#this also means i have been stung by wasps many times i still think the intense fear of them is unwarrented

[transcarcinization]

i had a fig tree growing up and then i moved in high school to a house with a massive crabapple tree that dropped apples all over our roof and driveway and deck and lawn. i lived in Wasp Zone until i was 19 and i’d do it again

[baldurs-gape]

Silence

There was a lot Cazador had done over two hudred years. A lot he had taken away, beaten out of or simply tainted to the point that Astarion no longer took pleasure in something. But the one thing he never could fully extinguish was Astarion's tendency to be vocal about anything and everything, usually in the form of complaining.

The tadpole and the sudden freedom was difficult to trust so Astarion kept to safe habits. He didn't miss the appreciative looks his newfound companions sent his way. As little as he was worth, Astarion knew that his value lay in his looks. Cazador had been kind enough to teach him that, had made sure he was well-built, always looked appealing to as many as possible. The price for failing was high enough that Astarion also put a lot of care into learning how to look his best.

"We're not seriously having onion, cheese and the red swill you call wine again, are we?" Astarion sighed as the group settled around the campfire.

"Don't like it, don't eat it." Lae'zel shrugged and glared at him. "Good luck foraging in the forest in the dark for something better."

Seizing the permission, Astarion sneered back as he stood up. "Fine. I'm sure I can do better." He did. Drained a whole boar and spent half the night on his back, so full that his stomach actually hurt as it stretched around so much blood.

It was the start of something. Insidious and slow in a way Cazador never had the patience for, not when it came to Astarion. The phrase "shut up, Astarion" became a daily motto to the point the others were beginning to chuckle about it. He'd heard it plenty enough before, Cazador often told him to quit his whinging. The other spawn were also prone to ignoring him. But that had been a different situation. Despite living through it for so long, Astarion knew, deep down, that it wasn't right. Cazador was just one man, one tyrant who controlled Astarion like a puppet, while the other spawn were all bitter, scared and trying to survive. To be told to shut up by them was like being stung by a wasp and being surprised about it. With his newfound allies though? Astarion had no such excuses to hide behind.

"All I'm saying is that we could go back to camp for a nice rest," he grumbled.

"Shut up and keep moving." There was a growl to Wyll's voice as he marched on at a relentless pace. It was all very well that he could continue but Astarion was tired, hungry and not in the mood to play pretend being a hero. Alas, outnumbered as he was because the others didn't slow down either, Astarion had to keep walking or risk being left behind. As it was, he didn't dare leave the safety of the group, fear of Cazador finding him was still too high.

The longer he spent at camp, the more chances he had to feed, especially as the others stopped paying him so much attention.

"Freedom suits you," Shadowheart called as he washed his shirt. "Made you softer."

Glancing down, Astarion had to think very quickly to hide his true feelings. "Darling, are you calling me fat?"

It was true though, there was a bit of give to his stomach, no longer flat and the muscles clrealy visible under his skin. Cazador would have called him fat for that, undesirable and worthless. Maybe the rest of the group were less interested in him because he wasn't appealing anymore and Astarion grit his teeth in resolve so hard that he almost missed Shadowheart's reply.

"Oh do be quiet. You know what I mean."

He didn't though. Or rather, he did but wished he didn't. That night Astarion didn't go out to hunt. He went hungry the next day. And the next.

By the time his true nature came to light, Astarion was back to his usual self. It was probably what had saved him. As Cazador used to say, it would have been such a shame to rid the world of such beauty, even if it couldn't keep quiet. Part of Astarion hated that Cazador was right, people really were less likely to murder the beautiful.

In the Underdark Shadowheart had turned to him with a lewd smile. "This place suits you. Perhaps it's part of being a creature of the night. It's always night here."

And it was desolate as fuck, devoid of any living creature. So was the Shadowcursed Lands. Astarion was hungry. So very hungry.

"I just want a small nibble," he sighed. "Not even enough for anyone to notice."

"We all need to be on top form, soldier," Karlach muttered. "And it's not like any of us are feeling satiated by any sense of the word. You're not that special."

No, of course Astarion wasn't special. They were all hungry, tired and scared. It was nothing out of the ordinary compared to the last two hunderd years.

Coated in grotesque slime wasn't Astarion's idea of a pleasant time. He wipes ineffectively at his face and flicked what he could to the ground.

