#the placement of the name change is still confusion to me

[nightiingaled]

Warning Sign | Tae-mi & Cass

Blackwatch Years Tae-mi when a mission goes awry. Trigger warnings for mentions of blood, momentary gore & near-death. @quick-drawn

The desert is alive with the sound of gunfire.

“One left!”

Tae-mi Jin is in the process of placing her final clip into her gun, licking her lips and whispering a soft prayer. She has her back against a collapsed stone wall, long worn from time.

“You’re talking about targets, right?”

Across from her – on the other side of the crumbling entryway into the long-destroyed building – Jesse McCree aims and misses one of the remaining soldiers creeping closer and closer to their position.

“Not with that aim!”

“You’re one to talk!”

Sure enough, the moment Tae attempts to take a shot at one of the soldiers, they open fire in her direction, and she misses her shot as she takes cover once again. She grumbles something to herself, but she knows that of the two of them she is the weaker link here.

Gunfights have never been her thing. Hand-to-hand, close combat has always been where she excels, if her continued wins in the fighting rings had anything to say about it.

“You think if we ask nicely, they’ll line up easy to let us punch them out instead?”

She can hear him thinking across the space between them and it almost makes her laugh.

“Can you two take this a little seriously?” Commander Reyes’ voice cut through their radios with a crackle of faint static.

A tight-lipped smile stretches across Tae’s features despite everything. “Not to rush you, Commander, but how’s it coming?”

“We’re in the clear. Light them up!”

Tae gives Jesse a thumbs up, Jesse returning the gesture. Tae thumbs the detonator in her other hand, pressing it with more force than probably necessary. The ground rumbles around them as multiple bombs go off in a location less than a mile east. Tae can see the haze that has erupted in its place as she dives into her hideaway.

 There’s the sound of screaming and shouting of orders and suddenly the soldiers assaulting them are leaving hurriedly in two vehicles towards the direction of the compound in the distance.

“Can’t believe that worked.”

Tae laughs, having crawled out of the crevice in the wall and crossed to Jesse’s side of the entryway. She offers him a hand up which he accepts with a smile. “I owe that man a dri—”

Gunfire breaks out once again, shattering the moment. Tae throws herself back to the wall, dragging a startled Jesse with her. “Damnit,” she spits.

“What was that?” Reyes clips through.  

“They left someone behind. Can’t be many we got—Jesse!”

Jesse is semi-conscious, flopping over as his body struggles to hold itself upright.

“Flesh wound, sweetheart,” he murmurs, his eyes flickering open and then closed again.

Crimson red is seeping through holes in Jesse’s vest and Tae swallows thickly.

“Stay still.”

The building around them has gone quiet. Tae is sure they couldn’t have left more than three behind. They would send as many as possible to see to the supposed attack on the compound and the two agents had done their best to leave few to spare.

Tae slips her knives from their sheathes.

The first comes through the entryway – poor thing was practically bait. Tae takes him out at the knees, quite literally taking her knives and slicing away at the back of his legs. He lets out a wailing scream and collapses as the second comes around the right corner. Tae knocks the soldier’s aim down towards the ground with one arm, using the other to slice up under and into his jaw. She lets him keep the knife as she turns the other on the third soldier hurrying through the entryway to help. Again, and again and again she thrusts her knife into his chest until he’s blubbering blood all over her.

“Three,” she tells herself, “They left three.”

The fourth doesn’t exactly take her by surprise so much as uses a different approach than the others. He rushes through the doorway and subsequently towards Tae herself. Smaller than him and more practiced, she manages to dodge to the side. It isn’t enough. He launches himself at her and throws her to the ground. Tae doesn’t realize his hands on her throat until they suddenly aren’t she’s breathing fresh air again, ears ringing from the nearby gunshot.

She rolls the body off her, looking over at Jesse. The man is sheet white, but the grip on his gun is surprisingly steady.

“Thank you,” he says softly.

“What?”

“You say, ‘thank you’, sweetheart.”

“Don’t call me sweetheart,” she grumbles as she picks herself off the ground and hurries back over to his side. It’s at this moment that she realizes Reyes is still trying to make contact. His voice had become a distant buzz, a distraction she had to ignore for the time being.

“Jin, I swear to God if you don’t answer—”

“Sorry, sir. The pickup crew is cleared out, but McCree is injured.”

“Stay put. We’ll evac you as soon as we make the rendezvous.”

“Sir, I don’t think we have that kind of time. You still have miles ahead of you – we have a shorter distance we can hit the rendezvous at the same time.”  

While she’s talking, Tae is tearing spare fabric from the soldiers’ uniforms and her pants, wrapping the bandages around Jesse’s stomach, and tying them tight.

“Jin, don’t tell me you’re thinking of—”

“This isn’t a viable rendezvous point, sir. You said so yourself. We just blew up the safest landing zone for miles. And it’s going to be too Hot to land. It’s not worth the risk.”

“Jin, I mean it – do not leave your position.”

“Sorry sir, I’m getting nothing but static. I’ll meet you at the rendezvous.”

And then the line goes silent as she turns off her comms. Tae-mi reaches down, pulling Jesse up by both arms with a grunt and leaning him over her shoulder.

“Come on, Jess – we got a long walk ahead of us.”  

& & &

Tae didn’t doubt her logic, but she realizes that she might have misgauged how quickly she would be able to move with Jesse.  For what it was worth, he tries to help as much as he can. When he’s awake. But the man’s consciousness comes and goes. Here and there she catches him muttering to himself and wonders what delirium he finds himself in. She remembers him saving her so many years ago and it feels like only yesterday. To think she finally gets to return the favor – she hopes it’s worth it.

It's sad that even after all this time, she’s barely let him in. Barely let anyone in. It’s just her and her sister. The two of them have grown together in Blackwatch, different in multiple ways but so similar in so many others. What would it be like to lose him?

Tae swallows. No, she tells herself. Stop thinking like he’s dying.

But he is. He is dying. He’s dripping crimson through the makeshift bandages. He bled through the bandages, even after she ripped more of her pants to add to it. He’s bleeding into the remainder of her shirt, just bleeding and she can’t stop it. He’s paler than he was at the start and that is saying something. His sweat is almost drowning her.

“Gonna be sick…”

“Not on my shoulder you’re not.”

But she hopes it bodes well that he’s saying anything at all. He doesn’t get sick. They keep moving on.

There comes a point – as much as she hates it – that she must stop again, simply to rest. If she doesn’t her shoulder will give out. The two of them are covered in blood. Jesse has soaked through every bandage she’s thrown at him and down his pants. Tae has sacrificed everything but her tank top and enough of her pants they’ve become shorts. There’s no point making herself naked at this point – it’s not going to help, she knows.  

“…Behind…”

She has Jesse leaned against a rock ledge and she leans closer to him. “What’s up?”

A tongue licks slowly over his chapped lips. “Leave me…. behind.”

“Over my dead body.”

She reaches out to grab his arm, but he catches her wrist and holds it. His grip isn’t tight – he didn’t have the strength, but she doubts it would be even if he did. “Don’t die here….with me.”

“Neither of us is going to die, Jess.”

A crack creeps into her voice and she notices her fingers are starting to shake. She needs to get moving again before she can’t anymore, but Jesse’s other hand is touching her hair.

“You’re really pretty with this haircut, you know?”

“Jess – stop talking nonsense okay, let’s get out of here. You’re going to be okay. You’re gonna –”

He cups her jaw and leans forward, and Tae sees what comes next. She doesn’t stop it. It’s not the right time – it’s NEVER going to be the right time for her, but this is next level of not right. But what if they never get another chance?

Their lips meet and it’s so soft and weak on his end, but there’s still a fire behind it that she returns. Tae wraps her now free hands in his hair and leans him forward into the kiss, tears tracking down her worried features.

And then it’s over, but it remains abuzz within her. She thumbs his hair away from his eyes and sighs.  “I hope you didn’t think that was going to convince me to leave you, Jess,” she murmured. “Come on.”

& & &

She turns her comms back on the moment she sees the form of the helicopter growing nearer in the distance. To her surprise, Reyes does not immediately proceed to curses upon hearing her voice back on the radio.

“How’s he doing,” she hears instead and smiles softly to herself.

“Holding out.”

“We see you. We’ll meet you halfway.”

The group of agents do indeed meet them halfway with a stretcher. Jesse’s weight is transferred from her shoulder to someone else and Tae almost loses her balance at the loss. The realization of her own exhaustion settles on her, and it takes everything she has to keep walking towards the helicopter.

“Jin!”

Tae turns to see Commander Reyes approaching her at a brisk march. She swallows.

“Never ever and I mean ever pull that shit with me again, do you hear me?”

“Yes, sir.”

She turns away and keeps walking towards the ship before he calls her name once again. “Tae-mi…”

The woman turns back, and the Commander has a half-smile on his face. “Good job.”

She smiles back at him. “Yes, sir.”  

They pile into the ship as the medic works around them to try and stabilize Jesse.

Tae-mi clutches his hand the entire time. Tae-mi doesn’t care who sees at this point and no one says anything.

[theskywithin]

💫🪞 Juno in the Houses 💌🕊️

Juno in the houses is about the kind of love that leaves a fingerprint on the soul, the vows we make without speaking, the lessons we keep meeting in every mirror.

If you liked this post, I’m offering 50% off full birth chart readings for the month of May — just $25 / 25€. DM me to book 💌

JUNO IN THE 1ST HOUSE

There’s a mirror welded into the skin with this placement. A silent expectation stitched into your spine: If you love me, I’ll exist. Juno in the 1st doesn’t just seek partnership, it becomes it. Your body turns into a question you’re asking others to answer. Do I belong in this form? Do I deserve to be chosen? In this life, the soul carries the imprint of being defined through the eyes of someone else. The first glance. The first promise. The first wound of being misunderstood. You may fall in love with those who reflect you too well or not at all, constantly orbiting the tension between merging and mattering. But the real vow isn’t to another person. It’s to yourself. To stand still inside your own image. To not flinch when love arrives. To not shapeshift in order to be touched. Juno here asks: Can you commit to being seen as you are, even before someone sees you? Can you stay with yourself long enough to know the difference between recognition and projection? This placement is about re-entering your own body, and calling it home.

JUNO IN THE 2ND HOUSE

Here, Juno moves like a seamstress. She threads her needle through your skin, stitches your worth into the lining of everything you touch, velvet glances, half-sipped silence, the weight of a wrist pressed into someone else’s palm. Love becomes cloth. Tangible. Measured in texture. You don’t just want to be chosen, you want to be kept. Wrapped in. Handled like something rare. But the pattern is old. You carry a memory of being appraised, not adored. Cherished for your function, not your form. And so you tighten your laces. Reinforce your hems. Offer yourself like a tailored coat: Will I warm you enough? Will I fit the shape you need? There is grief, sometimes, in how easily you offer comfort. And in how few ever ask what it costs you. But the soul’s promise isn’t to remain wearable. It’s to no longer confuse usefulness with love. To stop shrinking into garments that were never cut for your shape. You are not a fabric for others to wrap around their emptiness. You are the original thread. The heirloom pattern. The velvet of being that softens with time, not loss. And one day, love will come not to claim you, but to sit quietly beside you, palms open, asking nothing. Because the vow has changed. You no longer offer yourself to be used. You offer yourself to be known.

JUNO IN THE 3RD HOUSE

Juno here is a secret letter folded into the lining of your voice. It’s the vow you try to speak without knowing the language yet, the one you’ve been rewriting since childhood, every time someone interrupted you, misunderstood you, or loved you only for the version of you that kept quiet. Love, in this house, is made of syllables. Of late-night sentences braided with fear. Of conversations that begin with honesty and end with translation, you say truth, they hear threat. This placement carries the ache of being split between words and meaning. You learned early to speak carefully. To listen harder than anyone else in the room. To shapeshift into the dialect of the one you adored, mirroring their cadence, adjusting your tone, rewriting your truth to stay close. But your soul didn’t come here to echo. It came here to name. To speak not just to be understood, but to be real. And so, Juno in the 3rd doesn’t ask for a partner who’s clever. It asks for one who listens between the lines. Who hears the tremble behind your metaphors. Who doesn’t correct your grammar when your grief slips out mid-sentence. The vow isn’t just to communicate. It’s to unlearn all the ways you made yourself more palatable in love. It’s to stop translating your truth for someone else’s comfort. Because when you finally speak in your own accent, the one shaped by all your contradictions, the right one will answer without asking you to explain.

JUNO IN THE 4TH HOUSE

Juno here is not in the room. She’s in the walls. She’s the creak in the floorboard no one else hears, the chill that moves through the house when memory passes by. She’s the promise the soul made long before this life began: I will never build a home on fault lines again. There’s an inheritance in this placement, not of blood, but of blueprint. Somewhere along the lineage, love meant survival. Affection came with conditions. Safety arrived with silence. So now, you hold your breath around people who say “forever,” wondering if they’ve ever seen a foundation crack from the inside out. Love touches the most hidden part of you here. The part that flinches at softness. That rearranges the furniture of your heart whenever someone gets too close. That longs to be known but locks the door before anyone can knock. Juno in the 4th teaches that intimacy is not about history, it’s about shelter. Not about origin but return. The partner your soul remembers isn’t the one who lights a candle in your hallway. It’s the one who brings kindling to the storm. Who sits with you in the basement of your being, where the ghosts of childhood still whisper, and doesn’t tell you to be quiet. The vow here is not to create a perfect home. It’s to stop abandoning yourself in the name of keeping someone else warm. Because your heart was a house long before anyone asked to move in. And now, you remember: the light was always coming from inside.

JUNO IN THE 5TH HOUSE

Juno here lives in the orchard. She tastes like fruit warmed by the afternoon, like something that ripens just from being looked at gently. Love, to you, is a sensory thing, not romantic, not grand. Just the slow touch of presence. Just two mouths learning how to speak joy again. But there’s an old wound under this sweetness. A past-life ache that says: If I let myself feel too much, they’ll leave. If I shine too brightly, they’ll get burned. If I fall in love with the moment, it won’t last. And so, sometimes, you pull back when joy gets too close. You interrupt your own laughter. You brace for absence before the hand ever lets go. Juno in the 5th carries a deep knowing: love is not supposed to be a task. It’s supposed to be a dance. A delight. A sacred kind of silliness. And yet you may choose partners who tighten when they should loosen. Who intellectualize what was meant to be tasted. Who touch you like a concept, not a body. The vow isn’t to create beauty. It’s to become it without shame. To trust that joy can be an anchor, that presence can be a promise, that love can feel like honey, not hunger. When you stop questioning whether pleasure is safe you’ll find someone who doesn’t just walk with you through the orchard, but bites into the fruit beside you. Unafraid of the sweetness. Unbothered by the mess.

JUNO IN THE 6TH HOUSE

Juno in the 6th doesn’t speak in declarations. She moves through the day like a whisper in the spine, folding towels, refilling the glass, asking how you slept. Here, love is not a feeling. It’s a rhythm. A way of staying. But this placement carries the weight of past lives where devotion turned into duty. Where care was transactional. Where love meant overgiving, overfunctioning, outlasting your own body’s limits. So now, you may serve in silence. You may love through effort. You may fall for those who need fixing, mending, translating, as if love were a job you’re not allowed to quit. There is exhaustion here, if you’re not careful, a subtle erosion of self in the name of reliability. But Juno in the 6th is not about self-sacrifice. It’s about sacred calibration. About finding someone who doesn’t just show up on the good days but knows how to meet you inside the mess. Who doesn’t romanticize your strength but recognizes when you're running on reserves. The vow is simple, but profound: to stop proving your love by breaking your back. To let care be mutual, mundane, miraculous. To let someone hold the weight with you, not hand it back with thanks. Love here isn’t loud. It’s the dish still warm in the oven. The chair turned slightly toward yours. The kind of presence that doesn’t ask to be praised, only returned.

JUNO IN THE 7TH HOUSE

Juno in the 7th doesn’t just sit across the table. She becomes the table. The room. The atmosphere between two people when something holy and uncomfortable is being exchanged, not words, not vows, but recognition. There is a strange gravity here. A psychic pull toward the one who sees too much, too soon. The one who looks at you and accidentally unlocks an entire cathedral of memories. The one whose presence makes your own reflection unbearable or beautiful. This placement carries the memory of eye contact that changed you. Past-life entanglements. Silent contracts. Lessons in love that were taught through mirrors, not mouths. And so now, love arrives through the shape of the Other, the one who makes you real. The one who makes you recoil. The one who brings you back to yourself, over and over, whether you want to come back or not. Juno in the 7th is not asking for a partner. She’s asking for a witness. Someone who doesn’t leave when the projection shatters. Someone who understands that sometimes, the deepest intimacy is holding up the mirror and staying while the other one breaks. The vow here is to stop chasing balance. To stop confusing agreement with connection. To stop splitting yourself into halves just to be held. Because the real vow isn’t made to another person, it’s made in their presence, to finally see yourself clearly and not look away.

JUNO IN THE 8TH HOUSE

Juno in the 8th doesn’t make promises, she makes offerings. A name left at the river’s edge. A heartbeat surrendered in the dark. This is not love as a feeling. It’s love as initiation. There’s something ancient here. A soul-memory of bonds that went too deep, or not deep enough. Of giving yourself like an open wound and being devoured instead of held. Of learning, too young or in another life, that love could be a burial and yet still returning to the grave with flowers. This placement doesn’t want surface connection. It wants the bones of you. It wants to know what you look like without your coping mechanisms. It wants the version of you that cries without explanation and trusts that you won’t be left for it. You may find yourself drawn to those who awaken your grief, not to suffer, but to remember. To finally tend to the places inside you that intimacy abandoned. To stop guarding the vault and invite someone into the ruins. But the vow isn’t to fuse. It’s to undress, psychologically, spiritually, emotionally. To be naked in front of another soul and still choose to live. To no longer fear that love will end you and to know that if it does, it will be the death of who you aren’t. This is the house where love becomes a ritual of shedding. Where trust means letting someone walk with you into your own underworld and not asking them to save you. Because the ones who stay won’t just see your shadows. They’ll hand you the candle.

JUNO IN THE 9TH HOUSE

Juno in the 9th doesn’t knock on the door. She waits at the edge of the known world, lantern in hand, whispering promises through the wind. She is not the partner you recognize, she’s the one your bones remember before your mind catches up. Not a soulmate. A soul-echo. This placement hums with distance, not just physical, but existential. You may love those who live in other countries, other timelines, other states of becoming. Or those who remain slightly out of reach, suspended just above understanding, beautiful, untouchable, like a cathedral half-lit in fog. The ache here is not just for union. It’s for expansion. For someone whose eyes widen your cosmos. For the kind of intimacy that cracks open a hidden room in your psyche and lets the stars walk in. But this kind of love can also leave you untethered. You may mistake projection for prophecy. Wander from one profound connection to another, collecting revelations instead of roots. You may love through altitude, never quite descending, never quite staying. The vow here is to believe, not in another person, but in the version of you that emerges in their presence. The one who says too much. The one who loves without proof. The one who isn’t afraid to be foolish in the name of something vast and real. Juno in the 9th is the soul’s promise to trust the pull to follow the strange compass of chemistry and knowing, even when there is no map. Even when it takes you to the edge of your comfort and leaves you there with open hands. Because the kind of love you came here for? It doesn’t ask for certainty. It asks for faith.

JUNO IN THE 10TH HOUSE

Juno in the 10th stands on the roof at midnight. Not to be admired, but to be held up by something other than the ground. There’s a chill to this placement, not unfeeling, but exposed. Like a bell tower catching every echo. Like someone who learned, long ago, that love would come only after achievement. After proof. There’s a soul-memory here of being chosen for what you did, not who you were. Of being honored, but never known. So now, the heart builds scaffolding instead of sanctuary. You learn to love through accomplishment. You offer your competence like a gift wrapped in silence. But inside that posture is a softer vow, waiting. To not be turned into a role. To not become the version of yourself that earns admiration at the cost of intimacy. You may be drawn to partners who appear strong, composed, impressive, but love you only from a distance. From a pedestal. From behind a mask of mutual functionality. The connection is real, but the tenderness gets lost in translation. Because Juno in the 10th isn’t looking for status. She’s looking for witness. For the one who sees you when you’re off-script. Who knows how to stay when the world turns its back. Who walks into the room not to applaud but to kneel. The vow here is to stop proving. To let love come without an audience. To learn that being trusted is not the same as being seen. Because the most powerful thing you will ever do is take off the armor while someone’s watching.

