito had run off ahead of him at Final Selection—an impending sense of dread that he was never going to see her again.

“Kocho…” he said the desperation creeping into his voice. She must’ve heard it too because she turned around to look back at him with surprise on her face.

For years later, Giyu would come back to this moment—agonizing over every detail, wondering if he had just pushed a little harder, if he had just probed a little more, asked a little more forcefully, been a little bit braver—if he had just had the courage to cross that great divide between them, between the things they shared and the things they couldn’t say, would things have been different?

But as it was, Giyu stopped on the precipice of that chasm—unable to ask the questions he so desperately wanted to ask, to say the words he so desperately wanted to say—so he said the only thing that he could, desperately hoping that the meaning would somehow reach her.

“Take care of yourself.”

#final chapter!#thank you for reading #giyu tomioka #shinobu kocho #tomioka giyū #kocho shinobu #healthy male female friendships for the win!!#this was intended to be a friendship story but you could take it romantically if you really wanted to #so i'm going to go ahead and tag giyushino just to be safe #giyushino #demon slayer spoilers #kimetsu no yaiba spoilers #demon slayer manga spoilers #kimetsu no yaiba manga spoilers #demon slayer fanfiction #kimetsu no yaiba fanfiction #take care of yourself chapters

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