"Ruined my shirt. Ruined my hair."

"And you're ruining what little I have left of good will," Gale spat angrily. "Can't you just be quiet for once. I get it, you're a special little vampire who lived in a castle and now has to slum it with the rest of us. But Mystra have mercy, you're making the rest of us feel even worse."

"At least I'm making you feel something. Better than being a forgotten, burnt out waste of talent." Hurt had Astarion lashing out. He hadn't even been talking to Gale, just muttering to himself about his own misfortune. But Gale made a very good point. If he wasn't having a positive impact on the group then he risked being left behind. The more he saw of the world, the more Astarion knew for sure that he wouldn't last long out there on his own. Cazador's spies were everywhere and it was just a matter of time before he was dragged back and punished. It was better to stay quiet and appease his protectors than risk such a thing.

Lifting the curse meant Halsin joined them in their camp. Even stranger, he offered himself up as a meal for Astarion. Hunger outweighed the worry of cost. Astarion knew what he had to offer and acted accordingly. After only a few sips he licked the wound clean and shut before kneeling back.

"You can take more," Halsin offered with heavy lidded eyes. "Don't go hungry."

"I've taken all I need." The lie rolled off Astarion's lips as he patted his flat stomach. Under his shirt his muscles were outlined once again, exactly as they should be. "You've done me a great favour, I haven't had anything as delicious as you in a long time, if ever. How could I ever repay you?"

Halsin smiled up at him. This was it, this was where Astarion traded his body for survival again. Despite knowing this was the outcome when he accepted Halsin's blood, he still dreaded it.

"I was hoping to hear more about your adventures."

The absurdness of the request had a laugh burst from Astarion before he could cover it with something more airy and appealing. "Darling, if you want bedtime stories then Wyll's your man. My talents involve my mouth but a lot less talking."

Still smiling, Halsin shook his head. "Maybe another night then, when you're more comfortable to share some memories."

Such words lingered on Astarion's mind. He hadn't ever been wanted for conversational company. Usually as long as he had one hole stuffed, him companion(s) didn't want anything coherent out of him. Still, it made him hope which Astarion hated so much. But if Halsin was interested then maybe he could try it. Settling by the fire as everyone ate, Astarion listened, waited for his opportunity.

"That ended my attempts at learning to keep the shape of a rat," Gale finished his story and the whole group laughed. "Tara was mortified and I couldn't get the whiskers to retract for a week!"

"Rats were one of the constants in Cazador's castle, no matter how hard he tried to eradicate them." It was a smooth transition, at least Astarion thought so.

"Urgh, spare us the woe and misery," Karlach groaned. "Can't we have just one night where we don't talk about the shit things in life? Let us have a bit of fun!"

Looking around the fire, Astarion saw various nods and heard murmurs of agreement. He knew when he was beaten and Cazador had taught him well. Averting his eyes, he slouched a little, nonchalant yet deferential. "My apologies, I didn't realise my stories about training rats to do circus tricks would be so depressing." Standing up, he gave the group a hollow smile. "Please, enjoy your evening of careless fun away from reality."

As he walked away he heard mutters of "didn't have to take it so personally" and "what a little bitch". The rest of the words he tuned out, not needing to etch into his brain yet more derogatory comments to harmonise with Cazador's words. Walking past his tent, Astarion made his way away from camp, into the dark wilderness. Plopping down on a mound at the edge of a small clearing, he closed his eyes. This was fine. He had changed to suit Cazador's tastes, he could do it again. Not overnight, he needed to learn exactly what was needed of him.

The fact a bear lumbered up next to him should have been a shock. Instead, Astarion stared at it and wondered what he'd taste like to a bear. However, rather than attack, the bear shifted and Halsin stood there.

"Apologies if I startled you, it's easier to find people in the dark as a bear."

"Nothing to apologise for, I should have been paying more attention. Did you need something."

Settling at the base of the mound, Halsin gazed up at the stars. "I was intrigued by rats and circus tricks."

A bitter laugh trickled out of Astarion. "Darling, I did no such thing." Leaning forward, he teased as if imparting some great secret. "Karlach was right, I was going to say how rats all tasted different based on what they'd last eaten. And how Gale likely still tasted just as vile in rat form as in human form. That orb of his certainly sours his appeal."