JUNO IN THE 11TH HOUSE

Juno in the 11th doesn't fall in love. She drifts toward it like a signal broadcast across lifetimes, hoping the right frequency hears her hum. This isn’t romance. This is recognition from the outskirts. This is two souls orbiting the same forgotten dream, and realizing, mid-spin, they’ve met before, not in body, but in vision. You carry the memory of being alone in a crowd. Of belonging to a movement, but not a person. Of being celebrated for your ideas but starved for intimacy. So now, love feels safer when it’s abstract. When it has room to breathe. When it doesn’t ask for skin-to-skin closeness but soul-to-soul resonance. You may fall for minds before bodies. For friendships that slowly shape-shift. For those who carry a glint of the impossible in their eyes like they remember the same lost utopia you do, even if they never say it aloud. But the risk here isn’t distance. It’s dissociation. It’s confusing connection with concept. It’s mistaking collective love for personal touch, and forgetting that even the most cosmic bonds need warmth to survive. The vow is not to disappear into the dream. It’s to come back to earth with someone who holds the same sky in their chest. To learn that loyalty isn’t about ideology, it’s about presence. About knowing someone could choose anyone and still shows up, again and again, for you. Because in the end, Juno in the 11th isn’t looking for a crowd. She’s looking for the one who finds you in the static. Tunes in. And stays.

JUNO IN THE 12TH HOUSE

Juno in the 12th doesn’t wear a ring. She wears a shadow. She wraps herself around your aura like a forgotten melody, the kind that haunts you, even if you can’t place where you first heard it. This placement is not about partnership. It’s about surrender. About the kind of love that lives in the spaces between moments, the glance that lingers, the dream that repeats, the silence that doesn’t need to be filled. You may carry the imprint of hidden love. Of devotion unspoken. Of soul contracts that were broken before they could be named and so now, love feels like a riddle you can’t quite solve. You fall for ghosts. For feelings that arrive before their source. For people who slip through your fingers but remain lodged in your spirit. There is grief here, but also grace. Juno in the 12th asks: Can you love without possession? Can you stay open when no one is promising to stay? Can you believe in a bond you may never fully explain? The danger, of course, is vanishing. Becoming the dream instead of the dreamer. Waiting in the silence so long that you forget your own name. But the vow, the real vow, is not to lose yourself in love. It’s to trust that what’s real doesn’t always have a form. That the heart knows what language cannot hold. That even the invisible can be intimate. One day, someone will love you without needing to find you. And you will realize that you were never lost. Just hidden, until now, in the space where the soul whispers yes.

✨ Want to go deeper into the language of the soul? My book The Sky Within is a poetic guide to decoding the birth chart, now available on Amazon and all digital platforms.

[riddlesrizzler]

mattheo riddle x ravenclaw! reader

headcanons of mattheo with a ravenclaw! reader warnings: mattheo being a simp, mentions taking off clothing, smut, oral (male receiving), mentions of brattiness and brat taming.

love at first sight

𝘩𝘰𝘸 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘮𝘦𝘦𝘵

Mattheo had been moving through the narrow hallway of the Hogwarts Express as he was in search of the snack cart, two gold galleons held tightly in his fist as he rolls his eyes at a group of second years that push by.

He was getting ready to give up on finding the cart that held the delicious treats. Convinced that it was too far down the train for him to go and venture to, but when he turned to head back to his compartment, he swears all time had stopped around him.

In the compartment in front of him held three people. One being Luna Lovegood who had The Qibbler sprawled out in front of her. Ginny Weasley, who was preoccupied with turning her hair back to normal after one of the Weasley twins had given her a chocolate frog that was infused with some sort of potion to change her hair from red to green.

And then, there was you. Pressed against the window that displayed the Scottish countryside, with the white, chunky sweater which made you look beautiful, and a large book of sorts settled in between your two delicate hands. Completely engrossed in whatever words were written in the parchment.

He had never felt this sort of attraction before. Mattheo knew he was good looking, despite his last name, girls did not hide the dreamy expressions when he walked by. But out of all of the pretty girls that he had ever encountered, none of them seemed to hold a candle to the witch who didn't even notice he was there.

It was only when Ginny saw that Mattheo was staring into the compartment, when he realized what he was doing. He couldn't hear what Ginny was saying, but based on the scowl on her face, he knew it couldn't be good.

But whatever it was, was enough to gain the attention from your book as you looked up to meet the gaze of the slytherin boy who stood outside of the train compartment. Ginny could have called him every bad word in the book, but he didn't care, all that he care about was that you saw him.

He had made it his mission to talk to you once he arrived to school. He was determined to find out every little detail about you without it seeming like he was stalking you. By the third week of classes, Mattheo had your schedule memorized, you seating placements documented, and the paths that you took engrained into his brain.

It had been a month at this point since Mattheo had first seen you on the train. It was now four o'clock on a Thursday, meaning you would be at your usual spot in the library. Probably curled up with another one of those large books you toted around or biting your lip as you worked on an assignment.

Mattheo held himself with determination, he was finally going to talk to you. He carefully made his way across the library, his footsteps purposeful yet quiet as though he was trying not to scare a baby deer. When he finally made it to your table, you didn't look up. Too engrossed in whatever you were reading, so he cleared his throat.

He had almost forgotten why he had come over here in the first place as you looked up at him with your big, curious eyes. Taking a moment to recompose himself before he made a fool of himself in front of this divine creature, he had made up some excuse that he needed a tutor.

"um, I was actually wondering if you could help me in Astronomy. I keep getting my constellations confused."

Mattheo didn't really need help in astronomy but he was knew it was your favorite subject (he had to thank blaise for asking luna). You were quiet with your answer, as if you words were a source that had limitations but yet you still said yes.

For your first tutoring session, Mattheo had shown up an hour early due to his nerves, but when you made your way through the opening of the astronomy tower adorned in a dark blue sweater, he felt his nerves start to steady. As if just your presence enough was to ground him back to earth.

Mattheo realized that you mainly kept to yourself. Your words were never an accident, every sentence was carefully thought out, every vowel had some sort of meaning. You words were a gift whenever you opened your soft lips, a gift that Mattheo would give anything to hear more of.

By the third session, you had started to open up a little more to the slytherin boy. Talking about your day as you lean close enough to him to where your shoulders touch, making sure your astronomy book was placed between both of you.

Mattheo was relishing on his progress every time you seemed to open up more. Every time that you smiled that sweet smile, or when you laugh at his stupid jokes, the ones that he spent all day preparing hoping they would make that angelic sound come from your mouth, he felt like he was getting to see the real you.

By the tenth session, Mattheo had finally decided to confess his feelings for you. He took it slow that night, moving closer to you as the two of you sat on the bench. Listening to you ramble about one of the constellations that he should have been paying attention to, but he was too captivated by the stars that sparkled in your eyes whenever you got excited. He placed his hand on your cheek to make you turn to look at him, a soft smile of adoration gracing his lips.

there's no one like you nova"

𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘳𝘦𝘭𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘴𝘩𝘪𝘱

Throughout the relationship, the nickname, nova, stuck like glue. Mattheo claimed it was because you were brighter than any lame star in the sky.

Mattheo was sure to take the relationship thing slow with you after you had admitted that you had never been in a relationship before. Sure, you had kissed Ron Weasley during a game of spin the bottle your second year and you had lost your virginity to a fellow ravenclaw when you had decided that you wanted to get it over with, but you had never dated.

Mattheo wanted to prove how good a boyfriend he could be. He could be seen in the mornings carrying your books that you insisted you needed. Holding doors open for you, his hand around your waist, giving you a wink across the room when a professor would announce you had gotten the highest grade on an assignment.

"that's my smart girl, i'm so proud of you nova."

dates consisted of letting you read while he played with your hair for hours or taking you to the bookstore in Hogsmeade and letting you run loose through the aisles of old, enchanted texts that only you could love.

The longer the two of you dated, the more he found out about you as your walls seemed to disappear. He learned that you hated peas because they reminded you of fish eggs, or that your feet were always cold so that's why you wore fuzzy socks, or how you took your coffee with equal parts coffee and the other half creamer as you claim that it gives you an energy burst with the caffeine and sugar rush.

"i love you nova, but your coffee experiment is diabolical."

𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘦𝘹

Almost with how Mattheo had broken down your walls when it came to getting to know you, he realized he was going to have to take the same approach when it came to being intimate.

Every time his hands slipped under your shirt during a make out session or he started to kiss your neck, you would immediately shy away from his touch. He could see your brain overthinking every little step, the gears cranking behind your eyes.

He had made sure that you actually wanted to do this, and that you weren't doing this just to please him. You reassured him that you did want this but you didn't want to mess anything up. You were terrified that if you messed up, the one person who had gotten to see the real you would leave. Of course that would never happen, Mattheo would happily say wedding vows with you now, but besides the point, he wanted to make you feel comfortable.

The next time you and Mattheo had found yourselves in a steamy makeout session, he carefully laid you on the bed as he guided your hands over his to take off his clothes. When he was finally bare, you gave him a nod of approval for him to take your clothes off.

"let me see you nova, i want to see what a fallen star looks like."

The more you and Mattheo had sex, the more you opened up, just like he thought you would. Mattheo didn't rush you, he didn't need to as he felt like each moment he got with you was some sort of treasure.

Eventually, you found yourself being quite the brat. Growing more confident with your body and your words over time. Though Mattheo didn't mind the brat that came out of you every so often. Gods he thought it was the hottest thing in the world when you talked back, because not only did it mean that you felt comfortable and safe with him, it also meant that he could put you in your place, something you both enjoyed.

"not so bratty any more with my dick in your mouth, huh? that's it nova, such a good girl, even with your bad attitude."

Although you had captured Mattheo's heart from the moment that he saw you on that train ride, he had completely changed your life. Opening you up in ways that you could have never imagined (dirty and not dirty). You could not fathom life without the curly haired slytherin who still tells bad jokes, and he couldn't imagine his life without his star.

."every night, i look up at the sky and remember that no matter how dark the world gets, i have you- my nova, my brightest light. i don't just love you- i need you, i need you like the night needs its stars. without you, i'd be lost in the void."

[emotaeyongie]

It's Not So Bad, Is It? | i

business heir!Zhong Chenle x business heir!fem!reader

Genre: arranged marriage au, angst, fluff, eventual smut, non-idol au, series

Word Count: 1.8k words

Description: Who knew being stuck in an arranged marriage would get you here, with Zhong Chenle? It's not so bad, is it? It could always be worse. But with Chenle- it felt like hell.

Warnings: angst (with a good ending), neglect from family, reader and chenle are both emotionally unavailable freaks, swearing, smut, yearning, slow burn,

A/n: this is my first ACTUAL longass fic that isn't a text fic so like.. lmk how I did! no one requested this, this is purely me wanting a chenle arranged marriage fic bc i've read like five and i want more of them so like.. i'm making them. i'll be turning this into a series eventually! i just wanted to get this out of my drafts bc it's been sitting here for so long.

Being stuck in your family's business ventures has never been something you enjoyed, but something you merely endured. Growing up wealthy wasn't the worst, but dealing with your family from a business standpoint and never from a familial standpoint always got the best of you. It felt as though you were just another business ploy. Being the eldest meant you were always in the spotlight as well, while your younger siblings got the chance to be normal people. Something you never got to do. Will that ever get to change?

"What's this meeting for today? It wasn't even on my schedule until this morning," you ask, looking towards your cousin and CFO, Huang Renjun.

"I'm not too sure. I just know your parents planned it, there's no description of what it's about. It's not even listed as an emergency or anything," Renjun sighs, looking down at the calendar on his work phone.

"Maybe it's about your placement to become CEO of the company? I mean- your parents are getting a little old.." Renjun questioned.

"I feel like they would've mentioned that to one of us- and they're not that old Renjun." you chuckled, still feeling confused about the random meeting you were about to go into.

The two of you walked up to the company elevators before getting inside. Renjun pressed the right floor number to head up to the meeting rooms. As you both waited for the elevator to move you felt a pang of anxiety in your chest about the meeting.

"Do you think they'd fire me? What if I've done something wrong?" You ask, feeling a bit panicked.

"Y/n. What? Why would your parents fire the COO of their company who also happens to be their daughter?" Renjun looked to you, baffled by your question.

"I mean honestly, you run this company better than your parents anyways. They don't have a reason to fire you, so stop your panicking before it even starts, we don't have time for that." Renjun states.

"Right. You're right, Junnie. I don't know why I was worried." You say, realizing the thought was dense to begin with.

The elevator lightly pinged before opening up the doors and leading you two out into the hallway. You and Renjun made your way to the last conference room on the left and walked inside. As you sauntered into the meeting, you were met with the familiar faces of your parents, and three people you didn't entirely recognize. An older woman and a man, and another man, who looked to be your age. Your father quickly stood up, introducing you to the others in the room.

"Ah, finally! This is my daughter, Huang Y/n, my wonderful COO, and her secretary- and CFO, Huang Renjun, my nephew." Your father announced.

The rest of the room stood and held their hands out to you for them to shake. You shook the woman's hand first, as she introduced herself to you. "I'm Mrs Zhong, and this is my husband, Mr Zhong. I'm sure you recognize our names."

You nodded, going to shake Mr Zhong's hand aswell. "You're the CEOS of Zhong Inc, correct?"

The woman smiled, "Yes we are. and this is my son, Chenle, he's our company's CFO, and soon to be heir for our CEO position once we retire."

You turned to Chenle, going to shake his hand and he shook yours in return, although he didn't speak to you. You had heard about the Zhongs business for a long time, their company rivaling yours for generations. You were bound to meet eventually. Your father motioned for everyone to be seated so the meeting could begin. Renjun sat down next to you as you both exchanged a confused look, still unaware of the meeting's topic. Your father glanced to you before speaking again.

"Y/n, I'm sure you're wondering why I've called this meeting today, especially with no warning." Your father spoke.

"I'm guessing we're here to discuss business, no?" I quipped jokingly, still unsure of what was going on.

"Well, obviously. But it's probably not the type of business you're expecting." Your father fiddled with the wedding ring on his finger as he glanced between you and to the Zhong's.

"We've been competitors with the Zhong's for generations, you know this. And we've finally come to an agreement to join companies." Your father paused.

"And sweetheart, we know you've been waiting to become CEO for the longest time, and you've worked hard for it." Your mother chimed in.

You felt your skin crawl anxiously as you feared the direction this conversation was taking. You looked between your parents.

"What are you two implying?" You ask, on edge.

"We've arranged for you- as our heir- and Chenle- as their heir- to be wedded. That's how we've decided to affiliate our companies." Your father declared.

You felt your heart drop in your chest as your father finished speaking.

An arranged marriage?

"No. Absolutely not. Get one of my sister's to do it, I can't just marry someone!" You exclaimed, exasperated.

"I'm afraid you don't get a choice in this, my dear. Keep in mind, my son doesn't have a choice in this either. This is all for business." Mrs. Zhong spoke up.

You glanced to Chenle, seeing how the tight-lipped expression on his face remained cold. No wonder he didn't speak to you when you shook his hand. You looked to Renjun, as he shared your shocked expression.

"Is there any other way for our companies to merge?" You pleaded.

"This is the best way for our companies to merge, and it's the easiest way to win over the public. Plus this is the only way we'll grant you the position of CEO, Y/n. This is what you wanted, sweetheart. You know everything comes at a price, even this position." Your father conceded.

"How could you just agree to this? Father-" You asserted, feeling betrayed.

"This is simply how we've decided this company merger will go. I'm sorry you don't agree with it, but you know this is how business is."

"I mean, this is bullshit, Renjun! How am I supposed to do anything if I'm married? I don't even know Chenle!" You shouted angrily, sipping on a glass of wine.

Renjun slouched on his couch as you paced around his kitchen angrily, steam practically flowing off of you. "I don't know, Y/n. There's obviously no way out of this either, your father already said that. Maybe Chenle won't be so bad. Plus at the end of the day you'll finally be CEO and I'll take over your position. With how much time you'll be spending at the company you would barely have to deal with Chenle, anyways."

"I know I'd be too busy to interact with Chenle except when it comes to business. But it's the concept of it all! Do my parents really just see me as an asset to get more money? I mean- they never treat any of my siblings this way." You sighed, feeling deflated.

"You and I both know the answer to that question, unfortunately." Renjun ran his hand through his hair as he glanced to you apologetically.

"This definitely won't be easy for you, but you won't be alone. I'm your family and your secretary, I'll always be here to support you." Renjun stood and walked to you, placing a comforting hand on your shoulder.

"And we can plan a wedding! Wouldn't that be fun? We used to dream of doing that as children, remember?" Renjun quipped, trying to lighten the mood.

"I always hoped when we were planning a wedding it'd be when I'm marrying someone I love." You cried.

Renjun sighed as he pulled you into a hug as you started to cry more, the overwhelming day finally taking over you.

As the day of your wedding finally came you could feel yourself becoming colder towards the world, feeling as if your life was hardly yours. You had a few meetings previously with your parents trying to force you and Chenle to get to know each other before the wedding came. When it came to you and Chenle, it felt like the two of you had hit a stalemate. Neither of you wanting to know the other and only wanting to get it all over with.

Your father finally walked you up the aisle and led you to Chenle. Although the occasion wasn't ideal, Renjun really had planned the hell out of your wedding. It wasn't likely you'd be able to have a real wedding, but Renjun made sure the wedding was everything you wanted, even if you didn't get the love you wanted in the end. You and Chenle quickly exchanged your mock-up vows between the two of you. You both tried your best to look happy, as cameras and eyes were everywhere. Rings were exchanged between you as the officiant finished speaking.

"I pronounce you, husband and wife, Mr. and Mrs. Zhong. You may kiss the bride." The officiant smiled.

You and Chenle shared a chaste kiss, the only kiss the two of you would likely ever share. You felt disgusted, as did he, neither of you wanting to endure this wedding longer than you had to. You quickly separated, looking embarrassed, but played it off as feeling shy. The two of you making your way our of the wedding, walking down the aisle. You made eye contact with Renjun, as you both shared a sad, defeated look.

The rest of your reception went by in a blur, as you drowned it all out with multiple glasses of wine and soju, hardly speaking to Chenle the whole night, mainly conversing with your friends as Chenle did the same. As the night came to a close, you and Chenle got into your limousine, waving goodbye to your loved ones, as you traveled to your new shared home.

The ride was silent between the pair as the sequences of the night played over and over in their heads again. The realization finally dawned on the two of them. They were stuck together.

As the newlyweds finally put all of their belongings inside their new home the day had completely worn them out. You looked to Chenle, who looked too exhausted to keep up his cold demeanor.

"I'll sleep in the guest bedroom." You sighed, grabbing your things, ready to change out of your wedding attire.

Chenle nodded to you as you parted ways, settling into your new bedrooms. Once you got to your room you set down all of your items, quickly changing into your pajamas, feeling exhausted. As you lay down in your bed, you finally let yourself break. The tears immediately rushing down. You covered your mouth, trying to hide your cries as best as you could to avoid alerting Chenle.

All of this, just to become a CEO.

In the room next to yours, Chenle felt the same defeated emotions as you did. The both of you already feeling resentment towards each other, and your parents. It was the type resentment that grew like a disease.

[muddyorbsblr]

empty baskets

'one look and they'll know' collection masterlist See my full list of works here!

Placement: dating era; a few weeks after 'the warmest bed i've ever known'

Summary: Tom makes a concerning discovery on laundry day

Pairing: Tom Hiddleston x Reader

Word Count: 2.2k

Warning/s: steamy moments at the end; insecure Reader; mentions of previous cheating from exes; mentions of former toxic relationships [let me know if i missed anything!]

Things to be aware of: cinnamon roll bf Tomathy hours

The sound of the front door to his house closing alerted Tom of your return, a smile stretching across his face when you called out his name.

"In the laundry room, sweetheart. I'll be with you in a minute," he answered.

"Remember to separate your lights and darks." He could practically hear the amused smile on your face as you said the words.

His heart swelled at the comfortable humorous tone that you'd taken, at the familiarity that had woven its way into your exchanges, no matter how minuscule they might have been to anyone who would have been listening. After the scare of nearly losing you just under a month ago, he knew better than to take any moment with you for granted.