He didn't expect Halsin to laugh brightly. "I would have loved to have seen his face at hearing that. Do you think Karlach would taste like a fiery pepper?"

Something like delight briefly flitted over Astarion's face as Halsin so easily picked up the thread.

"Well, you're earthy and rich. I think she would certainly have a kick but more like a prank candy. Shadowheart would be a fine aged brandy that has started to turn so it just ever so slightly bitter."

"Lae'zel would taste like pickles!" Halsin blurted out with a wide smile. "And Wyll would be water." It had Astarion actually grinning even as Halsin continued, "My apologies, I do not have the poetic skills you harbour. Leather shoes or wooden clogs are about as creative as I can get with descriptors."

"And yet you're all the more compelling for your upfront honesty. Like a cool breeze on a hot summer night, refreshing yet also mysterious."

The way Halsin flushed was a delight. Without thinking too much, Astarion gave up his perch in favour of scooching down to sit next to Halsin. Their shoulders bumped together and Astarion stayed quiet. He could learn what Halsin wanted him to be. But something told him that all Halsin wanted him to be was himself. A terrifying prospect yet Astarion found himself looking forward to finding out who he really was.

[splashinkling]

Another Get to Know Me

thanks @sleepy-night-child for the tag!

a band that you don't like that many others do:

I'm pretty amicable for music. it'd take a song I really hate for me to not like a band. on the other hand, I will like any song that will get me to sing along with it

least favourite animal and why:

bees. when I was a kid, someone told me to not move around bees so that they wouldn't bother you. outside during recess, I froze still cause a couple of bees landed on my shoulders/neck. the bell rang for us to go inside and I had to make a mad dash for the doors despite the fear I'd get stung. hindsight and common sense now tell me bees are generally harmless and wasps are the enemy, but I'm traumatized now and treat them the same

hot fandom take:

head empty, I don't really have any takes, especially ones that aren't already out there. also not really in fandom land, I'm just on my own island.

do you wear any jewellery, if so, what's your favourite piece:

not super devout, but I've got this necklace from elementary school that's a cross with a dove on it that I still wear. otherwise, the owl ring I got a couple years back that I wear as a necklace is the one

a movie others liked but you didn't:

honestly I watch so many movies with my friends nowadays and a lot of them are really bad lmao. I think a recent movie we watched was The Killer and I didn't like it, but it's rated highly for who-knows-why. like it's not even a comedic mess-up, the assassin was just bad at his job and it's not entertaining

three things you love about yourself:

I'm a relatively positive person, or more like I don't have that much hate in my soul. will try to be the best supportive friend you've ever had. and I've got a lot of creative outlets to use!

a place you hope to visit in the future and why:

Japan! I wanna see so many gamer things there. plus the tourist-y landmarks/activities. life-sized gundam is also on the list, if that's still around. and the food! (that I've been seeing because I follow this one guy on YouTube)

an actor that gets on your nerves and why:

the first name that came to mind was Dwayne Johnson for whatever reason, but he's doesn't actually get on my nerves that much

things you're excited about in the near future:

(slowly and surely) getting back to writing!! reviewing some of these games that I've been playing recently, because I've got Opinions on some of them. and getting used to this fancy new limited edition 8BitDo controller that I got. if this was a week ago, I could've said watching my friend finish the main story of Like A Dragon: Infinite Wealth, but that's already happened

least favourite ship in a fandom you're in:

again, not really in fandom land so I have no idea about what ships go around.

what's the most toxic fandom you've been in:

as a gamer and basketball fan, those are wildly toxic fanbases. gamers are so mean to the devs (sometimes rightfully so, other times not so much) and to other players. like literal death threats sometimes, it's insane. and then fans of basketball would literally boo their own players at times, like what.

list three things you find beautiful about life:

Space science (thanks Kurzgesagt)! Other people's works (art, writing, games, or otherwise)! Family, friends, and pets!

any dreams for the future:

finishing and publishing any of my works so that people can (hopefully) enjoy the experience I made for them

how are you feeling today?

another day of writing, gaming, etc. but it's grey and gloomy outside and it's sucking like half of my energy away, especially because I need to walk the dog later. and the NBA Trade Deadline is at 3pm so I might be spending more time than usual paying attention to player movement/trades between teams, especially because my team is Not Good and I'm expecting them to make moves this deadline.

no pressure tagging @talesfromaurea, @moonluringfrost, @ettawritesnstudies, and sleepy friend already tagged @oh-no-another-idea and @drippingmoon, but I'll tag as well if you'd like :)

[sidecharactersdomatter]

Thoughts I had during TGCF S1 Ep 7

-Previously on TGCF…

-Xie Lian: I didn’t mean San Lang. Ruoye: Really? Ok! *lets go of him* (Sorry I just love coming up with dialogue for Ruoye, and you’ll see more of this later in Season 2!)

-Oooh the sudden chirping during the Sandstorm music, sounded similar to the noise Gale makes in Frozen 2

-He got him!

-It’s official!  Xie Lian is shorter than San Lang people! 

-It’s like they’re fondly embracing each other…

-Don’t be sorry Xie Lian, you’re doing amazing sweetie

-Hi Fu Yao and Nan Feng!  XD

-Xie Lian: Listen better!  You’re a bad band!  Ruoye: Sorry…

-Time to wrap up this rescue!  Pun count: 7

-There’s that wind chirping noise again

-I’ve heard of a close knit unit but this is just insane!  Eyyy (I’ve been waiting to use this one in another of my fave S1 episodes). Pun count: 8

-He doesn’t have any other options Nan Feng

-A cliff!

-Well it’s good to keep everyone together

-Is that Rock Plateau also similar to the Si Won Rock the Gaang found in the same desert episode? (Another good reference, and I hope there aren’t any buzzard wasps/circle birds and weird gross cave honey)

-I wonder who’s watching out for them anyway?

-Oooh a light spell from The Owl House (It’s official, TGCF has been helping me cope with the end of The Owl House people)

-I love NF and FY’s banter so much

-Aw he was concerned for Xie Lian

-Yeah how does he know so much about the perceptors?

-Oh really…

-It is really dark

-Well that ain’t great

-There’s so many people

-There’s pissed off Nan Feng

-I almost the uncle’s name was Jeong (like Jeong Jeong from the avatar) but it’s actually Jiang

-Diplomacy wins again

-Oooh now San Lang’s skeptic

-Why does the Guide Zhao also have red eyeliner?

-Man the only kid in the caravan

-The Sandstorm hasn’t let up

-He sat on a tombstone!

-The writings in Hanzi and not Arabic

-So savage Fu Yao

-I’m learning Mandarin and even I don’t know what it says

-They’re reading together folks

-And now Tian Sheng’s curious too

-The soldiers look similar to the army in Disney’s Mulan

-Yes that is so complicated right now

-Ooooohhh That poor poor general

-Fu Yao has experience of being on the battlefield

-Aww Tian Sheng

-Tripping on your shoe laces is not how anyone would want to go out oooohhh

-Yep it’s just comical picturing that final moment

-And then they all bow to it to respect the general it’s both funny and endearing!

Yep still can’t read it

-San Lang totally said that to trick them

-Oh and the way Xie Lian called San Lang a ‘Prankster’ *Fangirls like crazy!*

-COBRA!

-He caught the tail fwoo!

-That’s an animal that would totally fit in the Last Airbender world (I wasn’t kidding when I said this is for the Adult Last Airbender fans)

-San Lang using the cobra as a jump rope has added at least 10 years or more to my lifespan!  XD

-SO MANY COBRAS!

-Thank you Fu Yao and Nan Feng

-The Sandstorm is over

-No the kind merchant uncle!!!

-He got stung!

-Oooh that’s how you stop the venom from spreading

-Oh no and 4’s an unlucky number in China

-That’s good reason alright

-No telepathic communication out in the desert

-Oh no another cobra!

-He saved San Lang!

-Oh no now Xie Lian got stung!

-Oooh San Lang ordered Ruoye to become a bandage

-(Another spell that inspires my TOH AU, including the venom sucking for healing magic!)

-He is sucking the venom out like a G!  Get yourself a man like San Lang people!