Tom dropped a final black running shirt into the load and was just about to start it, when he finally noticed what had felt off about this particular chore. What he had been feeling off about the past few weeks.

None of the clothes in the wash were yours. Not a single garment.

I must have missed them, he thought to himself, going through the other basket, brows furrowing together when he found it was just as empty as the one in his hand.

You'd been staying with him for the last two weeks, and he knew that you changed clothes. That was, at least during the times when the two of you were clothed in the house.

And yet despite that, he couldn't find a single item of your clothing in this room. Which led him to believe that you were keeping them in a laundry bag. Probably where you stashed your suitcase, in the entry way coat closet.

Only thing was that your laundry bag was nowhere to be found, and your suitcase was suspiciously heavier than it was yesterday morning. "Y/N?" he called out to you, unable to help the smile on his face when you peeked your head out from the study.

"What's up?"

"Anything you need to put in the wash, sweetheart?"

The confusion worsened when you shook your head. "Nope, I'm all good." And then you gave him a smile that was so strained it filled him with a sense of dread. The same kind of dread that he felt when he came home not two weeks ago to find you curled up in a chair, mumbling words that threatened to turn his world asunder had he not stopped you.

What were you hiding?

He made his way over to you, placing his hands on your shoulders, heart thundering in his chest when he saw the avoidant look in your eyes. Like you were desperately trying to scour your mind for a way out.

Just like you were that night he showed up at your doorstep. When you blurted out how you felt about him and promptly tried to take it back, denying you said anything at all. "You don't need to hide anything from me, goddess," he said carefully, pressing a tender kiss to your lips. "I want you to know that."

"My dirty clothes are in the Four Seasons, I have a room booked there to keep my things," you blurted out, the words rushing out of you with a sheepish look on your face. "That's where I went this morning, to grab a new set of clothes and…anything else I might need."

Tom took in a deep breath, unaware that he'd been holding it while awaiting your answer. A weight was somewhat lifted from his chest, though there was still the lingering fear that somehow part of this secret was in the form of another person.

It had happened before, with previous relationships. And while he felt that fear significantly less when you were around, it still lingered…and festered into something that had the potential to be crippling if it ever turned out to be true.

Even if it was fairly early on in the relationship, he knew in the depths of his soul that this would be his last. You would be the one he spent the rest of his life loving, the one he would build his future with. And whether that future entailed marriage and children, it no longer mattered to him.

What mattered, all that mattered, was that future would have you.

"Why?" he asked, silently pleading that the answer wouldn't involve his worst fears. He couldn't take that. Not from you.

"It's for…just in case," you said, barely audible. Your eyes began to mist over as you started trembling in his hold. "For if…and when…you get tired of having me around. Then I wouldn't have to scramble for a place to stay. Because it's already there prepped and waiting for me."

Your words completely stole the air from his lungs, quite possibly even stopped his heart. Tired of you? You did this because you were bracing yourself for the day he would tire of you?

"It happened before," you spoke again, choking the words out as you visibly fought against what he had no doubt were haunting memories from relationships past. "Long before, but still…it sucked. Not having anywhere to stay for a few hours, calling friends who suddenly pretended I was nobody to them because they took my ex's side. Calling hotels that were fully booked. I just wanted to be sure."

Suddenly your actions around his home filled him with a heartbreaking clarity. It wasn't just your clothes.

Not a single item on the bathroom counter was yours. You even kept your toothbrush in a little bag. 

The meticulous way you'd place back every item in his study and pack away all your work in your tote before putting it in the entry way closet with your suitcase. He simply thought you were being tidy.

But it wasn't that simple.

Other than your very presence in his arms now, there wasn't a single trace of you to be found in this house. Everything you had here wasn't just easy to pack up in five minutes to have you out the door.

You wouldn't even need five seconds.

He couldn't think of what else to do at that moment other than pull you into a desperate kiss, weaving his fingers into your hair and holding you tight against him with his free arm. The tension that held on to his heart with a vice grip lessened somewhat when he felt your lips moving with his, your own hands grasping at the fabric of his shirt to bring him in even closer.

How could you not know that this was precisely where he wanted you? Always?

"I could never tire of you, goddess," he sighed against your lips when he broke the kiss. "I love you."

"I love you, too," you answered him with the faintest sniffle. "I need you to know that none of this is on you. You did nothing to make me feel this was what I should do, this is just…leftover self preservation. I don't know how to be any other way."

Tom took your hands in his, pressing a kiss to your knuckles. "Perhaps we can find a new way together," he proposed, placing one last kiss on your ring finger. The one he wished to place a ring upon one day.

It didn't matter when.

He motioned towards the bedroom, threading his fingers between yours to lead the way. "Come with me. I want to show you something."

There was a slight guilt that pinched away at his heart, realizing that you never even so much as peeked into the closet or the dressers. Because if you had, you would have seen it sooner.

You would have seen that he'd set aside half the dresser storage, and half the closet.

He was so overtaken with the joy of finally having you with him, he failed to see the signs that you hadn't been moving as if you lived with him. You moved like a scrupulously careful guest in his home, making sure everything was exactly as it was before you arrived.

Always ready to leave at a drop of a hat.

When the light turned on in the walk-in closet, Tom could hear the air leave your lungs the moment you that half of the racks were empty. He held your hand as he opened the drawers on the empty side, showing you that they, too, had nothing inside.

"You're not a guest in my home, Y/N. I--I know that it might be too early for us, but I want more than anything for you to see this as our home. I can understand if you're not quite ready yet, but I want you to know that there's space here for you. I don't want you to have to throw away money for a hotel room that isn't even slept in."

"Money isn't an issue," you mumbled, your eyes still fixed on the space he'd freed up for you. When you eventually tore your gaze away, he could see the tears that were welling up. "It's just…I've taken care of myself for so long. It's all I know. No one I was with ever cared--"

"I care, sweetheart." He pulled you into his arms, sighing into your hair when he felt you return his embrace. "And I understand you wish to take care of yourself, but perhaps I could care for you, too?"

Your only response was to nuzzle your face against his chest, before nodding against him. "Maybe we can take care of each other."

He kissed the top of your head, leading you out the closet and reaching for his phone, already placing a call to his assistant. "I'll send for someone to retrieve your belongings from the Four Seasons and settle the bill. You don't have to unpack everything if you're not ready, but at least they'll all be here. And I know you mentioned that money isn't an issue for you, but it doesn't sit right with me knowing you're spending so much on an unused room."

A soft smile finally graced your features, and you visibly looked more relaxed as you agreed to his proposal. "Fine. But next time we stay at a hotel I'm paying."

"It's a date," he said, bringing your joint hands up to kiss the back of your hand.

A tiny smile tugged at the corner of your mouth as you sat on the floor of the closet, your carry-on splayed open beside you as you carefully placed your clothes in the open drawers that Tom freed up for you. Our home, his words replayed in your mind. The mere thought threatened to overwhelm you.

He really is trying to ruin me for everyone else but him, you thought to yourself, your mind wandering back to that note you buried deep in the vaults of your phone. You were seldom one to let your guard down anywhere other than your home, where every security measure had triple the redundancies just to make sure that vulnerabilities were minimized, if not eradicated completely.

In your line of work, the one starkly outside the path that brought you to the man you love, it wasn't just a "nice to have" to have multiple measures of security. The alternative was to be in a constant state of alertness. To always be ready to fight your way out.

You never knew there could be another way. A way where there were no backups, or backups for your backups. A way that no longer involved having a place ready for you in case you got kicked to the curb because your boyfriend decided to finally take up the offer of the office succubus.

Before you knew it, the carry-on was empty, other than your run of the mill weapons of choice for self-defense. But you decided against placing that anywhere within reach, instead zipping the compartment closed before closing and locking the luggage.

There was no need for it here.

The door to the closet opened, the sight of your boyfriend walking in wearing only a pair of grey sweatpants making you smile and bite your lip. "Well hey there," you greeted him, placing your hand in his and letting out a little giggle when he helped you to your feet before pulling you into a kiss.

"Just need a few more pieces to put in the wash, darling," he murmured against your lips. "Four, to be exact."

He worked his hands under your shirt and pulled it over your head, proceeding to work his way under the waistband of your joggers.

"Three…" You held on to his shoulders to keep upright, a teasing smirk on his face as he hooked his fingers underneath your panties. "Two…" In one smooth motion, he tugged them downwards, both garments falling to your feet, your boyfriend letting out a sinful guttural sound when you were bared to him.

Then your feet left the ground, him lifting you by the backs of your thighs and coaxing you to wrap your legs around him as he brought you back into the bedroom. He laid you down on the bed, lustful darkened blue eyes raking over your body before he reached for the waistband of his own sweats.

"One…"

A/N: Where can I order one of these cinnamon roll Tomathy-shaped boyfriends? Asking for myself--

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[inkedinfusions]

𝐞𝐛𝐨𝐧𝐲 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐠𝐨𝐥𝐝 | geto suguru chapter 1

⊱𖤓⊰ | In which you, a thief, meet the lost prince of the kingdom.

── ★ ˙ ̟ . ⚜️ .ᐟ.ᐟ masterlist

next–⊱

𝟎𝟏 | 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐟𝐭

chapter word count: 4.1k

content warnings: normal warnings for the tangled movie lol

a/n: HAPPY BIRTHDAY TWIN!!!!! He is ooc in this because he isn't racist ☺️ Anyway, I'm going to take this opportunity to thank P for not complaining when I send them Geto edits and when I rant about jjk. New chapter comes out tomorrow! 

Thanks for reading!

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐖𝐈𝐍𝐃 𝐁𝐋𝐎𝐖𝐒 𝐓𝐇𝐑𝐎𝐔𝐆𝐇 your hair as you gaze upon the kingdom below you, the morning sun bathing the colorful houses all around. It is by all means a perfect day; the sky is clear, the air is warm, and you are about to be one of the richest people in the land. 

“Hey!” exclaims the voice of your partner, snapping you out of your daydreams. “The view is nice and all, but the longer we stay here, the higher the odds we get caught.”

“Since when have you ever cared about getting caught?” you ask, walking towards where Satoru stands. “I can recall at least five times where we almost got busted because of your idiotic tendencies.”

“But my dear Y/n, what you don't understand is that I have transformed into a new person,” he says. “My recent sabbatical really helped me ground myself in this–”

“You mean when you got caught and had to serve time until I helped you escape?”

“As I was saying! I am nothing but a law-abiding citizen, bound by the values of this kingdom.”

“That is the biggest load of bullshit I have ever heard,” you say, tying the rope around your torso. “And I deal with you daily.”

You open the panel that sits directly on top of the stand that contains your objective. You scoff at the placement, wondering what dumb soul decided to compromise the circlet’s security with multiple removable panels. Still, if this piece of wood hadn’t been here, your job would be all the more difficult. And most normal people do not account for thieves on the roof.

“Yeah, keep talking and I’ll drop you,” Satoru says, gripping the rope to which you are attached. 

You choose to simply stick out your tongue rather than retort, for you are already being lowered into the hall and you’d rather not alert the guards prematurely. After you had the circlet, all was fair game. 

You would never say this out loud, but you are very thankful it was Satoru who botched one of your firsts jobs when you were teenagers. You were nimble, too gangly to steal anything big, but smart enough to manage on your own. Then Satoru entered the picture and something clicked. 

The boy could have chosen to leave you behind and escape himself, but instead he chose to create a distraction so you could escape too. You had left that job with no valuables except for a new partner in crime and a change in name, courtesy of Satoru.

The story went like this. In the middle of the job you both had bickered over who takes what, him calling you Starlight when you refused to give out your name, you calling him Six Eyes when he tripped over a bump in the carpet in the middle of the hall. This had continued until guards started to pursue you, and in the confusion, had christened you with those names on your new and shiny wanted posters. 

Those didn’t come until much later, when both you and Satoru were rising fast through local murmurs, and he threw a fit when your insult for him had taken the form of his identity. You didn’t mind, as you were completely comfortable with leaving Y/n behind, with only Satoru calling you that as a result of exchanging names in a show of trust. Which takes you to the situation at hand. 

The throne room you are being dropped into is lavishly decorated, full of banners with the royal crest, a circle that contains four swirling lines that converge into the small circle in the middle, symbolizing the sun. They are painted gold and a dark purple, almost blue, which combines with the stained glass windows that line the walls. 

You are carefully lowered by Satoru until you reach the stand placed in front of the thrones, where a royal circlet stands, the key to your newfound lifestyle. It is gold, lathered in jewels that range from dark amethysts to indigo sapphires, but it is surprisingly light when you pick it up. 

A guard sneezes and you get the wonderful idea to mess with them a little bit. Satoru couldn’t fault you; you were only following his example. 

“Bless you,” you say politely as you tug on the rope to signal Satoru to lift you, circlet already in your satchel.

“Thanks,” the guard says, unbothered. You snort when he whirls around moments later, managing to catch only the soles of your boots as you make your escape on the roof. 

You laugh as the guard shouts at you to wait, but you’re already sliding down the walls of the castle, making a quick getaway through alleyways and unused roads. You pivot on a corner, grabbing Satoru by the arm so he isn’t caught unprepared for the sharp turn, and he hoists you up to a roof when all the roads are blocked by guards. 

“So much for not getting caught, huh?” Satoru shouts at you while you make your escape to the nearby forest. 

“That’s my bad,” you respond, a grin betraying your lack of guilt. “Besides, look how productive we’ve been! It's what, eight? And we are already set for life!”

Satoru rolls his eyes as you dart through the foliage, amusement evident in the creases of his face. “I never want to hear you complain about my recklessness again.”

You shove him with a smile, when two posters nailed to a tree catch your eye. If the faces didn't spoil it, the names sure do; Starlight and Six Eyes, wanted dead or alive. Now, personally, you would prefer to not be caught at all, but it was nice that alive was still an option. You just have one grievance. 

“Geez. Does my hair look that frizzy to you?” you ask Satoru, ripping the poster of the tree and holding it next to your face for comparison. He shrugs, to which you call out his name with force.

“What? I didn’t draw that,” he says. “Why are you mad at me?” 

“Oh, it's easy for you to say,” you answer, ripping up his poster and waving it around. “I guess the illustrators must have a crush on you or something, because this looks like–”

“Like the real me? Thank you very much, it's genetics.”

“No dumbass, like a weird, exaggerated fantasy of a fairy tale prince,” you say.

Satoru snorts. “Please, as if a prince would ever affiliate himself with us.”

“True. Hey, aren’t those the Curses?” you ask, pointing to another poster depicting two guys, one with an eyepatch and another covered in stitches. “I didn’t know they escaped.”

“Oh shit, really?” Satoru grimaces. “All the more reason we need to lay low. I doubt they’ve forgiven us for that little stint we pulled at the port.”

“No shit, you nearly decapitated the guy–!” 

You are interrupted by the neigh of a horse, and when you whirl around you can see the head of the royal guard charging towards you and Satoru. You are quick to stash your poster in your satchel and to follow him deeper into the forest, dodging arrows as they are fired from crossbows. 

The guards do not slow down, and their horses only seem to get closer to you by the second, so you send a quick glance to Satoru and you both nod. He pivots left and you pivot right, buying a few seconds of confusion from your entourage. 

You’ll find him again—you always do—but in moments like this, crucial seconds can make the difference. An added bonus is the way one of you will help the other if they get caught, although now that your target was the royal palace and not some rando’s house you doubted your punishment would be something as simple as jail time. 

So you sprint through the forest, up hills and around spiky bushes as you try to lose your pursuers. And of course, with your rotten luck, the head of the guard has decided you’re the bigger threat, being the one with the satchel where the circlet is stashed, so he is now after you instead of Satoru. 

You hear the horses neigh just as you slide underneath a fallen trunk, barely dodging arrows meant for you. A stray vine almost makes you trip, but the adrenaline coursing through your veins replenishes the air in your lungs fast enough for you to keep running as fast as you can. 

Your eyes dart around, looking for anything that could stop at least the horses from pursuing after you. You weren’t confident in winning against them, but you could totally outrun the guards on foot. There, in the distance, a tree stands tall in the middle of your path, blocking off the free space at its sides.

You grin, grunting when you manage to jump through its branches, before you resume your sprint. You are tempted to let out a whoop, although all your hopes are crushed away when you glance back and notice the chief is still hot on your trail. 

Somehow, with the rush of adrenaline still in your blood, you manage to climb up a tree on the edge of the foliage. The chief doesn’t have time to think when you lunge at him from the tree, effectively knocking him off his horse and taking it for your own. 

You let out a gloating laugh, which is quickly extinguished when the horse stops dead on its tracks. It turns to look at you, and its eyes shine weirdly in the sun, making its pupils seem almost golden colored while its white pelt turns almost rainbow where the sun hits it.

“Go,” you say with urgency. “Come on, lets go–”

The horse cuts you off when his—his?—eyes zero in on your satchel, and he starts doing strange twirling movements to both get you off and grab it, somehow knowing the circlet is hidden there. His eyes dart from it to you for a moment, lunging for it at the same time you try not to lose your equilibrium. 

“Wha—Hey! Stop it!” you exclaim as the horse starts to twirl and jump and move forward. It is in one of those movements that the satchel flies away from your hands and into the cliff up front. 

You exhale when it is caught by a strangely large branch that stretches out into nothingness, and from there on, it's a battle between you and the horse to get to it first. Satoru would mock you if he could see you right now, something about fighting your equal or such leaving his mouth as he struggles to maintain his composure. 

But this horse plays dirty. It chews the edges of your pants, trips you, anything to bring you down. You use your nimbleness to elude the majority of his attacks, but just as you are about to reach the satchel, the branch cracks and snaps, sending both of you plummeting down to the forest below. 

You scream as you fall down, losing your grip of the branch when a rock from the cliffside splits it in half. You grunt when you land on the grass, managing to roll off what could be grave injuries, before quickly getting on your feet and on the move. That horse would not give up, so you either needed to regroup with Satoru or find a place where you could lay low. 

Thuds alert you before you see the horse again, so you duck on the side of a rock, crouched in between it and a wall covered in vines, and wait for him to walk away. You hold your breath as he somehow loses track of your scent and heads to the other side, maybe in search of its rider. 

You straighten up when he leaves, walking backwards in order to maybe grab some vines and climb the wall. Only that the wall is not really a wall. 

You yelp when you fall through, but your instinct makes you step inside the hidden cave when the sounds you made signal the horse of something in the vicinity. You watch as he moves around, his figure easily distinguished by the shadow he puts off against the vines. Your shoulders tense, but this time he leaves and you think it's for good. 

“Why did I–?” you ask yourself when you check your satchel and notice the wanted poster next to the circlet. You shrug and stuff it back down, heading deeper into the cave. But like the wall not being a wall, the cave is not a cave, and so you walk towards the light, expecting a small clearing or a skylight. 

You couldn’t be more wrong when you finally come face to face with the view, stealing what little breath you had left.

The valley surrounded by mountains is lush with green, multiple small ponds and grass patches and trees dotting it at random. In the end there is a waterfall, and the sound of water flowing calms you down, but even that can’t compare with the true star of the scenery. 

A magnificent tower stands tall in the middle of it all, with vines climbing all over its foundations, hit just the right way by the sun that peeks from above. It is beautiful, yes, but also the perfect place to hide. 

You dash across the valley, running side to side with the river flowing down from the waterfall. You take out stray arrows that had somehow found their way to your satchel—stashed by Satoru probably, as his idea of a prank—and manage to climb up the wall of the tower, using them as leverage to get you up. 

You grunt as you do this, lamenting that having your partner with you would probably make it easier, but you press on, seeing the window—not the door because of course it couldn’t have one. Noo, everything just had to be difficult—and just so managing to throw your body over it with your last whispers of strength.

You close the shutters with a bang, finally having time to catch your breath. Ha! you think. “I’d like to see you climb that,” you murmur with a grin, not even perplexed by the fact that you are beefing with a horse. Then you feel a quick flash of pain on the back of your skull and everything goes black. 

You are rudely woken up by a weird sensation in your ear, making your eyes snap open as you shudder. Chills run through your body as you notice you are tied with a weird ass rope to a chair, which, if you didn’t know better, is reminiscent of black, ebony hair. 