-This moment between XL and SL is so freaking sincere

-I could do an essay on why Hualian is the superior ship than Stolitz is right now, but I might end up pissing off fans that watch and defend HB’s problems, so it’ll never happen

-Xie Lian’s so brave during the venom sucking

-You know we’re all thinking what Xie Lian’s thinking about how he’s going to clean San Lang’s bloodied lips (I’ll let you share your answers in the comment section)

-And San Lang makes the snake explode like a boss

-Aw Tian Sheng’s concerned

-He’s so selfless

-And Fu Yao’s stuck with merchant sitting

-Oooh a travel montage

-Really lovely desert travel music!

-And then Fu Yao gets pissed off while the merchants sneak away!  XD

-They made it to the ruins

-Yeah he does know an awful lot

-It’s those women again

-Oooh foreshadowing with that banter

-Uh oh the woman in the black cloak spotted them

-Another cliffhanger people

I know episode 6 in Season 2 came out today, but I’m finishing my reaction compilation of Season 1 before I get to the next season ok?

[inamindfarfaraway]

☔️ and 🌈 for the ask game

WIP ask game.

☔Is there a fic concept you have that you'd like to just explain and share because you're not sure you'll ever write it? If so, what is it?

Ooh… I have SO MANY ideas all the time. I’m enough of a perfectionist that I really want to write them myself, to do it Right according to my vision, but I know logically that I’ll probably never get around to all of them. Here's a concept I really struggle to see myself committing to:

A Miraculous Ladybug fic that ignores everything after Season Two and follows Chloé committing to being a good person, at first just to make Adrien and Ladybug proud as Queen Bee continues to earn the public and other heroes' trust. It’s entirely from her perspective, so Marinette and Ladybug, etc., are written like different characters. Her character development is the main plot, but it’s a very natural slow burn. It isn’t that her rough edges are sanded down. The plot would span several months with several layers and I can easily see myself not finishing it. Her first big step is awkwardly saying sorry to Marinette and her other bullying victims. She isn’t used to shame and it’s gross. Marinette is rather forgiving, but Alya is not and ready to come at her if she attacks anyone again. But they mostly avoid her and she’s glad. She doesn’t want to be their friend, they still don’t meet her standards. She also hunts down the train driver she stung in "Queen Wasp" to apologize to him. She slowly grows more humble, instinctively selfless, emotionally mature and open to sincere vulnerability and deep connection, developing a healthier self-image and friendships. But she wrestles with her need for her mother’s approval. Her dad is happy to support her and proud of her initiative in changing, driven to confront his own flaws as a parent and politician. But Audrey is relentlessly emotionally abusive on the rare occasion she even bothers to think about her daughter; she's the main antagonist of the civilian plot as Hawk Moth is of the more episodic superhero plot. Chloé very gradually internalizes that Audrey is a bad person not worth imitating, respecting or talking to. Her stronger social life outside her family helps. Seeing her victims as people like her means acknowledging that she can be a victim like them. That’s why she’s been so afraid of it her whole life. Some major subplots:

Chloé processes that she’s had a crush on Ladybug this whole time, maybe via listening to Cat Noir gush about her and being like “Wait… that sounds a lot like my totally platonic inner monologue. OH SHIT”. She gets very flustered - she’s not one to be back down from a challenge, but how do you ask out a superhero? - and Sabrina isn’t much help because she’s intimidated exactly the same way regarding her own unspoken crush on Chloé herself. Chloé resorts to demanding asking Marinette and Alya to give her advice on asking a cool, popular girl they totally don’t know out, reasoning that they make plans all the time for Marinette and Adrien and unlike Mari, she’ll actually follow through. She does, and Ladybug is stunned and gently lets her down. She praises Chloé’s honesty and courage and says that she values her deeply as a friend and teammate. Chloé keeps it together in front of, but takes it hard afterward. Sabrina comforts her, but keeps quiet for fear of the same rejection. Though they do get closer, as it’s one of the first times Chloé’s let Sabrina or anyone see her be seriously hurt.

In light of being on that side of the equation, Marinette is like “I can be as brave as Chloé” and finally asks Adrien out and they get together, Adrien accepting that what Ladybug’s might do doesn’t outweigh what his friend is. They have an offscreen identity reveal a couple of chapters later and the next akuma attack, Ladybug and Cat are dating? Very confusing for poor Chloé. She’s jealous and mean with Cat for a while, but calms down eventually. Ladybug telling her truthfully that Chloé inspired her to confess her love cheers her up a little. Ladynoir is Chloé’s gift to the world, everyone!

Pollen is a proper character. Her personality, evolving dynamic with her holder and backstory are developed. You can't tell me that the Miraculous of subjugation was only used for good in the past, so a holder becoming more moral than less over time is a refreshing change of pace for her. She’s seen terrible things.

Helping Chloé deal with and detach herself from her abusive, neglectful parent makes Adrien, who saw firsthand the effect Audrey’s abandonment had on her years ago, realize that how Gabriel treats him is not actually okay either. Huh. He might… he might not be okay. But he’s so nice and obedient and careful! Can you be messed up and nice at the same time? So he starts to unpack all his baggage. Chloé joins the Anti-Gabriel Club with a passion, if she wasn’t in it already, and earns her classmates' belief and even admiration, especially Marinette and Alya's, by coming through as really kind, reliable friend to Adrien in his journey. They take turns leaning on each other in "Why doesn't my parent love me?" crises. They also talk about Emily. It's sweet. Adrien being a sentimonster and a Hawk Moth reveal are optional if you want to complicate things more. I do think it would be fun to see those narratives from the perspective of a Chloé who actually cares about Adrien, and for her to kick Gabriel in the groin, but it depends on how thin you want to spread the focus and how much you want to devastate the status quo.

Alya/Rena Rouge, who knows Chloé’s secret identity while Chloé does not know hers, learning to appreciate and support Chloé’s redemption and work with her in the field. But they’re hever, like, great friends. Chloé indeed has to learn that she can’t fix everything and win everyone over, from her peers to the people of Paris to her mother.

Either Sabrina gains the confidence to confess her love or Chloé gets good enough at that empathy stuff to notice it on her own. She realizes that she’s been falling for her best friend this whole time and they find their footing as a couple, with Sabrina getting more assertive and Chloé tackling her insecurities about romance because her parents are awful role models.

In the middle or near the end, depending on the structure, something big happens that shatters Chloé’s faith in Audrey and/or her ability to be loved in front of her classmates. Maybe Audrey cancels a mother-daughter trip bonding trip to focus on her work and only remembers to tell her at the last minute while she’s waiting to be picked up from school. Maybe Chloé hosts a party to make up for the one that went awry in “Despair Bear” and Audrey finds a reason to be angry about it and cruelly berates her. Maybe Mother’s Day or Audrey’s birthday goes south after Chloe put in heaps of effort to make Audrey happy. Audrey insults her child on TV in her debut, she isn’t particularly clever about it. The point is, everyone really wakes up to how little Audrey cares and wants to care. Chloé breaks down and gets akumatized into a new, angstier form (showing us an akuma's inner monologue) and dramatically fights her friends, possibly resisting the mind control. Maybe focus on Cat Noir? Marinette regrets convincing Audrey to stay in Chloé’s life, yells at Audrey and rejects the awesome fashion opportunities she’s offered her out of integrity. Alya volunteers her journalistic services in building a child abuse case against Audrey if Chloé decides to press charges, valuing justice more than her grudge.

Eventually André gets a divorce, defending himself and his daughter from his wife’s wrath, and Audrey moves back to New York. Somebody has to call her “ridiculous, utterly ridiculous”. She and Chloé have a goodbye scene that mirrors a flashback to the last time. Now as then Chloé is heartbroken, but she knows that it’s for the best.

If Chloé ever learns anyone else’s double life, it should be Adrien’s. She should deduce it from how well she knows him, and as proof that she’s able to imagine his complex interiority and her not having previously known everything about him, unlike before. In the first chapter she’d never guess that ‘her Adri-kins’ could or would keep a massive secret from her. But now she’s like “Of course he’s a superhero, he’s Adrien!”. He’s her everyday Cat Noir. Guys. The show we could have had if they were allowed to be real friends.

I know that sounds like I have a strong outline. But those are just plot point nuggets floating in a soup of Vibes. And to pull off all the slow burn arcs and interwoven threads with maximum impact, the fic would have be very long as I envision it, which is daunting and I don’t have the stamina for. So fly away, little fic concept! Find a writer who can unlock your full potential!

🌈 Share something soft/fluffy from your WIP.