It can’t be hair though because a, it is not possible for someone’s hair to be that long, and even if they didn’t cut it their whole lives, it wouldn't be as silky. And b, because hair doesn’t change colors when light hits it, and this strange black fiber is interrupted at times by golden strands that turn black again when it shifts in place.  

You follow the rope—hair?—with your eyes, until your surroundings get too dark for you to distinguish it, only catching glimpses of gold when it shuffles. Okay, pause. Shuffles?

“What the fuck?” you ask out loud, breaking the silence you had found yourself in.

“Struggling… struggling is pointless,” a man’s voice answers from the darkness, prompting you to look in its direction. “This is not your turf,” he continues, which only makes you more confused. Is he chiding you for trespassing his home?

“Look, uh, sir,” you start, spinning a lie as fast as you speak. “I’m just a weary traveler–”

“I don’t believe you,” the voice cuts you off, and the owner’s clothes rustle as he stands, coming into the light. “Who are you and how did you find me?”

You are momentarily stunned by him. He looks about your age, with a deep indigo vest over a long sleeved cream shirt. His pants are the color of burnt umber, held in place by a lighter brown belt. But his clothes are nothing compared to the man itself. 

Maybe it's your taste in people, but even Satoru cannot compare with him. His eyes are the color of deep purple, swirling with galaxies in its iris, framed by long, black eyelashes. His face is as sculpted as some of the most impressive sculptures you’ve ever seen, and his eyebrows frame his features perfectly, black like his hair. 

But his hair is not pure ebony either. You note that it is the same thing that is binding you to the chair, proving right your earlier supposition of it being hair. Now that you know its hair, it's all the more interesting. It's black and gold and everything in between, and where the lights hit the top of his head, it seems to glow. 

“Find you?” you ask confused after a beat. “I didn’t—are you on the run too?”

“On the run?” he repeats, eyes narrowing. “So you are a criminal then.”

“Okay, first,” you say, extending your pointer finger, “criminal is a hurtful label and totally not true–”

“So this wanted poster isn’t yours then? Starlight?” 

He waves a crumpled up paper around, and you catch a glimpse of the same poster you had ripped from the tree earlier. 

“That's not mine…” you immediately deny, trailing off when you realize you don’t know his name.

“Suguru,” he says. “Don’t wear it off.”

“Well, Suguru,” you say, “if you could just graciously let me explain—Wait, where did you get that? That was in—” You curse mentally when you notice your satchel isn’t with you anymore, wildly looking around the room you find yourself in. “Hey! That was in my satchel! What did you do to it?”

“I hid it,” Suguru answers, a small grin finding its way to his face. “Somewhere you’ll never find it.”

You scan the room with your eyes, your brain automatically registering any and all places, both obvious and not, where the satchel could be stashed. In the corner of your eye you notice a strangely placed pot, which, combined with the guy’s apparent lack of common sense, tells you it's the perfect hiding place.

“It's in the pot, right?” you dead pan, gesturing to the pot with your head. 

You hear a clang and everything goes black again. 

“Ow!” is the first thing you grumble when you regain consciousness again. “Keep going and I’ll have no brain cells left, princess.”

“I am neither a princess nor a girl,” Suguru says, narrowing his eyes. “Don’t call me that.”

“Yeah, whatever,” you respond. “Where then, is my satchel?”

“Now it's somewhere you’ll never find. But no matter,” he continues. “The real question here is what do you want with my hair?”

“Your hair?” You let out a small, unbelieving laugh. “Believe me, the only thing I want with your hair is to get out of it. Literally,” you finish, gesturing to your binded wrists as a way to emphasize your point.

He raises an eyebrow, like he somehow can’t accept that you aren't here to steal his hair. Wow, it sounds ridiculous just thinking about it. He circles you with his weapon of choice, an old pan, walking in and out of your field of vision. What weird hermit’s house had you broken into? 

“You don't… want to sell my hair?”

“Why the hell would I want to do that?” you say. “Look, I was in a hurry and in need of a place to stay. I saw a tower, I climbed it, and now I’m here. End of story.”

Suguru looks you up and down, weighing your words now against the obvious lies you told him at the beginning. “You’re being genuine,” he finally says. 

“No duh,” you answer, recoiling when he points the pan at you and a small lizard stands on its edge, glaring at you with its slimy eyes. You freeze, following its movements with your eyes when Sugure takes the pan back, retreating to the darkness. 

He turns his back to you, slightly slouching down to talk with… is that the lizard? On his shoulder? Man, this place is just getting weirder and weirder by the second. He mumbles, and you only manage to catch truth and strangely fangs.

“Okay then, Starlight,” he says. “I’d be willing to offer you a deal.”

“A deal?”

“Yes. A deal.”

You watch as Suguru climbs the fireplace, your chair coming dangerously close to toppling over when he moves his hair to shift you in his direction. Your eyes are now more or less used to the lack of light, so you use that movement to look around. The walls of the tower are completely covered in paintings, ranging from people doing various things to multiple objects strewn about. 

“This,” he says, revealing a mural covered by a curtain, “is what I want to see.”

The scene is that of a night sky framed by a forest, with who you assume to be Suguru perched on top of a tree. The night sky is filled with lights and you quickly recognize what it is he is referring to. 

“You mean the lantern thing they do for the prince?” you ask.

“They’re lanterns?” he questions, looking back at his paintings. “In retrospect, it's kinda dumb to think they were stars, huh?”

“Stars don’t move,” you say. “Nor do they only appear once a year.”

“That's what I said!” he exclaims, turning to you. “Well, it doesn't matter. Tomorrow these… lanterns will appear and I want you to escort me to and back from the light show. Then, and only then,” he emphasizes, “will I return your precious satchel. Do we have a deal, Starlight?”

“Yeah, no,” you say, much to his dismay. “I’ll get lynched if I come as close as five meters from the kingdom. That is not a figure of speech.”

He looks you up and down, chewing his bottom lip, contemplating. “We find ourselves at odds then,” Suguru says. “You can’t leave without your satchel and I won’t give it to you unless we have a deal.”

“I don't know what brought you here,” he continues, jumping down from the fireplace’s mantle. “A poet would say fate, others would say destiny—”

“A horse did.”

“But against all common sense,” he says, completely smoothing over what you said, “I have made the decision to trust you.”

“You are right,” you say. “It is against common sense to trust me.”

Suguru scoffs, using his hair to bring your chair closer and closer to him. “So in return, you can trust me when I say that you can destroy this room, tear the tower brick by brick,” he says, punctuating each statement with a pull. “But without my help? Oh, you never find your precious satchel.” 

You huff, looking down to escape the drilling holes of Suguru’s gaze, his face so close to you you swear you can see entire galaxies in his eyes. You meditate on your options for a moment; it's either lose what you almost gave up your freedom to get, or possibly get sent to the gallows for stealing from the royal family. 

“You’re not going to budge, huh, princess?” you ask after a beat, relishing in the way the corner of his left eye twitches when you call him by the nickname. 

“What do you think?” he retorts, tiling his head to the side with an irritated grin.

You hum, taking in his question. “Can we compromise on me giving you directions?”

“No.”

You groan. “What? There's, like, nothing out there that could harm you. Notice how I'm talking about you here?” you say, craning your neck to get closer. “With me, however, it's a given I’ll end up next in line to get hanged.”

“Not my problem,” he says. “If the poster is anything to get by, then you probably deserve it.”

His words would cut more if it weren’t for the fact that you’re pretty sure he is extremely sheltered, and so, he doesn’t know neither your life nor the context in which it was written. So you simply shrug and sigh, ready to accept his deal. Hell, maybe you could show him something to be scared about and he’ll abandon his childish quest of seeing the lanterns. 

“Fine,” you say, not missing the slight twinkle in his eyes when you agree. “I’ll take you to see the lanterns or whatever. And then you'll give me my satchel.”

“Deal,” Suguru says with a grin.

[guzhufuren]

hi!! i was hoping you could help me find a ql to watch w my sister, im looking for one that is comedic/wacky, i tried searching and only found dramatic shows. i like your sense of humor, so i trust u with funny business lol

i made you a list of my favourite ql comedies! since you like my sense of humor, i picked those that got a belly deep laugh out of me many times. all those are either comedic on purpose, so absurd they become comedic and total crack, or just tv shows that have incredible humor at times

sorted in the order with funniest ones placed on top, country placement included. i'd start with 1-4, they are a safe bet to laugh lots. heads up, 1, 10, 13, 16 have darker or angstier elements later on. only one gl because it's still a developing genre and has much fewer options for now. sorry that i don't have gifs for newer shows

overall in this list we got ancient chinese romcoms, mafia bread kink, gay seizures, identifying missing people through sneezing, omegaverse mama-papa kink, and so much more crazyass shit

Comedic QL Shows

China 🇨🇳

1. Meet You At The Blossom period drama; fantasy; scum lead/sunshine lead

A young lord of marriageable age meets a cold-blooded assassin. Jin Xiaobao, the cheerful heir of the wealthiest family in Jiangnan, sees a beautiful woman fighting in a forest and falls in love with her at first sight. This “woman”, however, turns out to be a disguised icy young man named Huaien. When Huaien learns who Xiaobao is, he hatches a plot – hoping to use Xiaobao's feelings for him to access the Jin family's riches. But his plan backfires when Huaien starts to develop real feelings for Xiaobao.

YouTube or GagaOOLala or iQIYI or Viki (switch to chinese dubbing on yt and iq)

Japan 🇯🇵

2. Love Is Like a Poison lawyer/conman; cohabitation; partners

An elite but socially awkward lawyer takes in a genius con artist. Together, they secretly solve complex legal cases using unethically obtained evidence.

Netflix

3. Ayaka is in Love with Hiroko! wlw; office setting; age gap; misunderstanding

Ayaka, a young office worker, is madly in love with her senior team leader, Hiroko. As Ayaka tries to make her attraction known, Hiroko consistently misreads the situation, thinking that Ayaka is a straight girl.

GagaOOLala

4. Mr. Unlucky Has No Choice But to Kiss! lucky guy/unlucky guy; university setting

College student Fukuhara has bad luck that causes problems everywhere he goes. One day, Shinomiya, a student with super good luck, helps him out. Now, in order to divide the luck between them, Fukuhara needs to be with Shinomiya all the time.

Viki or GagaOOLala

5. Cherry Magic!   mind reading; secret crush; office setting

By still being a vіrgin at 30, Adachi gains a magical power – the ability to read other people’s minds by touching them. At first, he’s overwhelmed by his new ability, and it’s not proving to be helpful to him. But that all changes when he accidentally touches their office’s most perfect guy Kurosawa, who he learns has romantic feelings for him.

WeTV

6. Kieta Hatsukoi (My Love Mix-Up!)   misunderstanding; high school setting

Aoki has a crush on Hashimoto, the girl in the seat next to him in class. But he despairs when he borrows her eraser and sees she’s written the name of another boy — Ida — on it. To make matters more confusing, Ida sees Aoki holding that very eraser and thinks Aoki has a crush on him!

Viki

7. What Did You Eat Yesterday established relationship; growth; food

The story follows Shiro and Kenji, a middle aged gay couple living in Tokyo. Shiro is a serious and reserved lawyer, while Kenji is cheerful and outgoing hairdresser. Shiro's regular routine is that after work, he buys groceries at a mart, goes home and makes dinner for himself and Kenji.

S1 & New Year Special & movie & S2

8. A Man Who Defies the World of BL breaking the 4th wall; comedy; university setting

It suddenly dawns on Mob that he lives in a BL world! So he must turn down any hot guys who approach him.

Viki or GagaOOLala (S1) & Viki or GagaOOLala (S2) & Fansubs (S3)

South Korea 🇰🇷

9. Love Tractor farm setting; farmer/city musician

Sunyeol, a city man with zero ability to survive in the countryside, comes to his grandfather’s rural home. In front of him appears Yechan, a passionate and kind young farmer. While learning about rural life and assisting with farming tasks, Sunyeol gradually finds himself drawn to Yechan’s warm and straightforward nature, while Yechan helplessly falls for Sunyeol.

iQIYI

10. Boys Be Brave! perfectionist/chill slacker; secret crush; roommates

Giseop is Jinwoo's slacker friend - and secret crush. So when Giseop asks to crash at his place, his heart tingles to be near him everyday. But as the short stay turns into permanent mooch, how long can Jinwoo keep his true feelings under wraps and hold back from confessing?

Viki

11. Choco Milk Shake animals turned to humans; roommates

One day, two handsome strangers enter Jung Woo’s house and claim they are Choco and Milk, the reincarnation of his childhood pets, a dog and a cat. The arrival of the two embarks on a new beginning and the quest to discover love.

YouTube

Taiwan 🇹🇼

12. See Your Love injured rich man/caretaker; deaf character

Zixiang is sent to Taiwan for business negotiations but gets attacked. He hires Shaopeng to take care of him, and takes this opportunity to escape from his family responsibility while also falling for Shaopeng. Zixiang's assistant Jonathan acts as a stand-in for his boss, and Xinjia, the assassin hired to get rid of Zixiang, repeatedly fails to take out his target.

GagaOOLala or Viki or iQIYI

Thailand 🇹🇭

13. KinnPorsche mafia boss/bodyguard; action; kidnapper/kidnapee side couple

Kinn, a son of a prominent mafia head, is ambushed by an enemy, and meets Porsche, a bartender who comes to his rescue for a price, thus beginning their reluctant relationship as boss and bodyguard, which soon turns into something more.

iQIYI

14. Wandee Goodday doctor/boxer; friends with benefits; fake relationship

Because of a broken heart and drunkenness, doctor Wandee becomes involved with boxer Yak and their relationship develops from friends with benefits to something more profound.

YouTube

15. Knock Knock, Boys! roommates; ensemble show

Four boys move into a sharehouse and get closer after getting drinks. Almond makes a wager with his three roommates. If one of them manages to hook him up with his crush, he'll cover one year of their rent.

WeTV

16. My Stand-In stuntman/rich heir; scum romantic interest; transmigration

Stuntman Joe didn't realise that his lover Ming had always seen him as another man's replacement. Joe, reincarnated into another's body after an accident, reconnects with his ex Ming, who was looking for Joe for a long time.

iQIYI

17. Pit Babe omegaverse; alpha/alpha; car racing

Babe is the number one race car driver and an alpha with special abilities who only has sex with other alphas. Nerdy naive alpha Charlie approaches Babe to ask for his help to become a racer himself. Babe agrees to help Charlie realise his dream, but it will come with a price.

Uncut on iQIYI or cut on YouTube

*You can also watch most of these shows for free on KissKH

[sillytheta]

@fairyblue-alchemist decided to put this in a post of its own bc it was getting FAR too long for a comment lol but just. beware. there is a lot here (A LOT !!!!!!!!) fbdjshanan

HI MARI !!!!!! BEAMS AT YOU SO WIDE ILYSM !!!!!

okay so ☝️ earlier this morning i rewatched the music video for one of will wood's songs called 'love, me normally' (comma placement is important i promise!!) and i am. still thinking about it this mv makes me CRAZY every time....

okay so basically. 'love, me normally' is the second to last song on will wood's 2020 album called 'the normal album' (it was remastered last year!! now under the name 'the new normal' with the new version being rerecords of the original songs and includes some live in studio demos of some of the songs on the album!!) and the thing with ☝️ second to last songs on will wood albums is that these songs always feel like they Should be the end of the album it's very inchresting...

(the rest of this is under a cut for good reason!!!! this got incredibly long I'm very sorry fbdhdbd but under the cut i yap about the major themes of the normal album (little sidenote on suburbia overture), how 'love, me normally' ties into these, and the imagery in the song's music video :D)

the second to last songs are usually the climax of the themes explored throughout the album (the normal album follows a major theme about conformity, and there's a bit of tradition vs. progressiveness that's pushed in there as well... a lot of will's music follows themes of mental illness as well due to his own experiences and that is Also very present in the normal album it's just. augh it's SO peak) and the last song is usually quite a bit more reflective and different in character to the rest of the album (the final song on this album is called 'memento mori'!! you Might recognise some bits of it?? the remastered edition of memento mori makes a reference to the layout of will's albums being Like This so it's nice to know that it's on purpose :3)

ANYWAY. anyway. i have gotten this far without even talking about the song yet what... so anyway :3

'love, me normally' is the climax of this theme of conformity - the narrator (who is probably just supposed be will wood himself but i'll call them The Narrator just to avoid confusion lol) pushes this idea that they just want to be loved for Who They Are, instead of needing to change to fit into societal standards

(this comes back to the comma placement i mentioned earlier!! the first song on this album, 'suburbia overture' (you may have noticed me losing my mind over this song many times i love it so much) has different names for each of its sections, and the final section is called 'love me, normally'! note the comma being in a different place this time - 'suburbia overture' works as. well. as an overture for the whole album (who would have guessed??) and this final section of it uses the same motifs as 'love, me normally' goes on to use later in the album :) the different placement of the comma in this title places more emphasis on 'normally', which ties into the theme of normality and conformity introduced in the first two sections of 'suburbia overture', which also sets the theme up for the rest of the album)

GOD SORRY THIS IS GETTING LONG........ nearly done i promise :) now going to talk about the music video :)

(took a Big Ol Break from writing this as i had the Dreaded Things To Do Today... i've reread what i've written but just. apologies if anything sounds Disjointed it has been about 8 hours </3)

so!! you can watch the music video here if you're interested :) it is SO fire i love it so dearly (warning for flashing lights/flashing images/eyestrain!)

the scenario the song is put into is that of a talk show!! this is interesting from the Very Beginning i like to think :) the little wwatv (i believe this is supposed to be a play on the commonly-used acronym for will's band, will wood and the tapeworms!! (i could yap about the tapeworms forever i fear but. different can of tapeworms for a different time......) it makes me very happy) graphic at the beginning (i keep meaning to screencap this and use it as my laptop background...) says that this is Televised Live! which just highlights being in the Public Eye... being Perceived... could tie into an idea of Everyone Watching Your Every Move (another theme that's explored in this album!! listen to '...well, better than the alternative' for me please <3 also the mention of mary bell township in this graphic ties it back to what's set up in suburbia overture and links into what i just said too i wanted to mention this bc i love this callback but didn't know how to put it in djahkdha)

so. the Talk Show. one Interesting Thing that happens almost straight away is that after will is introduced by the talk show host and walks on, he confidently puts forward his left hand for the host to shake, while the host offers his right hand... social blunder? or representative of will's failure to fit into societal norms? (THAT SOUNDS SO MEAN I JUST. YOU KNOW WHAT I MEAN LMAO)

so! very quickly this Talk Show Facade (english lit flashbacks... i've been yapping about facades for the past 2 years...) falls and it becomes a Performance... becomes will's Stage... the viewer watches him come more into his element as this facade drops and this is shown to you through pretty much everything in this section of the video - one part i particularly like is the musicians! there are three other musicians in this music video (who i'm pretty sure are some of the original members of the tapeworms!! mario conte my goat forever and ever <3) and they play the intro of the song as will comes on... it looks very passion-less (? you know what i mean)... but as the tone shifts they visibly become much more passionate and happy and it's just. i love watching it every time :)

now then. in the middle of the song will has a little monologue (now this is the part of the song where i like to talk to my audience...) which i love very dearly <3 i mainly wanted to focus on what Happens in the video at this point just because it's so good......

up to this point the Talk Show Setting has become Increasingly Strange. we've had lighting changes, rats on the interviewer's table (i believe they're will's own pets!!), and additions of many many decorations (the flowers are a personal favourite <3) but ☝️ at This Point!! when we get to the quicker part of the monologue!! it all devolves into Chaos. bright neon lights....... decorations go Crazy..... they rope the interviewer into it all...... the band fucking jumps on each other??? ykw hell yeah- but! throughout all this we keep switching Back To the original setting where we started...... with the interviewer doubled over on his desk and fucking dying..... people in the comments of the music video interpreted this as the facade continuing to break, i like to think it has something to do with the stifling of individuality that this song deals with but in? reverse?? if you know what i mean??? like the Vulnerability (?) that we're shown in this song (THE BIT BEFORE THE FINAL CHORUS. HELLO. I WON'T LYRIC DUMP BUT. AUGH) is far too much! far too different! for this society that we're shown time and time again throughout this album... and it just. fucking kills him. i guess.