My main WIP at the moment is about Luke Castellan growing up into the problematic disaster blorbo we know and love/hate. So it’s very sad. But there are soft moments, even if they’re also sad in retrospect. Here’s Luke and Thalia being friends.

‘“My mother told me. About the pact and how I was a forbidden kid. She told me I shouldn’t have been born.” Her voice was small and unsteady. “She never did anything like this for me. It wasn’t like your mum. She just didn’t care.” She clenched her fists. Voice growing louder and harder, she spat, “I would have run to the other end of the country even if I hadn’t been chased by monsters. She’s worse than Zeus.”

Ah. So Luke wanted to punch both her parents.

“She can go to Tartarus. Like I said, I’m glad you’re alive. And not just ‘cause you save my ass every week.”

Anyone who wasn’t could go through him.

Her glare melted. “Only every week?”

They shared a brief laugh. Though her side was wobbly, her eyes were brighter. She waved her arms and twisted her wrists, taking the time to feel herself in her new jacket.

“I’ve honestly lost count. Trust me, seeing my thirteenth birthday will be enough for me. The pressure’s off.”

“I think this is the best birthday I’ve ever had. That’s pathetic, isn’t it?”

“You could never be pathetic,” he said without hesitation.’

Thanks for the ask!

[iamtrappedinsideasnowglobe]

How would you feel if you received 5000 angry bees in an envelope? Please respond as this is a time sensitive questio

Very good i will coat myself in bananas promptly

[fernweh-writes]

What would the slashers do if their s/o came home with bees following them, and not attacking them, no no no no, just chilling on/around them. I may or may not have done this as a child and scared the ever loving shit out of my parents :)

Apparently my tanning lotion attracts bees cause they kept harassing me when I used it and I had a terrible time, 0 stars. They kept landing on the bottle and I didn’t know what to do.

-Fern🌿

S/O Hanging out with Bees

Michael Myers

Michael isn’t scared of bugs, but he isn’t exactly a fan of them either. So he’s not exactly thrilled when he finds you sitting on the porch with bees constantly landing around you and buzzing around the place.

At first, he thinks that maybe they have made a nest somewhere on the house and that’s why there’s so many of them. After a quick walk around he finds out that nope, no nest anywhere to be found.

He worries that they’ll sting you but he’s also not going to do anything about it. Maybe staring at you through the window will get you to come inside so he decides to kind of hover from inside the house.

If the bees try to follow you into the house he’s going to lock you out. You’re not bringing the bees inside, he won’t allow it. Have fun on the porch.

Bo Sinclair

Bo is scared of bugs. He puts up a tough guy front like he does with everything else of course, but he is scared of them. Bees, wasps, and hornets are all the same to him. If it flies and can sting you then it’s a bee, plain and simple.

His fear comes from stepping on a yellow jacket nest when he was younger and getting stung repeatedly by them. Any southerner knows that yellow jackets are even worse than wasps when it comes to being aggressive and stinging people, so he definitely didn’t get away safely.

When Bo sees you walking down to the shop with a trail of bees behind you he panics a little bit. The best he can think of on the spot is to hide.

He locks the shop up, turns the radio up loud, and heads down to the basement. You can’t bring the bees in if you can’t get in. Then if you ask questions he can simply say he was busy down stairs and couldn’t hear you over the radio. Boom, problem solved no bees and no angry y/n. He’s a genius.

Vincent Sinclair

Vincent spends the majority of his time down in his workshop so it’s most likely a handful of bees followed you down there in an attempt to find an escape from the heat. Not the best idea seeing the workshop is far from being a nice cool place.

He’s not afraid of bugs but that doesn’t mean he has to like them either. As long as they don’t bother him he’s good. But, if they start interfering with his work then he has a problem.

Once they start bothering him, he will usher you out of his workshop. Doing his best to communicate that the bees are a distraction and he needs you to get rid of them.

Don’t look so sad, keeping the bees from bothering him is a very important job and he’s very thankful for it. You can stop by and pay him a visit once you get rid of the bees!

Brahms Heelshire

If you had just listened to him and followed the rules then this wouldn’t have happened! He tells you to stay inside of the manor for a good reason. See what happens when you don’t follow the rules!

Congratulations, now you have to face the consequences of your actions. Brahms doesn’t like bees and isn’t going to let you inside with any of them following you or on you. What if they get inside and make a nest within his walls!