BUT !!!!! EVEN THOUGH THE SONG IS FINISHED !!!!!!! WE'RE NOT DONE YET !!!!!!

the best (see: most emotionally devastating) part of this music video is Right At The End !!! turns out that the talk show host Was Not In Fact a talk show host... he was in fact will's psychiatrist. this whole thing !!!!! has been an appointment with will's psychiatrist. drives me CRAZY EVERY TIME

there are Millions of things in this Final Scene of the music video that kill me dead so i will try and sum it up quickly. basically at the end of the song with the piano outro it's a Gradual Fade between will sat at the (fake?) piano in the Talk Show and will sat in the psychiatrist's office, just playing the air piano... idk what it is about this shot but it makes me fucking CRAZY..... maybe it's the fact that it's just his hands?? we don't see will's face until he sits back and the psychiatrist starts talking... but even then you just Can't Name the expression on his face and it makes me. omfuckingcheese. augh. augh augh augh

so. the psychiatrist is a Little Bitch (PROBABLY NOT. BUT THIS IS HOW IT COMES ACROSS) and just. dismisses Everything will has said in the song. calls the symptoms 'normal' (FUCK !!!!!!!) for people with cluster-b personalities. and the only thing he really does is say that he'll increase the medication and they'll have another appointment......... it's just. i just wanted to SAY this bit because really the scene does the talking for itself it's just. augh.

special shout-out to the Millions Of Pill Bottles on the psychiatrist's desk that we see here because i always notice them and it always makes me crazy... we actually saw these pill bottles before because they were added alongside the one million decorations onto the talk show host's desk but they're only Just in frame it's very easy to miss them.....i haven't thought much about what this could mean but it could be the Real World seeping back through maybe??

i think the fact that it's So Many is also significant... with how the psychiatrist mentions boosting the medication and will just having No Reaction to it in the final scene could imply that they've just done this So Many Times... it's always this back and forth... this sense of frustration with the established system (especially in terms of mental health and those associated services) really comes through in a few songs in this album ('marsha, thankk you for the dialectics, but i need you to leave' is one that comes to mind) so i think this could be supporting that idea for lack of a better phrase ajsldasdlj

ANYWAY !!!!!! THAT IS MY YAP ALL DONE !!!!!!! i have no idea how long this has gotten but it was over 1000 words last time i checked......

if you've read all this way thank you very dearly!! i promise i am a normal and functional human being who enjoys her interests in a way that is not disconcerting to people around me. look into my eyes. i promise

it is nearly 11pm as i type this final bit so. i'm not sure how much sense a lot of this makes. i hope it is Coherent at least <3

i wrote this in a way that i hope will make sense to my friends who are unfamiliar with will wood and what he does so a lot of this is probably just. surface level lol there's probably not really anything Groundbreaking here i just had a lot to say </3 as is evident </3

anyway thank you for reading!!!! i love you!!!! this has been your reminder to listen to the normal album <3

[ilack3]

Katsuki Bakugou

A bit more exposition to the original

            Explosion

That was the word tattooed on my flesh forever, and to make things more difficult it was right down my spine in bold and delicate crimson characters. In a language completely foreign to me which I later found out was Kanji. The small outline of an explosion on my right thigh did help give context clues though.

I doubt I ever would’ve crossed the ocean if it weren’t for those characters and I thank them for bringing me here. If not for the obnoxious visibility perhaps I could’ve ignored them like everyone else. My sister was lucky hers was written in small letters behind her ear, out of sight and out of mind no need to chase the burning, ever present, curiosity.

“This could all be a mistake,” the towering building(s?) glared down at me harshly, “there are good hero schools back home, it's strange showing up midway through their second year.”

Anxiety bubbled under my skin making me all jittery, they had finally opened up Japan to outsiders after Star's death. I had been recommended to this program by all of my professors perhaps because they wanted to get rid of me. It was a gift though. Here I am standing at the gates of UA Hero Academy.

The sheer size of the UA high school was still amazing, compared to the school my parents desperately wanted me to stay in. They still hope that I moved to Japan for an opportunity to train with the best heros, we all know that isn’t the only reason.

Those letter brought me more then I could’ve ever desired. More friendships that will last a lifetime, knowledge from hundreds of different perspectives and backgrounds. It brought me him, even thought I never really had him. 

I am in my last year at UA high school now, class 3A and graduation is just around the corner. Life couldn't be better, besides the fact that my soulmate despises me with the fiery passion.

        Is it my fault? 

        Maybe. 

He should know my quirk by now, unless he has a different mark. 

        Have I shown him my marks? 

       No, not intentionally.

       Have i been hiding them on purpose? 

       Kind of.

       It's not completely uncalled for, may be incredibly handsome but he's a jerk-

A loud voice cut through the air shouting my name distracting me from my thoughts, “Hurry up, we have to finish training so that we can have enough time to get ready!” Mina exclaimed from outside the locker room.

“I'll be right there!” I shouted back and finished zipping up my new spring hero suit, the only difference being that it was a bit more revealing, the back was mostly sheer except for the strip of fabric covering my little soul mark.

After exiting the locker room my friends were instantly confused. “why did you change your costume, it's not summer yet?” 

“We don’t really have seasonal suits in California so I’m trying to figure out which I want to be my go to.” I smile softly as sad expressions cross their faces. They knew I was leaving after graduation but this was just another reminder of my approaching departure.

Momo breaks the silence, “Well I suppose we'll have to advantage of the time we have left with you!” She smiles brightly, and so they did, at least they planned to. 

After entering the training facility we were overwhelmed by unfamiliar faces. Mina whispered into my ear, “What’s going on?”

“Don't ask me.” The crowd parted to reveal Aizawa standing on a pedestal. Saying something about cooperating with new hero. He then proceeded to pair us up as competitors.

He called each one of out by name then I heard it, the thing I had been dreading since the moment I heard the explosive bang echo through this very room for the first time, he called my name, “you’ll be up against Bakugo.”

My heart dropped to the deepest part of my stomach. The staff knew of my predicament, having been forced by law to report the placement and contents of my marks. Aizawa knew that our quirks would do little when paired with each other. I knew I wouldn’t burn when the force of his power struck me but I still flinched at the thought. The terror stemmed from being caught in my web of deceit. Deceit that was only there to keep the resentment he bearded against me away from the image he had of her. The girl that his soul longed for and desired, to maintain the fire that burned inside of him for her was at the center of my web. A web of crimson desire.

We met up with our teammates to discuss and strategize. 

“Alright I think it’d be best of Blue Blood, your focus is on dynamight since your water can combat the fire in the explosions.” They nodded in agreement somehow i managed to pawn him off to someone who could actually do some damage with their quirk, nice. It would definatly be a shock to the others considering they all think I have a water based quirk. 

Not long after we were called onto the platform to fight. It seems their approach was the exactly what we had in mind, his focus was solely on me. That same grin that he wears in anticipation of his awaited victory, I could practically smell his sweet aroma as the light from his small explosions illuminated his face in such a brilliant way. 

The announcers gave the signal to begin and so chaos ensued, a bright light surged towards me. Color burst out out of my hand effulging his fire and redirecting it to my chosen opponent, poor thing tends to overheat easily, a fire based quirk. Goes by the name dragon, he can make fire balls but only has a few in him before he gets heat stroke this should expedite that. Soon enough out match went exactly as I had planned he was now distracted by Blue Blood and I was able to take my opponent out by using his quirk against him, he was taken away and put into an ice bath immediately after the fight. Then that left my two teammates to face the beloved Dynamight while i took over the other “extra.” Sadly he had been able to take them both out with one of his gauntlets and just like that it was only the two of us the wounded or out of commission were relocated for their safety. 

But what do you do when you know that youre about to be caught red handed. You fight so hard that you dodge every attack. You get in close enough so that youre forced to do damage the only way you can, with close combat. 

And so the attcks came one after another dodged or redirected with an equal amount of power. Stark contasts, Brilliant blue light masked by water in the midst of ferocious orange explosions suffocating then into grey clouds of smoke. Until I was able to get in close the big one struck only managing to shove me back leaving no scorch marks or visible injuries. Spectators gasped and colective whispers were heard throughout the audience then the smoke cleared showing her standing up straight without a blemish on her body.

The last minuite addition of fabric going down from the crook of her neck had started to burn and begun to expose her mark. Before she could process what had happened she was infulged in heat again, burning her the one peice on the back of her costume furthur.

He saw it and couldnt look away, even after she had covered it he was stuck. Time stoped in the worst possible moment his eyes widened and his hands fell at his sides. For the first time she had seen him speech less. 

“Bakugou…?” she stepped forward half expecting him to throw another attack at her, but he just stood there like a kicked puppy. And so they stayed there for the longest minute of her life. Until she threw an attack at him trying knock him out of his trance to no avail. 

She tried again and again pleas falling onto deaf ears, she tried to uncover his right spine to see if it was imprinted with something of hers, again to no avail.   

“Are you gonna fight or not? I know youre upset, but fight me god damn it! Finish!” She threw endless amounts of power at him anger seeping through and making each attack even more intense.

Yet he refused to fight instead still trying to process the new information. He had spent his entire childhood looking for her, and she was hiding from him, refusing to show her quirk so that he remained oblivious. She fought and fought they were there for what felt like hours but he remained uninjured, she was only tiring herself out. Finally, out of his head, he fought back sending a large explosion towards her only the wind threw her back but again not a hair on her head was scorched. His usually angry demeanor returned as he realized that she never intended for him to find the truth, they were soulmates. She had flown across the ocean to find him and yet kept this secret to herself.

Finally, the guilt began to leave her as he finally let out his frustrations onto her and she finally decided to fight back, each attack laced with so much emotion that it might have been mistaken for a dance between lovers, a new type of art made to showcase the strengths and weaknesses of man. She allowed herself to get hit over and over, so much so that the spectators winced every time they heard another boom. The practice space filled with smoke until blue hues erupted and water began to dance around them absorbing the sound and power from the weaker explosions, her telekinetic abilities causing her eyes to glow. They continued going back and forth for hours until they were close to collapsing.  Both panting she began to lose consciousness but she managed to get out, “I never wanted to hurt you….” Her powers gave out and her once floating body began to descend at a quick rate, those around them gasped but no one cared enough to reach out and try to save her. With his last bit of strength he propelled himself towards her, catching her just  in time and moving her hair from her back in order to solidify the information he had been told, and there it was the name of his quirk written in beautiful crimson kanji going down her spine. That was the last thing he had seen before his vision blurred and eventually turned black.

please feel free to leave notes

[nightowl9914]

For Keeps

Word Count: 1086

Thank you again @foxycrafterofgreenwood for requesting again! If anyone would like to request, please do! I love writing and getting requests help me not go into writer's block haha.

Summary: Street and his secretary girlfriend (y/n) are adopting a little one after a case.💘💔

It started with a door kicked in.

A hostage situation in the Valley. A woman and a baby trapped by her armed ex, an unstable man with a long history of restraining orders and a short fuse. 20-David moved fast, clearing the apartment in seconds. But not fast enough to save the mother.

She was gone before they reached her.

Street didn’t have time to grieve—not when Deacon found the baby crying in the next room, hidden in a half-collapsed crib, shivering in a sweat-soaked onesie.

Nine months old. No name. No family on scene.

Street stepped in first, slowly kneeling beside the crib. His heart squeezed as the baby looked up at him—big brown eyes filled with confusion and dried tears. He wasn’t even wailing anymore.

Just quiet.

Resigned.

Street reached down, scooped the boy into his arms, and held him close.

“Hey, buddy. It’s okay. I’ve got you now.”

🍼🍼🍼🍼🍼🍼🍼🍼🍼🍼🍼🍼🍼🍼🍼🍼🍼🍼🍼

Hours later, the baby was asleep in a SWAT jacket on a couch in the break room.

Street refused to leave his side.

“No one’s come for him?” Y/N asked softly from the doorway. She’d left her desk when she heard the team had returned, bringing a child with them.

She wasn’t just the SWAT secretary—she was the glue. She managed the schedule, kept Hondo on track, reminded Luca about lunch, and left sticky notes for Tan’s appointments. More than that, she was Street’s person.

They had been together for over two years, and while he still sometimes stared at her like she was a miracle—soft, curvy, grounded in ways he wasn’t—she never stopped seeing the wounded boy beneath his cocky smile.

And right now, that boy was holding a baby like he’d never let go.

“No one’s claimed him,” Street muttered, adjusting the baby against his chest. “Mother’s deceased. Father’s not listed. No next of kin on the lease.”

Y/N stepped closer, her breath hitching as she took in the sight of Street, disheveled and vulnerable, holding something so small.

“He’s just a baby,” she whispered.

Street nodded. “They’re trying to find a foster placement tonight.”

“And until then?”

“We wait.”

🍼🍼🍼🍼🍼🍼🍼🍼🍼🍼🍼🍼🍼🍼🍼🍼🍼🍼🍼

They waited. And waited.

No CPS worker arrived. No emergency contact. No placement.

Y/N made a bottle. Street changed a diaper with a grimace. Hondo eventually poked his head in and muttered, “You two seem to have it under control.”

By 7 p.m., Y/N stood behind Street with her arms crossed. “Let’s just take him.”

Street blinked. “Take him?”

“To our place. He can’t stay here. He’s exhausted. You said they’re short on homes, right?”

Street hesitated. “You’re serious?”

Y/N glanced down at the baby snuggled into Street’s chest, tiny hand gripping the collar of his shirt.

“I’m serious,” she said softly. “We’ll figure the rest out later.”

🍼🍼🍼🍼🍼🍼🍼🍼🍼🍼🍼🍼🍼🍼🍼🍼🍼🍼🍼

And that’s how it began.

One night turned into two. Two turned into four.

The first few days were a blur of bottles and 3 a.m. rocking and trips to Target for baby things they never imagined needing. They made space in the guest room. Y/N took time off work. Street cut shifts short when he could. Neither of them got much sleep.

But neither of them seemed to care.

Because somewhere in the middle of formula stains and teething and lullabies, something shifted.

This wasn’t temporary.

They stopped calling him “the baby.” They started calling him Henry.

🍼🍼🍼🍼🍼🍼🍼🍼🍼🍼🍼🍼🍼🍼🍼🍼🍼🍼🍼

On day six, the call finally came.

“We’ve located a placement. The case worker will be there at 10 a.m.”

Y/N froze in the kitchen, holding Henry in her arms. The baby cooed and leaned against her shoulder like it was home.

Street stepped into the room seconds later, phone still in his hand. “They’re coming.”

Y/N didn’t speak.

“I thought I’d feel… relieved,” Street said. “But I don’t. I feel sick.”

Y/N’s arms tightened around Henry. “What if we asked to keep him?”

Street blinked. “You want to?”

“I think I already do.”

There was a long pause.

Then Street nodded. “Let’s do it. Let’s tell them we want to be considered for adoption.”

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The team’s reaction was mixed.

Shocked, mostly.

“Are you serious?” Luca asked, mouth full of donut.

“Dead serious,” Street said.

“Damn, man. You skipped dog-parent and went straight to dad.”

But the support was instant.

Tan helped build a proper crib. Deacon offered parenting books. Chris cried when she met Henry. Luca brought the baby a custom SWAT onesie. And Hondo?

Hondo gave Street a long, measured look and finally said, “I don’t think I’ve ever been prouder.”

Even Hicks mumbled something resembling approval.

🍼🍼🍼🍼🍼🍼🍼🍼🍼🍼🍼🍼🍼🍼🍼🍼🍼🍼🍼

The process was long. Months of background checks, home visits, and social worker interviews. But every day, their lives fell into a rhythm that felt like forever.

Street came home earlier. Y/N learned the power of naps. Henry learned to laugh when Street kissed his feet. His first word was “mama.” His second was “truck.”

One night, after putting Henry to sleep, Y/N stood in the hallway in one of Street’s T-shirts, her arms crossed under her chest.

“He’s really ours now, isn’t he?” she whispered.

“Not yet,” Street said, stepping up behind her, “but soon.”

She turned to him, eyes wide. “You ever think you’d be somebody’s dad?”

Street rested a hand over her heart. “Only when I met you.”

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On adoption day, the courtroom was filled with 20-David.

Y/N wore a soft lavender dress that hugged her curves and made her glow. Street held Henry in his arms, both of them matching in tiny black button-ups.

The judge looked over the paperwork. “You understand this is permanent?”

Street didn’t hesitate. “We’ve never been more sure of anything.”

When the gavel came down, Y/N burst into tears.

Henry clapped.

And Luca let out a loud “WOOOO!” before Hondo elbowed him in the ribs.

🍼🍼🍼🍼🍼🍼🍼🍼🍼🍼🍼🍼🍼🍼🍼🍼🍼🍼🍼

That night, back home, Y/N sat with Henry asleep on her chest.

Street knelt beside her on the floor, resting his head against her leg.

“He chose us,” she whispered. “He was meant for us.”

Street kissed her knee. “So were you.”

She looked down, smiling through her tears. “You really think we’re gonna be good at this?”

Street stood and pressed a kiss to her temple.

“Baby,” he said, “we already are.”

🍼🍼🍼🍼🍼🍼🍼🍼🍼🍼🍼🍼🍼🍼🍼🍼🍼🍼🍼

And in the quiet that followed—the kind of quiet that holds warmth, not fear—they knew one thing:

This wasn’t borrowed. This wasn’t temporary.

This was love. This was family. This was forever.

For keeps.

[angstigone]

 je t'aime, je t'attends

(A/N): how many times did you listen to «ma meilleure ennemie»?

me, starts to cry again

(but aside the jokes, I wrote this a whole lot of of months ago and then forgot because I thought it sucked but wanted to post it because the whole episode seven awakened something in me) (it's called delusion)

WARNINGS: what if au, mention of devil and violence and gore, mention of deadly car incidents.

Aki startled awake, at the feeling of a hand seeping through his brain that felt far too real.

He immediately made quick work of trying to control his breathing, sadly used to such a thing as nightmares weren’t an uncommon occurrence, especially in his line of work.

What wasn’t common at all was the slight rustling among his sheets.

Had Meowy found its way in his bed again? 

Or was it any of the other two troublemakers?

He tended to sleep alone, aside from the exceptions mentioned above. 

Still, there was something different in the air, the smell of it more specifically; it did smell somehow of somebody else, a different detergent to the slightly stale feeling of the unaired room.

He didn’t have to wait long though for the feeling of unease and edge to intensify as his hand moved into a defensive stance, ready to come at whatever creeped out of his own bed late at night.

«Babe».

He recognized that voice immediately, although there’s a dissonance to the word you used to referwith him. 

You are a fellow member of Division Four, somebody who hadn’t addressed Aki as anything but ‘sir’. 

He thought for a moment that he might have heard you wrongly, especially with the amount of time he usually spent daydreaming about you. 

Still, there was another question in his brain: what were young doing in his bed?

«… had a nightmare, again?».

Your voice was slightly edged with drowsiness and a quick look at his alarm - it’s his alarm so he was indeed in his apartment - revealed that it was past midnight.

What were you doing in his bed at 3 a.m. in the morning?

«Aki?».

«What… what are you doing here?» he muttered breathily as he finally turned to face you.

You looked homely in your attire with your hair slightly smashed and the imprint of the pillow wrinkled into your skin, lightly lighted by the moon outside.

It was you, even through the barely filtered light, Aki felt like he might have as well recognized you everywhere he went and there was no doubt that it was you.

You didn’t react badly at his question, although it was rude, you simply adjusted yourself so that you could exit the cocoon of blankets all around you.

Aki had been sure that you’d be a blanket thief since he had first seen you cuddle up to poor Kobeni when they had fought the Eternity Devil.

In the dream, he had been fighting another devil but he couldn’t remember the name and the more he put effort into it, the less he could visualize…

«It must have been a pretty awful nightmare if you are so confused as to not recognize your own partner in bed with you».

Your tone was tentative although a bit teasing as you came closer to him and although all of Aki’s instincts were sounding the alarm - not only he didn’t understand what was going on, but the person he had been aching to be with was about to touch him -  he relaxed as you gently pulled back his hair, beaming in the warmth of your body till it hit him.

«Partner?!».

Now finally concern settled into you as if you were finally taking Aki’s confusion as serious.

«Yes, Aki» you answered with a slight huff «… of three years also».

The same three years in which you had been colleagues… you had actually been lovers?

«I.. I…» he couldn’t think straight and made a bad attempt at it, he almost tripped from the bed, rushing for the bathroom - and he was happy to see that hadn’t changed its placement - and turning to you with one last look «… need to use the … excuse me».

Once inside, he locked himself as he heard you answer him ‘to take as much as he wanted’ and ‘that you’d be ready to talk with him whenever he wanted’, and at that he crumpled against the door like a leaf in autumn. 

What was going on?

Was this another dream? 

And yet, the sensation of your touch made him feel like this was the reality. 

A reality when you were together? 

You barely spoke and although Aki had an inkling that you admired him, it wasn’t… like that between the two of you. 

No matter how much he wanted it and no matter the ‘what if’s or …

This had to be a prank.

And yet as his eyes went down to his hands, after he switched on the light to find the sink and splash a bit of water on his face, he noticed that they were… smoother. 

He didn’t have a single of the scars that he got upon feeding the Fox Devil his skin. 

His face also looked much more relaxed and as he went up to raise his pajama, he noticed that he didn’t have the most recent of his scars, the one against the Katana Man.

What the fuck?

Was it possible that he had dreamt up the reality with the devils? 

And that you were possibly his own girlfriend, trying to comfort him from a nightmare. 

An occasion that happened often enough that you seemed to know how to handle it?

It’d… it’d be a dream.

His own reality was a dream.

He splashed water on himself, still unsure of what to believe and especially insecure of how to approach you, as he didn’t remember anything of your relationship. 

This couldn’t be a prank, though, as you had always been too sweet for that, always chastising them when they’d make fun of poor Kobeni.

You were good and Aki was your boyfriend. 

And he had just woken up from a nightmare.

Even if this was some strange dream that felt too real, Aki thought of taking full advantage of it as he decided to finally face you and he found you slightly hunched over on the edge of the bed, with your face focused on the door to the bathroom. 

Although you hid it quickly, your concern for him was immediate and Aki didn’t want to make you worry.

«Sorry» he hummed as he came to you and although it felt awkward to hug you, he still tried, startled when you returned it without a single hesitation, latching your arms around his neck and bringing him to your level «The dream… it was… tough».

«Was it… was it about the incident?» he should have known better, but he still reached out to ask.

«What… what incident?».

Your eyes brightened with worry but still you answered.

«The one… the one in which your family died, Aki» although there was no way to sweeten the pill, you still spoke gently and softly «I thought that as the anniversary came close to it… well, it might be causing you some stress…».

«I… yes, sorry I… am still shaken» he used it as an excuse «… no, it wasn’t about that… it was more… fantastic… something about devils and devil hunters…».

«I told you not to watch that movie with Power!» you promptly exclaimed as finally glee took over your pretty face «You act all tough, Hayakawa, and yet a few gory scenes get you!».

He indulged in your genuineness as you separated from the hug and he sat beside you, his hand gently brushing against your own, not close enough to be holding it but simply enjoying the sensation of your pinkies touching. 

Then it hit him, you had mentioned Power.

Power existed in this universe.

And she wasn’t a fiend, if you had thought him dreaming about devil and hunters was a movie fantasy.

«Yeah, I… I mean… I thought I’d have better guts, you know?».

«Better than Power, the little girl who forced me to accompany her to see “The Texas Chainsaw Massacre”?».

Aki slowly tried to note down every information as he also tried to have his brain function while you were touching him. 

Which proved to be more difficult than he had originally thought.

«… you wouldn’t believe that somebody at fifteen..».

«Power is fifteen?» again, he should have known better to shut up as immediately your concern showed up again in your face and the screws in your head worked miles per hour as you regarded him positively concerned «… I mean shit… she’s already fifteen!».

You didn’t lower and neither untighten your steely gaze on him but somehow your smile became gentler.

«Yeah, you’d never guess how old she and Denji have already grown, considering that we have been fostering them only for a few years!».

‘Fostering’.

You had been fostering Denji and Power?

 Of course, his mind - whether this reality or the dream were real - would have those two troublemakers in it, alongside with you.

«… not going to lie, I am still scared shitless of doing anything wrong with them, but you know what?».

«What?» your eyes prompted him to speak more and he had to close his hand by his side so that it wouldn’t gently raise your face to his eye level.

«I am glad I got to do it with you» and as if a cat, you went to gently nuzzle Aki’s neck affectionately as your hand went to gently grip his waist so tenderly. 

And in all truth, Aki couldn’t care less what was going on as he, instead, felt himself break against you. 

A normal life, that’s what he seemed to have.

One where he was able to hug you as you joked about your foster children’s weird habits in bed.

“If this is a dream, I want to stay here” he pleaded with whoever had sent him here “... please let me stay here”.

«Want to try to sleep?» you asked, probably noticing that Aki was slumped against you «… we can discuss your dream again in the morning».

He nodded, as he gently went back to bed, not realizing that he had brought you with him, till he felt the heat of your body against him; albeit he still felt a slight sheen of embarrassment, he thought that he’d take full advantage of this, being selfish for a tiny bit of time. 

So, he clutched you gently, cradling you in your arms as if you were a precious thing and after a moment of hesitation you settled onto his chest. 

How could Aki not feel better when you held him so gently and loved him so deeply?

Even if it was just a dream, he got the best sleep ever.

—

In the morning, the left side of his bed was empty and Aki was sure that the previous night had just been an unusual and intense dream, although the tiny edge of your perfume hung onto his sheets. 

Still, it might be a slight suggestion as he got off his bed and quickly moved into his routine, realizing that there was a slight variation when he smelled the smell of coffee brewed.

Neither Power nor Denji enjoyed coffee and he doubted they had discovered a newfound passion for it overnight. 

And he didn’t trust them with anything that was flammable.

As he moved on the kitchen, he was immediately dumbfounded to find you there. 

Tiny pajama shorts and an oversized shirt, in such an homely attire that Aki’s logical mind ruled out that you had somehow come for a breakfast together as you’d sometimes do, especially since Denji and Power insisted and you were always such a pushover.

«Slept well?» you caught him in your side-eye as you were getting some pancakes ready. 

Coffee was already poured in a cup while he saw that your own tea was stemming beside it. 

It all seemed so normal and a scene of everyday life that Aki thought for a moment that this was normal. 

Still, maybe it was normal! 

Maybe it was true, he had just had a terrible nightmare and it was shaking him to the core. 

After all, he didn’t have any of the scars that came with devil hunting and you didn’t seem like lying to him.

«… yes» still, he couldn’t deny a slight awkwardness around you, especially as he felt like you were both his favorite person and a stranger «… what… what about you?».

«Slept like a baby» you shot back as you flipped the last of the pancakes before pushing them on a plate. 

A quick look at the clock revealed to Aki that it was way past his usual wake up time in the morning, a thought that was startling as he couldn’t help but look around himself to see where his uniform was and …

 «… I think it’s because you were holding me extra-tight, last night».

The openness of the situation had Aki flustered as you gently went to retrieve his coffee mug and brought it to him, not before lightly rubbing against his side, forcing your heated nose against his cold neck and making him shiver. 

This was all the intimacy that he needed as he felt himself crumble at more touch than he had ever gotten.

And especially touches from the person that he had been aching to hold.

Aki didn’t entertain any romantic ideas anymore but since you had joined his squad, his eyes followed you attentively, both as they were fascinated with you and also because he worried. 

You weren’t made to be a devil hunter: you were too soft and albeit capable. You lacked the distinct craziness that compelled devil hunters, but maybe that’s why Aki was so into you.

It unnerved him that he felt this way with you, but at the same time he was unable to simply let you go.

And here you were in his kitchen, side-hugging him after you cooked him breakfast.

Only then it hit Aki: in his perfect world, he should be the one cooking you breakfast and although it felt silly, he couldn’t help but fluster and blurt out.

«You shouldn’t have» although your caring and nurturing nature was what had gotten him curious «… I mean… breakfast and…».

«You were obviously tired last night» you shushed him quickly, moving lightly away as his arm shot forward to hold you back, making you giggle in the heavenly way he had always wished to «… hey! Aren’t you clingy today?».

«I am not» made for not such a compelling argument when he gently grabbed onto her upper waist - even if you were together - it felt... disrespectful to actively initiate physical touch, although he had wanted this for the longest.

«Oh, you are!» your joyous exclamation made him smirk lightly, although it was clearly teasing against him «… good thing then today we are both off, isn’t it? And with a house for all of ourselves».

The innuendo went over Aki’s head but not the way you gently grabbed the collar of his pajama shirt to bring him closer, till your lips connected.

As cheesy as it sounded kissing you felt like a normal occurrence, like an everyday activity and yet, it didn’t lose its own fascination, instead if anything it acquired a further importance because of that: I get to kiss you every day and it’s all I could want.

You tasted like pancakes - you must have stolen a few - and of the minty toothpaste he used. 

Your hair - as he gently threaded his fingers through them - were still stuck into the uncomfortable bedhead of the previous night and with just a slight pull, your mouth opened in a silent wince, soothed by the way Aki’s tongue licked your upper lip tenderly. 

He hadn’t too much experience but it felt natural to do so, as if he knew that you enjoyed it.

You separated slowly and Aki lightly flustered at the line of saliva that connected you. He wanted to kiss you, again and your eyes invited him to do so as well, but he couldn’t. 

He felt… still a bit strange and you caught onto that.

«I can’t believe that the great Aki Hayakawa gets so down for a silly little nightmare» you said gently, ducking to kiss his cheek and promptly moving him towards the table by his hand «… will you be a downer the whole day?».

“Excuse me for suddenly remembering a lifetime that isn’t my own while I struggle to come to terms with everything that I got although I didn’t deserve it” Aki wanted to say, but instead he sat down beside you and gently maintained your hand on his own, he smiled back.

«No, no. I don’t think so».

You smiled, gently and then he felt it: a flare of pain throughout his head, the same one that had forced him awake the previous night.

«Aki?!» your voice sounded concerned but also distant and he worried for the worst, especially as the closest description to what was happening was that reality was crumbling all around him as each piece of his kitchen came to slowly break apart, till he was left in emptiness. 

Without you, again.

He blinked his eyes a few times before his senses returned to him and found none other than Denji, slapping his face with a bit too much strength and stopping promptly the moment that he noticed Aki’s opened eyes.

«The bastard is alive!» he screeched promptly to a croaking Power, although Aki’s eyes immediately set upon you; you were held back by the Violence fiend, as your face was tear-stricken and your eyes were set onto him as if you hadn’t meant to lose him out of your sight for a single moment «That fucking devil got you good, topnkot».

Yeah, this seemed more like his reality, as he recalled each and every day and especially today: you had been sent on a mission of a devil that lured humans into its lair and never let them go. When you had walked inside, Aki had moved forward as he had the Future Devil and could more easily foresee what were the plans of the mysterious devil, just to be bombarded by his power.

He had been projected into a separate reality of sorts, till the devil - that now laid next to a disgruntled Angel and an horrified Kobeni - had been defeated.

«Are you alright?» Angel Devil’s monotone voice shook Aki out of his mind, especially as his gaze moved away to where you were looking at him, suddenly as he remembered ‘the dream’, it felt far too personal. 

He knew that you tasted like pancakes and minty toothpaste and that you winced when your hair was pulled. 

He knew how your waist fit against his arms.

He didn’t think that he’d ever be able to look at you in the same way.

«Yeah, I am alright» he answered, as he got up from the ground with Denji’s hand extended in front of him promptly ignored, in favor of digging his nails in the ground. 

The pain felt brilliant to wash away the happy-go-lucky picture in his mind.

It was useless to wish upon what could have been, wasn’t it?

[runabout-river]

Thoughts on JJK chapter 271 - the last chapter (spoilers)

I did a live reading of this chapter you can find here if you're interested how my panel per panel thoughts progressed while reading it 😄

This very last chapter we start where we left off in ch 270: with the mission where the woman can't see the face of her boyfriend correctly anymore.

The first year trio are hard at work thinking through their options on what to do and how to pull that curse user out of hiding. We get a new sort of funny faces from the idiot duo, for them at least, I think these faces appeared in the Kenjaku/Takaba fight as well

The trio enacts their plan now and they catch the perpetrator really fast. Nobara does some funny yet unnecessary property damage in the process and we first get a cool panel of her and Yuji together than another silly panel of them not able to see their faces properly.

The perpetrator btw is a no name never before seen character created just for this mission so the guys can have one last low stakes adventure together.

We get a Gojo flashback giving Yuji a talk, saying his students should become better than him and forget him too, at least one of them. It isn't out of character for Gojo to say that but the placement and the build up for it is somewhat unsatisfying.

Yuji shows how he internalized Gojo's last words by encouraging the criminal to be better.

We get a cool Megumi pose with Kon after he showed us why he was the brains in the group but unfortunately that's basically it for him. Even though he was possessed and tortured by Sukuna for a month there is nothing left of that on him except superficial scars.

When Sukuna took him over Megumi was turned into an object meant to suffer. Now it feels like he's still that: an object but this time meant to be happy in a forcefully conflict free way.

When the readers believed in the dream theory, elements like that was where our thoughts came from. This forceful happy ending for everyone, a genre shift from what JJK had been at this point 🤔

Now we get a surprise Mahito and Sukuna interaction in the space before souls move on. Their conversation is interesting as is the reference to Sukuna's past and what he chose for himself.

In a way it was always apparent that Sukuna was bullshitting the people around him when he talked about himself and what others should do and not. For me it was the speech he gave to Yuji after possessing Megumi about how Yuji should stifle his misery because he was born low.

That immediately stood in stark contrast to what he later said to Kashimo about being born unwanted and cursed because now he admitted that he was in Yuji's position once too and still he developed that insanely arrogant self image.

My problem here is that this interaction references things that were not implied before like what his two paths above were supposed to be. Every time I look at that I get new ideas on what it could've been he's talking about.

It's good to have room for interpretation on someone's backstory. But to this degree it's just confusing. I thought the woman on the left is his mother, others said it could be Kenjaku or Yorozu. Whoever that is, the meaning of what Sukuna says changes drastically here.

His relationship and history with Uraume is also insufficiently explored. This scene unfortunately does not have the emotional impact it could've had if Gege had planted the correct seeds previously.

Sukuna walking away from the curse that represents human hatred however is meaningful. That part was halfway build up during the Yorozu fight when Sukuna said he would be willing to accept defeat.

We get the end of the manga the way it started: with Sukuna's last finger back in a box in a small shrine. It's poetic but the path towards it, these last chapters and the last arcs...

...it felt underwhelming, not gonna lie. Towards this ending were those unneeded scenes with the NSS and even the majority of this chapter was unnecessary and wasted time. What could've been a better last chapter than this while still hitting all the same beats would've been one solely from Sukuna's point of view.

Sukuna from before his birth, his infancy, his childhood. Showing us the path he talks about here. Giving us a glimpse on what the Calamity was, his relationship with Uraume, showing us why he accepted Kenjaku's offer. Then the canon timeline but all of it from his view. His thoughts on Megumi while he possessed him. Even the talk Yuji had with Gojo could've been shown because of the established resonance between Yuji and Sukuna.

Then should come his talk with Mahito. Then we would've understood and sympathized with it without problems .

We did not need the trio's last mission. The end scene of ch 270 was enough to make us imagine that mission on our own. This chapter could've been about sth with more meaning and the exact ending of it could've still been achieved without problems, all e.g. with Sukuna's last thoughts narrated over the happy faces of Gojo's students 😣

Overall I liked the chapter but I felt like sth was missing from this entire ending. It was safe for Gege to write I guess but it was also boring in a lost potential kind of way...

...and then I see that fucking time on that one panel and I think again about Gege wanting to troll us!

That's the same time we saw in ch 269 and I have no idea what it's supposed to mean. So now I'll make one last fucked up prediction, partly meant to be serious, mostly meant to entertain me these last few hours before the official gets released:

The digital release of chapter 271 is going to be a different chapter than the magazine release.

Why???? Because wtf not?? Shueisha and Gege probably too hate the leaks and don't you think this is only a problem in the anglosphere. Of course the Japanese side distributes these leaks around as well. From one small glimpse I saw, Japanese fans are wondering if JJK was cancelled because of this ending.

It would also fit with the dream theory or just my own thoughts from above about a differently structured last chapter.

So like, why not troll the fanbase? Many of whom have shown with Gojo's death chapter how they can't keep their eyes away from the leaks. Previously my own thoughts had been that WSJ could release final chapters like this exclusively on digital first to nip the leak problem in the bud.

But like, don't take this theory too seriously 😄

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

I love the beastmen in Twist but every time I look at their ears my brain just cannot with my perceived anatomy of their skull. I know it can probably be explained very logically and stuff but in my head cannot unsee it as weird, like someone plopping some fluffy ears on top of a round skull and calling it a day T_T :'D

I actually studied human hearing and ear structures so I can simplify it and explain it logically—

Mammalian ear structures are actually very similar to one another. Therefore, the hearing pathways for lions (or cats in general), wolves, and hyenas are like that of a human’s. It would actually be easier to understand the integration of, for example, human anatomy and physiology with that of a lion as opposed to that of a fish (ie merfolk) since fish operate completely differently than humans. (To this day, merpeople A&P still confuses the heck out of me 😂)

If you look at both diagrams above, the human skull and the lion skull both have external auditory meatuses in similar locations; the meatus is a channel that funnels sound to the auditory nerves for further processing as it gets passed up to the brain.

Since beastmen ears are usually placed on top of their heads rather than on the sides of their heads, I’d wager that there’s just a difference in the angle of the ear canal, as illustrated in the diagrams below. Cats and such have more slanted canals, whereas human canals are more horizontal. As you can see, cats and humans have the same structures in their ears:

Brief aside: yes, there’s a teeny bony in your ear called the “malleus”. No, it will never not be funny to me that Malleus has the same name because my mind always defaults to the bone 😂

The greatest difference is actually in outer ear structures, where humans have the disadvantage due to how cartilaginous their pinna are. The placement of the ears is different, of course, but the real reason why, say, dogs and cats hear better than humans is because their outer ears are more mobile. Their ears are able to change direction and shape to adjust to where sound is coming from—and this helps with localizing the auditory sensations into the nerves that process “sound”. Humans can’t do this as easily, so their hearing range is smaller than some other animals.

[gryfflepuffinthetardis]

Sweet Jane Part One — Campbell Bain x Reader

Summary: Y/n was admitted to Saint Jude's hospital in Glasglow soon after her eighteenth birthday when she developed a case of psychogenic/traumatic mutism; there she meets a talkative, optimistic, idealistic, hyperactive nineteen-year-old boy with Manic depression who dreams of becoming a DJ, follow them through their story and learn what happened to Y/n.

Series Warnings: Past Toxic Relationship, Manipulative Ex, Mentions of Past Rape, Mental Health, Discrimination against the Mentally Ill/Neroudivergent, Traumatized Reader, Abusive Parents, Mentions of deceased family members, Stalking, Suicide, Reader doesn't handle men touching her well, Mentions of Sex, Bad Caretakers, Implied Non-Scottish Reader, Implied Short Reader, Campbell Bain's Dad is Terrible

Chapter Warnings: Reader refuses to speak; Loving Campbell Bain, Traumatized Reader, Selectively Mute Reader, PTSD Reader, Psychogenic Mute Reader, Traumatic Mute Reader, Manic Depressant Campbell Bain, Bipolar Campbell Bain, Schizophrenic Furgus, OCD Rosalie, Reader Developed Selective Mutism as a Coping Mechanism, Reader may have an intense type of anxiety caused by trauma, Reader is implied to not be Scottish or at least from Scotland (I am American but just add where you're from), Reader is implied to be shorter than the six-foot Campbell Bain

“You are a mystery to me, yet so familiar. Like a song I’ve never heard before, and a tune I’ve known my entire life.”

Y/N hadn't spoken a word since she was eighteen and long before that something had changed. Her parents finally decided enough was enough and sent her to Saint Jude's hospital in Glasgow.

Campbell had literally crashed into the new girl during his excitement at hearing that the Saint Jude's radio station would be reopened.

The girl screamed as he collided with her and she started screaming and kicking due to his body weight on her.

"Sorry. Sorry. Sorry." He said, hurriedly, getting off of her and holding a hand out to help her up but she just stared at him, terrified, "I'm sorry. Uh..." He realized he didn't recognize her, as far as he knew he was the youngest patient at Saint Jude's and this girl was around his age. This was exciting! "Are you new? I'm Campbell Bain, I'll be the bane of your life until one of us is discharged." He chortled at his own joke before he realized she was still of the floor, "Oh, let me help you up." He crouched down and took her hand, helped her up.

She stared at him with a confused look on her face but she didn't pull her hand away yet more out of shock than anything. Campbell offered her a smile before she ripped her hand out of his grip and ran off, leaving Campbell very confused.

He asked the nurses about the girl but none would give him proper answers, until he got to Stuart the orderlie, who should've been a patient instead but... you know, life.

"She's a looney." He said, blankly.

"Ai, yes. Yes. Yes. I know that much but what's her name? What's her deal?" Campbell prodded.

"Y/N." Was all he said.

--

A few days later, Eddie McKenna arrived to be the DJ for Saint Jude's, with assumption that he'd be able to tell the difference between the staff and the patients.

He had an interaction with Stuart and assumed he was a patient but found out that he was a nursing assistant. Well, that couldn't be good.

Then he met Campbell, who seemed perfectly friendly and nice before realizing he was a patient himself.

Campbell and Y/N were on better terms, now that she had stopped bolting on the other direction when he tried to talk to her. And they listened to Eddie's show as Y/N read Narnia.

Soon after the show, Eddie heard Campbell playing and singing, Summertime Blues on his guitar which was only slightly out of tune, which Eddie had played on his show. He saw Y/N correcting Campbell's finger placement on the guitar as he whined that it hurt his hand.

Campbell enthusiastically praised Eddie and explained on his poor timing and the patient’s dependence of television.

Y/N caught sight of something moving outside the window and she threw a guitar pick at Campbell, making him pout in her direction before seeing her pointing and they ran to window as he said, “Hang on, you’re not boring me or that, but I’ve just seen a friend of mine flying past the window.”

Y/N and Campbell leaned out the window to see the hospital’s Schizophrenic who despite the schtick his disorder stereotyped him as he was just the most gentle soul you’d ever meet, if a little eccentric, grappling down the side of the building.

“Fergus! What’re you doing!?” Campbell shouted after him as Eddie joined them, “you’re gonna hurt yourself!”

“Shall I get a nurse?” Eddie asked and Y/N shook her head.

“Fergus! You’re gonna miss your cocoa, you know!”

“I know.” Fergus told him.

“Can Y/N and I have it, then?” He asked.

“Help yourselves.” He told them.

“He’s escaping.” Eddie said, surprised how calm both of them were being so calm about this

“He’ll be knocking on the door in an hour or so. He always does.” Campbell reassured Eddie, “annoys the hell out of the staff but makes this one smile.” He nodded at Y/N as she sat on Campbell’s bed with his guitar, the look of fascination in Campbell's eyes was not lost on Eddie.

Campbell returned to his enthusiastic and impulsive idea-planning, the first being to bring up a story when a student nurse accidently gave everyone in the ward a laxative, making Eddie and Y/N look at him oddly and the only problem he saw with it was where he’d get that many laxatives.

“What about a request show?” He asked Eddie.

“I already thought of that. I haven’t enough records.” Eddie shot down that idea… well, he’s never disagreed with Campbell Bain before.

“So?”

“So? When folk request something, they usually like to be able to play it.”

“We just make them keep requesting until they hit something we actually have.” Campbell said, “‘if you can guess a record that we actually have in our library, then we will play it for you with a special dedication’.” He did a playful punch in the air, “who could resist?”

“It’ll never work.”

Y/N who had been playing with Campbell’s guitar, then played a jingly tune.

“You’re right, Y/N!” He declared, enthusiastically with an enthusiastic pointed finger at her and then he ran his hand through his light auburn-brown floppy hair, “We’ll need some jingles.” Y/N looked up when Campbell sang a jingle, “Hospital radio, Saint Juuuuude’s.” He smiled at Eddie, “that sort of thing.”

“You need singers to record jingles.”

Campbell picked up his guitar from Y/N and sat next to her, “and what exactly is sitting here before you?”

“A lunatic!” Eddie declared, making Y/N softly giggle.

“Aye, a singing lunatic!” Campbell agreed, enthusiastically. “We could record them in the station, aye?”

“Aye…” Eddie submitted.

“Brilliant!” Campbell exclaimed, going back to Eddie, “Now give me the key.” He held out his hand.

“What key?” Eddie asked.

“To the station.” Campbell said and ran to the door, looking out, “look, I’ve gotta start. Writing the jingles, rehearsing the singers, cataloging the albums.”

Eddie looked at Y/N as she looked back down and realized he hadn’t gotten her name, having been distracted Campbell’s… Campbell-ness and Fergus escaping. “Uh, ma’am… what’s your name again?” Eddie asked, making Y/N look up from a piece of paper she was now writing on, she gave him with a blank deadpan look at being called “ma’am”. She was only eighteen.

“That’s Y/N.” Campbell said.

“What’s your favorite album?” Nothing. She just looked at him, “can you sing?” She blinked twice and he turned back to Campbell, “what’s wrong with her?”

“Oh, she doesn’t speak. She hasn’t said a word since she got here.” Campbell said, “and there’s nothing wrong with her, she’s just looney like me!”

Eddie walked closer to him and asked as gently as he could, “Campbell, how exactly are you here?”

Campbell paused in which he faltered, knowing how his own father felt about his disorder before smiling, “Can you not guess? I’m manic.” Y/N looked up and smiled at him, making his eyes dart to her and a more genuine smile appeared on his lips before he reassured Eddie, “but don’t worry. The drugs I take make me completely stable. Except for headaches, of course.” He blinked in pain as he focused back on the painful headaches and he squeezed his eyes shut before blindly grabbing onto Eddie’s shirt who could sense a scene coming up as could Y/N who looked up to be amused by Campbell, “I get these headaches. I just comes over me and I cannae…” He flopped on his bed, next to Y/N and shouted out in pain, “ah, the bells! The bells!”

Y/N reached over and went to place her hand on Campbell’s back before stopping, hesitating to do so, not sure if they were close enough or if she wanted to admit that they were close enough and then suddenly Campbell’s mood shifted back to near manic and he shot himself up to look at Eddie, making Y/N pull her hand away, blinking briefly in surprise, “And I want my own show, by the way.”

“What?” Eddie asked.

“Well, after all this work, I think it’s only fair, don’t you?” He questioned.

“Campbell, I cannae just give you your own show.” Eddie protested, “you need training on the equipment.”

“So? Train me!” Campbell pleaded, eagerly. “I’ll take Friday nights.”

“Will that not clash with Brookside?” Eddie questioned.

Y/N looked at the window where they had gone to to shout after Fergus.

—

The next day, Campbell and Eddie were in the common room with Eddie standing shyly while Campbell did the opposite and shouted through a party megaphone while Y/N sat with Fergus, writing down something for him to read. “Ladies and gentlemen, I have an important announcement to make!” He spotted Fergus and Y/N and narrowed his eyes, “Fergus, stop flirting with Y/N.”

Y/N rolled her eyes and went to the couch rather bored now and put her headphones on.

Campbell and Eddie had announced the request show, while admitting that they had limited records. Eddie went to talk to Nana while Campbell stared at Y/N, feeling nervous to approach her since he worried she hated him with how scared she got when he interacted with her.

Then Fergus clapped him on the back, making him stumble and look at him, unamused before approaching the silent H/C-haired girl.

"Hey, Y/N," Campbell said, kindly, walking up to the silent girl but she didn't seem to hear him as she was listening to her Walkman. He tapped her shoulder, making her jump and stare at him with wide eyes just as she had when they first met. He gestured to her headphones, silently asking if he could take them off and she slowly nodded and he gently slid them off and could vaguely hear Damn, I Wish I Was Your Lover by Sophie B. Hawkins.

"Hey, we're doing a request show. You have any requests?"

She looked at him for a good while before getting up and leaving. Campbell frowned and his spirits were diminished before leaning forward and face planting his face into the couch cushion, groaning.

—

Campbell showed Eddie the radio station now cleaned and useable thanks to him, Y/N, and Rosalie and as he left Eddie questioned Campbell about Nana and Campbell answered in his own hyperactive way before Eddie questioned him about his obvious crush on Y/N.

“The silent girl, uh… M/Y/N.” (Mispronunciation of Your Name)

“Y/N.” Campbell corrected, automatically in a slightly defensive tone.

“Is she your girlfriend?”

Campbell’s cheeks burned as they reddened and his heartrate quickened, “No. No. No. She’s new actually. Been here about a week. She… she’s a mystery.” He gave out a dreamy smile, “One I’d like to solve but…” He shrugged like, what can you do? —

Campbell was snoring when he was awoken by a friendly smack in the head. He woke up, groaning with confusion before turning on his light, illuminating Y/N who smile sweetly at him as she held something behind her back.

"Jesus, Y/N." He groaned, "what you do that for?" She just looked at him and he nodded, remembering who je was talking to, "right. Uh, what is it?"

Y/N brought a custom record sleeve out from behind her back and he slowly began to realize what she was trying tell him.

"Oh, you want me to play one of these songs during the show tomorrow, er… today?" He asked.

She nodded and sat on the edge of his bed, making him kick around spazzily and awkwardly before sitting up, trying to make room for her as his heart pounded and he looked down at her, feeling her body heat up against his but forced himself not to think about that as it was a bit of a creepy thought to have at two in the morning as she showed him the songs on the back of the vinyl which was also handmade, she pointed at the first song: a cover of The Velvet Underground's Sweet Jane by Cowboy Junkies.

"Is that your favorite song?" He asked and she nodded. "Wait, these are all from different bands, how'd you get this?"

She pointed to herself, "you made it?" He gathered, "Who made the record?" She pointed to herself again and he just smiled at her impressed and enamored by her. "You are one mystery, Y/N L/N. You may be my favorite mystery.”

She smiled, telling him that she liked the idea of being a mystery to him and kissed his cheek, near the corner of his lip, nearly making him melt with a loud dreamy sigh before running off. He looked after he with a starstruck look of awe on his face before flopping back on his pillow, groaning.

—

The next day, Y/N shared a smile with Fergus before listening in on the radio to the show, standing and watching Campbell through the window.

“Good evening! This is Ready Eddie.” Eddie introduced, “and on my left is my right-hand man…”

“Campbell Bain.” Campbell introduced, not seeing Y/N watching him and the smile on her lips.

“And you’re listening to the first ever Ready Eddie Radio Request Road Show.” He gave Campbell a thumbs up and the nineteen-year-old pushed a button, making a jingle play.

“Ready Eddie’s road show. Ready, Eddie, go.”

“That’s right. This is the premiere. This is the first. And you can tell everyone that you were there. You heard it! You saw it!” Campbell said, enthusiastically before joking, “And they’ll tell you, it’s all part of your illness.”

Y/N giggled at his antics before realizing this and she zipped her leather jacket up over her shirt with the sarcastic quote on it.

“We’re playing requests from Ward Eleven this evening. This one is for Francine. I hope you’re listening, Francine.”

Campbell then teased, “I hope anyone’s listening.” He then saw Y/N watching him and let out an audible smile that melted his insides.

“Is anybody listening?” Eddie asked, “Is anybody out there?”

Then Help! By the Beatles started to play and soon the patients came out and Campbell ran out of the station to dance with some patients before more came out, including Fergus. He gave Y/N a smile and thumbs up as he flashed the part of the television he had removed.

Campbell ran back to Eddie and pulled his earphone off so he could talk to him, “the television’s broken, Eddie! There is a God!”

Eddie nodded in the direction of Y/N and Campbell’s face lit up and he ran to Y/N and taking her hands, trying to ease her into dancing. She shook her head before starting to shuffle awkwardly to the music before Campbell took her hands and pulled her against him so she danced with him to the beat of the music. She then giggled up against him and he smiled, triumphally.

He was about to comment on how beautiful her laugh when there was a BANG! And the music stopped, making them all exclaim in disappointment before Campbell and Y/N ran back to the station to see what was wrong.

“What’s wrong?”

“The mixing desk.” Eddie said, trying to fix it with his limited knowledge.

“Do something!” Campbell exclaimed.

“What can I do? I can’t even turn on the bathroom light without shocking myself.” Eddie remarked.

“Well, check the plug. Maybe it’s the fuse.” Campbell suggested as Y/N looked up at Fergus and gestured for him to come.

“It’s not the fuse.” Eddie sighed.

Campbell ran his hand through his floppy hair, “I cannae believe this. I’ve just had the world’s shortest career as a disk jockey.”

Fergus took out a screwdriver and headed inside to help and started to unscrew the screws of the mixing desk.

“Fergus, what are you doing?” Campbell asked.

“I’ll just have a look.” Fergus reassure him.

“No, don’t!” Eddie shouted, “don’t have a look there.”

Y/N helped Fergus lift the plate of the mixing desk as Eddie continued to try and stop Fergus and Y/N, “Fergus, Y/N, I’m asking you. Please, leave it alone”

“He’s gonna blow it up.” A patient said.

“He’s not!” Campbell protested.

“I think I know what the problem is.” Fergus told Eddie.

“He’s blowing it up.” Another patient said and the others started to chant Fergus’ name.

“Fergus, don’t, okay!? Just leave it alone. It’s all we’ve got.” Eddie pleaded and Y/N smacked Eddie’s shoulder when Stuart literally pushed her out of the way, making her squeak and stumble before Campbell caught her and glared at Stuart.

“Oi, watch where you’re going!” He shouted.

Stuart aggressively grabbed Fergus holding him in a near chokehold and Y/N tried to go forth to help but Campbell held her back, knowing she’d just be pushed away again, if not sedated.

“He’s not causing trouble, is he?” He asked Eddie and Y/N shook her head, frantically at Eddie.

“No, he’s just helping me, get the mixing desk going again.” Eddie muttered.

“Him? He couldn’t get his brain going again.” Stuart spat and Y/N scoffed, implying that she felt that better described Stuart than Fergus.

“Leave it, Stuart.” Isabella, the more kind nurse said, “it’s all over.”

Stuart let Fergus go and sulked out of the room, clearly upset that he didn’t get to hurt someone as Y/N gave him the middle finger.

Fergus closed the plate of the mixing desk and Y/N flipped the switch, making the light come back on.

“You two are geniuses.” Campbell gasped.

Y/N shook her head and pointed at Fergus like, no, he’s the genius.

“YOU’RE GENIUSES!” Campbell shouted and he slammed the door shut and got back to the microphone, “Sorry about the technical problems, folks. We’re now back on the air and we hope to keep it that way. Our next request is for Y/N and dedicated to her by me.” He chortled as he looked at her and clicked his tongue as he winked.

The cover of Sweet Jane played, making Y/N smile as Eddie looked at Fergus, giving him an apologetic and thankful smile as Fergus perpetually scowled before his lips curved into a gentle smile.

Later, Y/N helped Campbell clean up the hallways before they bumped into each other.

“Uh… so how did you know how to help Fergus?” He asked.

She took out her wad of paper and wrote: Learned. Taught.

He nodded, taking what he could get, “I always knew you were smart.” He said, honestly and he hesitated before leaning towards her to kiss her cheek like she had done the night, she shifted, conflicted as she could see the pure gentless in Campbell's personality, in his actions, in his eyes, and she could feel it in his cheek kiss. He had hesitated, not wanting to overstep boundaries and he was still nervous about his decision but before she could react Eddie ran out of the room, making them break apart and move out of the way before he rammed into them.

*This is a series from my Wattpad, so I'm moving in to Tumblr and Archive of my Own. There is an entire subplot later on of stalking and the cause of the reader's muteness or mutism (which ever is the correct term). Am I the only one who feels like Campbell Bain might also have ADHD or is it just because of his Bipolar/Manic Depression. I'm usually good at this but I'm having a hard time differentiating the two or maybe it's just David Tennant.

[methethgfan]

The 2nd Hunger Games

This Hunger Games Comp(act) allows you to experience the Hunger Games through both a tribute’s and a spectator’s lens. If the narrating tribute dies at another tribute’s hands, the latter takes on the narration. If the narrating tribute dies from natural causes or at the Gamemakers’ hands, narration is taken over by a tribute in the close proximity. The spectator does not change.

You will find an overview of the tributes at the end of this post, which includes their names, ages, training scores, number of kills, and placements.

Warning! Some readers may find the following text disturbing. Reader discretion is advised.

Warning! The following text includes themes related to suicide, which may be sensitive for some readers.

Narrated by Setho Plynder (18, District 2 male tribute)

Motionless, I stare at the torn noose in my hand. Then my gaze shifts from the three-legged wooden stool up to the ceiling. Another attempt that, in the end, remained just that – an attempt. Is it the rope? Do I need a rope that's more durable? Or is it me? Am I too heavy for the noose to hold my weight? As I’m trying to find the right answers to my questions – after all, I'll try again tomorrow – I start growing impatient. Slowly, I pull myself to my feet. Unless ...

Narrated by Armin Tanner (26, Capitol resident and war veteran)

There they stand. Huddled together like cattle, holding their breaths. Waiting for their name not to be called. Sighing in relief when it's someone else. Throwing curious glances at the one who has hit the jackpot. The tributes, as they’re called, pass by me. In a few days, they will all be dead anyway, and nobody will remember the survivor. At least I won’t. Not really. All I remember from last year is that the boy who survived had reddish hair and came from the lumber district. Back to the news anchor, who hands over to her colleague standing in front of the smoldering ruins of District 13, wearing a protective suit, and reporting on how radioactive the area still is.

After that it’s back to waiting before the fun starts again next year. Assuming the Hunger Games are still around then. As I see it, it’s not a made-to-last project. I don’t know anyone who watches this crap. I don’t think it’s because people have better things to do. It’s because they don’t know why they should watch in the first place. Why not just execute the tributes right away? Why drag them all the way to the Capitol, where no one even gets to see them? But more importantly, why should there even be a survivor? Why give the tributes a chance to make it out of the arena unscathed? I never had that chance before my leg was torn to pieces by a rebel landmine. When I nearly bled to death. And now I’m stuck with the rest of my life on crutches. It’s not fair. It’s not fair at all.

Narrated by Setho Plynder (18, District 2 male tribute)

I don’t hesitate. I raise my hand just as the Capitol escort reaches into the glass ball, his fingers splayed, eager to take someone’s life once again this year. Gasping in the audience. The man looks up confused, already holding an entry slip in his hand, trying to make sense of the sudden commotion. I rise onto my toes and lift my arm even higher to help him catch on. Then he looks questioningly at the Peacekeepers, who return his gaze with the same confusion. That’s when the mayor speaks up.

"Let him come up," he says. "Let him come up. If he’s so eager. Why not?"

He probably thinks that it's better to send away someone who will get himself killed voluntarily than someone who still has something to live for. I wonder whose life I just saved.

The Peacekeepers don’t even have to pull me from the crowd. I make my own way toward the stage, sprint up the steps, and look down at the people below me, who’re still dumbfounded. I just volunteered. What else is there to live for? The Capitol will probably find some way to put me out of my misery soon enough. At least I’ll get to see the Capitol, breathe a different kind of air for once.

We’re transported in silence. The other tributes barely acknowledge me, and I don’t acknowledge them. What’s the point? We’re already dead in the eyes of the Capitol. I have not watched the Games last year. How was I supposed to do that? I don't have a TV at home, and I don't know anyone who owns one. So I practically know nothing about them, other than that one of us will survive. 

Narrated by Armin Tanner (26, Capitol resident and war veteran)

“The animals have arrived,” Servilia, my caretaker, says as she serves my lunch: a steaming asparagus soup with crescent-shaped bread sprinkled with seeds. District bread for our guests from the Districts. “Cheers!” says Servilia with a cheerful laugh, then she leaves the room with a feather duster in hand, humming merrily to herself. Guests with a short, very short stay.

I catch myself wondering how the tributes must be feeling right now. I know they're waiting for their impending deaths in the Peacekeepers’ stables – or at least that was where they were herded off to last year with much fanfare. I try to recall how I felt when I went off to war against the rebels. I was afraid, yes, but there was something else inside me too. It's hard to explain, but I think the closest word for it is the urge to prove myself. Not in the sense of playing the hero. More like wanting to get back at the rebels. To crush them. To blow them to pieces – the way they later did with my leg. But is that the same thing? A bunch of kids, untrained, flailing weapons and running around in a panic – that can hardly be called a war.

Narrated by Setho Plynder (18, District 2 male tribute)

It feels like someone hit fast-forward. Time here in the Capitol moves so quickly compared to the ride in the reeking, filthy cattle car. I let my eyes wander. None of the other tributes are speaking. I don’t think they could, even if they wanted to. Instead, they stare off into the distance – anywhere but into each other’s eyes. The eyes of a possible victim. Or the eyes of a potential killer.

What’s the point of all this theater anyway? The Games will probably be over so fast, no one will even realize who they’ve killed. A boy with a crooked, dusty pair of glasses – I think he’s from District 3 – is fidgeting with his fingers. How could those fingers ever kill someone, let alone hold a weapon? I glance down at my own hands, limp and lifeless. Could these hands do it?

After what feels like only minutes, the stable door is yanked open violently and we’re hauled to our feet. Some of the tributes are in such bad shape they can’t even stand on their own anymore, and the Peacekeepers have such a hard time with them that other tributes are forced to help. How macabre. Go ahead, get up – I’ll kill you in the Games anyway. 

“Where are we even going?” I ask. One of the Peacekeepers looks at me, then glances at his partner, and both burst out laughing. But I keep staring, genuinely curious, and they realize I’m not joking. “We’re taking you to the playground,” one of them sneers. “Time to let off some steam.” They roar with laughter again.

After a short ride in a transport vehicle – my first time in a car, what a sensation! – we're dragged out of the truck. We’re standing in front of a massive building. It looks a little run-down, but otherwise in decent shape. So this is our playground. An arena. Armed Peacekeepers shove us forward. We’re herded through the entrance and pass under a turnstile that, as we walk through it, triggers a robotic voice: “Enjoy the show!”

The arena is old. Ancient. A decaying amphitheater once used for circus performances. It smells like dirt and rust. The stone seats have been stripped of their beauty, and the place is empty. Bloodstains decorate the steps, streaking across the seats. The sky above is cloudless, but there’s no warmth in the air. I can’t tell if it's the coldness of the arena or something deeper.

Narrated by Armin Tanner (26, Capitol resident and war veteran)

“District 6 is cloudy today, with a fifteen percent chance of drizzle. The sun, however, won't be hiding from District 8, where –” The weather forecast cuts off abruptly. For a moment, I can’t quite make out what I’m seeing from the aerial view – until I recognize twenty-four tiny dots, standing in a wide circle. Ah, right. The Games are being broadcast today. My hand is already reaching for the remote, ready to shut the TV off and banish the Games into darkness once again. But then I pause. Why not? What else do I have to do? A small taste of war.

Just then, the dots start to run – and now, thanks to the close-ups, I can see their gaunt, tense, and strained faces. But they’re not running toward each other. They’re running away. A few are sharp enough to grab a weapon while fleeing. Well, that clearly didn’t go as planned. Tributes who aren’t interested in fighting one another. Interesting.

Narrated by Setho Plynder (18, District 2 male tribute)

“Hey!” someone shouts. I shift my gaze downward, to the center of the arena. A tall boy with cornrows – the tribute from District 11 – stands there, looking up toward us. “Hey, why are you all just standing around like that? Aren’t we supposed to put on a show?” He slings a golf club over his shoulder. “I get it. I’m not really in the mood either.”

He glances around, then pauses, his eyes locking on a small black device mounted on a pillar. A camera. Then he smirks, a slow, knowing grin. It could’ve been a brilliant performance – if I couldn’t hear the fury trembling in his voice.

Narrated by Armin Tanner (26, Capitol resident and war veteran)

I don’t understand what’s happening. They’re fighting. But they’re not fighting for survival. They’re fighting for something else. Something bigger. One of the boys – I don’t remember the district, but does that matter? – smashes a camera with a golf club.

It hits me then, like a slap to the face. The Hunger Games – they're not just about death. They’re about hope. The kind of hope that never reached me. That was never given to me. The hope that you can survive, even if it’s against all odds. The hope that you can come out of it unscathed.

For them, it’s not about surviving the arena. It’s about surviving the world. The same world I fought for, the same world I lost my leg for.

I watch them without blinking. My eyes are burning. They’re not just playing a game. They’re telling the Capitol, telling the world, that they’re still alive. I wonder if I’ll ever have that chance.

Narrated by Setho Plynder (18, District 2 male tribute)

They take the cameras down – one by one – destroying every one within their reach. They’re trying to punish the Capitol in their own way. You want to see us butcher each other? We won’t give you that satisfaction. I watch them for a while from the shadows, then finally shake my head. What’s the point? They’ll never reach the cameras mounted up by the spotlights anyway.

Narrated by Armin Tanner (26, Capitol resident and war veteran)

One girl, tall, ragged – but once very pretty, with features that still hint at it – and bleeding from the forehead, turns to a camera and shoves her middle fingers into the lens, her face twisted in a furious smile. Another boy hacks at the ground with a rusty axe, sending splinters of the arena floor flying. Everywhere, the tributes are screaming, shouting, swinging their weapons not at each other, but at the world itself. The feed turns frantic, cutting from one shattered view to another. Chaos. Pure, raw chaos.

Then – the sound.

A fanfare so loud it feels like the air is ripping apart. The tributes clutch their ears instantly. I clutch my ears, too. But it must be much worse for the tributes, because some of them stagger. Some collapse to their knees, hands over their heads. But a few stay standing. One boy – I think he’s from District 11 – raises a broken sword into the air and howls into the noise: “Keep going!”

And somehow, some of them do. They stumble, they crawl, they swing their weapons blindly. Not at each other. At the Capitol. At the Games themselves.

And I watch, heart hammering, knowing that even when the rest of these Games are forgotten, this moment will be remembered forever.

Narrated by Setho Plynder (18, District 2 male tribute)

I don’t move. I just lie there. The others tear the place apart like wild animals, like it means something. Maybe it does. Maybe it doesn’t. All I know is, when the noise dies and the dust settles, we’ll still be trapped here. Still just pieces on their board. I close my eyes.

And it stops. I still clutch my ears, keep my eyes shut, just in case the horrible sound goes off again. But it doesn’t. And just like I anticipated, we’re still here. I wonder why they don’t do anything about it. I wonder why the Peacekeepers don't just storm in and shoot us. Or at least the ones who are tearing apart their precious arena. But then it hits me. This is exactly what they want. This is the proof they've been waiting for – that we're nothing but animals, just like they've always said. And now they have it, captured on every screen, broken or not. Then I hear a scream.

Someone finds the little girl from District 3. She’s unresponsive, obviously, because her body is found by the side of a dusty wall, her eyes wide open, like she is waiting for something to come and take her. It is peaceful. More peaceful than anything I’d seen in years. She’s dead.

The boy from District 11 – Bale was his name, now I remember – turns around to face the others and points at her. "Who killed this poor girl?" he shouts, now pointing at us accusingly. Now he goes around, one by one, ordering each of them to hold out their hands. So he can check if they’re stained with blood. He passes me without so much as a glance. Apparently, even to the others, I already look like someone who has given up. Which, to be fair, is true.

I don’t want to be here. I don’t want to be alive. But there’s a moment – just one moment – where I find myself looking across the dirt at the girl from District 8. Her name is Shawla Ramirez. She’s not much older than me, and we’ve barely spoken. But when our eyes meet, I can see it in her face: she’s done. Her body is thin and broken, the result of years spent fighting for survival. But it’s more than that. Her eyes – those dead eyes – tell me everything. She wants to die too.

Narrated by Armin Tanner (26, Capitol resident and war veteran)

The fun begins – a little delayed, but inevitable. You can only hold it off for so long. Now someone‘s realized that the only thing they can change – the only thing they can win – is their own survival. And to do that, they took someone else's life. While the others were too distracted by the noise to notice. While no one heard the little girl’s screams. I watch the tributes, scanning for a nervous twitch, a flicker of guilt, a glance too quick to hide. Nothing. Whoever killed her did it clean.

Narrated by Setho Plynder (18, District 2 male tribute)

The air is thick with something I can’t quite name. Resignation? Desperation? Maybe both. The tributes still stand together in defiance, hands clasped, faces turned up toward the unseen cameras. Some whisper words of rebellion. Others say nothing at all, their silence speaking louder than anything they could scream. But defiance only lasts so long.

It starts with a shove.

The boy from District 10, Chester, gaunt and hollow-eyed, pushes the girl from District 6, Journey, aside when she steps too close. It’s not much – just a small, tired motion. But it’s enough. Enough to make someone else shove back. Enough to spark something that has been simmering beneath the surface since the moment we were thrown in here.

Anger. Frustration. Hopelessness with nowhere else to go.

A fist flies. A girl cries out as she’s pulled backward by her hair. Someone swings a stolen weapon – a jagged piece of broken wood from the ruined stands – and there’s a sickening crunch as it meets flesh. Blood spatters against the cracked stone floor.

I don’t move. I lean against a pillar, watching as chaos unfurls before me. It spreads like a disease, slow at first, then all-consuming. The boy from District 1, Brand, grabs a rock and brings it down on another tribute’s head. Shawla curls up against the stands, hands over her ears, as if that will keep the nightmare away. It won’t.

And me?

I do nothing.

The fighting grows wilder. More desperate. The tributes have realized something now – realized that no matter how much they hold hands or cry out against the Capitol, the Hunger Games will demand its blood. And if the Capitol won’t spill it, they will.

A boy collapses near my feet, his face unrecognizable from the blows he’s taken. But I recognize his clothes. Flux from 5. He gurgles something – pleads, maybe – but no one listens. They’re too busy tearing each other apart.

My fingers twitch at my sides. I should feel something. Guilt. Horror. Fear.

But I feel nothing.

Because I am nothing.

Just a shadow against a pillar, waiting for a way out.

Narrated by Armin Tanner (26, Capitol resident and war veteran)

The arena is chaos. Bodies falling, screams filling the air – the bloodbath has begun much earlier than last year. But then, there’s that boy who volunteered. He’s standing there, unmoving, in the shadows, not participating in the violence. Everyone else is scrambling for survival, fighting for the smallest shred of life. But not him. Why isn’t he fighting back? I lean forward, watching him closely. I want to understand. Everyone else is driven by desperation, by the need to make it out alive, but him ... he looks different. He doesn’t care about winning. He doesn’t even care about dying. Funny, given he volunteered to die.

Narrated by Setho Plynder (18, District 2 male tribute)

Amidst the chaos, I hear a voice. The boy from District 11, he’s shouting, trying to stop it all. "This isn’t what we fought for!" His voice cracks, desperate. “Don’t let them win!” Out of nowhere, the boy from District 3 appears – his glasses still crooked on his face – and in one fluid motion, he swings a hammer. It connects with the boy’s skull, and he drops like a ragdoll. Before he can even register it, a blade flashes through the air, sinking deep into the boy's back. His body jerks, and then ... nothing. I turn my gaze away.

Then I notice her – Zenobia, my district partner, moving toward me like she’s made up her mind. There’s no rush in her step, no wild desperation. Just … quietness. A kind of resignation I’m all too familiar with. She stops in front of me, and for a second, neither of us says anything. The chaos around us doesn’t matter. The screaming, the fighting – it’s all background noise now. "You’re still here," I mutter, just to break the silence. Zenobia looks at me, her gaze steady. "I’m not going anywhere." It’s not defiance. It’s just an observation. We both know she doesn’t have much choice, just like me. I raise an eyebrow. "That’s the plan then? Stick together?" She gives a small, almost imperceptible nod, though her eyes are distant, like she’s already mentally somewhere else. "I don’t know. Feels better than being alone." For some reason, I can’t shake the feeling that she’s trying to convince herself as much as me. But I let it pass.

There’s no time to think about it because then I hear it. The pounding of feet. I turn just in time to see the boy from District 7, axe raised, eyes wide with crazed hunger. Zenobia grabs my arm and pulls me into motion. We run, side by side, but I can feel his footsteps getting closer, the ground thudding under his boots. The heat presses down on us, the air thick and choking. My legs are turning to lead, and I hear Zenobia’s breath grow shallow as she pushes forward. But then – then she stumbles. I turn around, grab her hand and pull her up, but the boy arrives just at that moment and rams his fist into her face. She crumples, hitting the ground hard. 

The boy swings the axe, and for a moment, everything seems to slow down. The axe comes down toward me. Someone seems to have slowed down time. I wait for Zenobia to save me with the sword in her hand. I wait. But nothing happens. My gaze drifts to her, waiting for any movement. But she doesn’t move. Her face relaxes. Her eyes slowly close, and I realize – she’s not going to fight. She’s not even going to try.

And it hits me. The thought slams into me with a jolt. She’s already given in. She doesn’t care. Her fight ended the moment she stepped into this arena. Or maybe even the moment she heard her name at the Reaping. I’m still breathing. I’m still here. And then I realize something else – something that makes my stomach twist. There are tributes out here, like Zenobia, who don’t even fight for their own survival. They’re already gone. I snap out of it.

I don’t wait. I kick the boy in the side, knocking him off balance. His axe slips from his grip, clattering to the ground. I move quickly, grabbing Zenobia’s sword from her hand. It’s heavy, but I don’t think about it. The boy tries to get up, but I don’t give him the chance to fight back. I lunge, driving the blade into his side before he can react. He falls again, gasping for air, and I don’t hesitate. I repeatedly thrust my sword in his chest, then finally pull it out and breathe heavily. Then I turn around and look at Zenobia, who’s still lying there, her eyes shut. I know she’s alive, her chest rises and falls, shallow and slow. She’s looking peaceful.  I could leave her here. Let her go. 

But I don’t. I don’t just leave her. I step closer. Without a second thought, I raise the sword high. And then I drive it into her chest. No hesitation. Not because I want to fulfill her wish to die, but because she didn’t act when it mattered. She could’ve moved, could’ve fought back, could’ve done something – anything – when that boy was ready to finish me off. But she didn’t. She just lay there, giving up, letting me face it alone. And now she pays for it. The sword sinks into her, and I watch the life drain from her eyes. Something twists in my chest, but I push it down. I don’t feel guilt. I just feel ... cold. Her body gives one final, shuddering breath, but there’s no fight. She doesn’t struggle. I stand there, staring down at her. The blood pooling at my feet. The faint sound of distant screams echoing in the arena.

Narrated by Armin Tanner (26, Capitol resident and war veteran)

The arena is a graveyard now. Everywhere I look, there are bodies, lifeless and scattered like forgotten dolls. The screams have stopped, replaced by the eerie silence of death. It's almost like the whole world has paused. No more movement. No more defiance. Just stillness. The kind of stillness that only happens when there's nothing left to fight for.

Narrated by Setho Plynder (18, District 2 male tribute)

I don’t look at the bodies. I don’t think about them. Not anymore.

I see the last three. The girl from District 4 barely lifts her head when I approach. She’s on her knees, eyes glassy, blood caked on her forehead. She doesn’t even beg. I grip the sword tighter and step forward. One clean thrust, straight through. She exhales sharply –  a soft, broken sound – and crumples without resistance.

The boy from District 9, he is faster. He lunges out of nowhere, swinging a broken pitchfork wildly. It catches the air just inches from my face. I duck low, slam my shoulder into his gut, and he topples backward with a grunt. Before he can scramble away, I drive the blade into his stomach. His mouth opens in a silent scream as he curls inward, clutching at the wound like he could somehow hold his life inside.

Only one left. The girl from District 11. She’s standing there, chest heaving, clutching a rusty knife that she used to protect herself. I step closer. She doesn't run. Doesn't fight. She doesn’t lift her knife. Doesn’t even try. Instead, she looks me straight in the eyes, chin high, blood running from her temple.

"So this is it," she says, her voice hoarse but surprisingly steady. "This is what they wanted all along. Us, tearing each other apart. And we gave it to them.“ Her fingers uncurl from the knife. It falls to the ground with a dull thud. She doesn’t flinch. I tighten my grip on the sword. She takes a shaky breath, but she doesn’t look away. "You’re not killing me," she says quietly, smiling at me faintly. "You’re finishing what they started." For a second, something twists in my chest. But only for a second.

I step forward and drive the sword into her heart. She exhales – not a scream, not a cry – just a breath, almost like a sigh, as if she’d been holding it in for too long. Then she sinks to her knees and folds onto the ground, her hair fanning out over the dirt. I stand there, staring down at her body.

Narrated by Armin Tanner (26, Capitol resident and war veteran)

I stare at the screen for a long moment, watching the last flicker of movement fade into static. The room falls silent. My finger hovers over the remote, and then I press the power button. The image of the boy fades into nothing, just another winner to be forgotten by tomorrow.  

Narrated by Setho Plynder (18, victor of the 2nd Hunger Games from District 2)

The train rattles through the night, away from the arena, its blood-soaked air still clinging to my clothes. I’m crammed into the same filthy cattle car they used to bring us to the Capitol. I guess I'd expected something different for a victor.

The bodies are lined up against the wall, still in the clothes they died in. Zenobia. The girl from 4. The boy from 7. The girl from 11. And all the others who didn’t even make it this far. I sit alone by the window slit, watching the trees blur into shadows. They didn’t even bother to clean the blood off the floor. I lean my head back against the wall and close my eyes. For a moment, I wonder if I should feel something. Guilt. Sadness. Relief. Anything. But there's nothing. Just a hollow space where everything else should be.

I open my eyes again and glance at the slumped shapes. "You broke trying to be something," I whisper. "I survived by being nothing." Outside, the Capitol skyline glows like a fire on the horizon. 

I sit up straighter, smooth my hair back, and try to remember who I was before all this. There was no before. I’ve always been this.

[jasper-tarot-reader]

Local Wizard Seeks Guinea Pigs

ALL SLOTS FILLED

I'm in phase 3 (fixing the final issue that came up) of testing a fairly complicated tarot spread based on the Three Kings Ritual, which I am tentatively calling the Three Kings Divination.

This utilizes the Skyrim Tarot and Neopets Tarot for the other two placements, but due to issues with reading the Dungeons & Dragons Tarot, this round will involve testing four tarot decks (two readings each) for the querent - the Transient Light Tarot, the Antique Anatomy Tarot, the Guardian of the Night Tarot, and the Star Spinner Tarot. I will pick the deck based on chronological order of who sends reading requests.

As for other changes, I have made it so the Queen slot in-court can be taken by either a King or Queen card, while the Knight is now a Fool alongside the Page.

For this phase, I need eight unique test subjects who promise to come back and give me some munching and crunching of the results so I can record the results of this test.

My usual guidelines still apply.

But Jasper, how do I apply?

In order to take one of these slots, you must provide the following in one ask:

your name, nickname, or initials

your pronouns

King or Queen

in court or out of court

your preferred element (air, earth, fire, water - no other options)

your question and background information around it, this spread works best when asking for advice or warnings but I can brute force other questions into it

“In court” means that you are looking for advice from your Queen (or King) and your Fool (Page or Knight); basically, you’re asking for advice from people you trust but you ultimately make the decisions.

“Out of court” means that you are looking for advice from the other two Kings (or Queens), so you’re asking people you trust for advice but you are on equal footing in this “decision” with them (i.e. asking spirit guides or deities about stuff, stuff to do with a magical practice or project, yadda yadda).

You do not get to specify your Queen and Fool or the other two Kings, as I already have a system in place for this.

You will not be receiving pictures of this reading because this is a fucking nightmare to try to work with, but here’s a graphic illustrating how I will be sitting and laying out the cards:

I will be sitting facing the north because that’s how the creepypasta originally assigned it, along with the placements of the other Kings/the Court. I’ve found that I have to cap advice at two per King/Court Member or else SOMEONE (pointed look towards General Kass from the Neopets deck) will try to make me draw half the deck.

So please, send in your applications to help with this project! I’m gonna chip away at them as I see them. If you want to help poor Jasper’s brain, you can even specify “Three Kings Divination” at the beginning of your message so I don’t get confused with my already-open tarot readings.

If you do not send all of the pieces of information I ask for, I will assume you are here for a regular reading and your reading will not be logged as a slot filled, but rather you’ll get the regular 1-to-whatever-I-want draw. As usual, your reading will be done when it's done, as these readings drain me incredibly.