Gets upset because now he can’t be near you. A tantrum is most likely to ensue because you should have just listened to him instead of breaking the rules! Now you can’t take care of him and it’s all your fault!

Thomas Hewitt

He’s mainly just worried that they’re going to sting you! What if you’re allergic to them? Have you ever been stung by one to even know? Thomas can’t have you being killed by a bee!

Doesn’t know how to help you even if he wanted to so hopefully you have the situation under control.

He first notices when he watches you being followed by bees while you work in the garden and he’s taking care of other outside chores. Perhaps it was the flowers and other plants that attracted them, but they were landing on you and you weren’t even freaking out about it or trying to get them away from you. Safe to say, he’s a little freaked out and a lot worried.

Billy Loomis

Pretty boy here absolutely hates bugs. So when you walk towards the house with bees flying around you and a couple on you he’s not exactly thrilled.

At first, he makes you sit outside so that the bees can’t follow you into the house. This leaves you sitting on the porch with your bee buddies who just don’t want to leave. Maybe it was your perfume/cologne that attracted them, but they just would not disappear.

Eventually, Billy gets impatient. He’s wasting precious time he could be spending with you to some bees. You’re his not theirs! Expect to be snatched up and drug into the house whether you like it or not.

Stu Macher

He’s just…very confused. There’s just so many bees hovering around you…And you’re just so calm about them buzzing around your head and landing on you…Why?

Once he gets over the initial shock of it he embraces it. Expect many jokes and horrible puns about being the Queen Bee. Lots of jokes involving you being called honey as well.

When it takes forever for the bees to leave you alone be begins to get annoyed. Swatting at them just stirs them up however and he most likely gets stung. Now you have angry bees and a pouty Stu. Good luck with that one.

Jesse Cromeans

He’s worried about you being stung by bees. Just because he can afford for you to be taken care of doesn’t mean he wants you to get injured in the first place.

Just look at how nice inside is y/n. It’s such a great and relaxing place to be. Much better than the hot and humid outdoors of Florida. Wouldn’t it be great to go into the nice inside without any bees? Jesse sure thinks so!

He will be finding out what perfume you had on that might have attracted the bees and gets rid of it. Jesse doesn’t care of it was expensive, it’s attracting bees so therefore it has got to go.

Asa Emory

This nerd, this absolute dork, gets excited. Why? Because he has an opportunity to easily study some bees that’s why! Sure spiders are his favorite but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t like bees. They are still bugs.

Asa is also the most likely to know the exact reason why you’re being followed by bees. So if having a buzzing entourage isn’t exactly your style he know what to do to make sure it doesn’t happen again. Or you can make it happen again if you’re a bee fan.

I like to believe a nickname Asa would use for his s/o is honey/honeybee. This incident would be the perfect source for a cute little nickname slash inside joke for the two of you to laugh about.

[discotreque]

Disco 4.07: ...But to Connect

Well, that was a terrible episode... JUST KIDDING LOL, I LOVED THIS ONE TOO.

Look, there’s plenty of bad-faith criticism of Discovery out there, and sadly too many good-faith bad takes, and way too much boring pissbaby whining—but there are also plenty of valid complaints to make about this show, and I’ve been making plenty of them myself, on this very blog, for three-and-a-half seasons.

The—let’s say “uneven”—quality to date isn’t exactly a surprise, given its clusterfuck of a production history; the well-documented turmoil and turnover in the writer’s room has had an obvious and undeniable impact on the quality of the narrative. (You could even say they’ve had a long road, getting from there to here.)

Everything about this show—the direction, production design, performances, editing, VFX, music—has always been better than the scripts, but it’s not like the scripts were entirely without potential. In fact, the sheer amount of unrealized potential has always been the most frustrating thing to me about Star Trek: Discovery.

Well, I guess I have to find a new most-frustrating thing (and experto credite, I will), because holy fucking shit, y’all… this is what I’ve been saying Disco could be. It’s still not flawless—and they’ve apparently ditched subtlety as thoroughly as they ditched the 23rd century—but I do. not. care. I’m getting one thousand percent more of what I want from this season than I got from the last three seasons combined, and don’t get me wrong—I liked Season 2, and I really liked Season 3—but Season 4 feels like a completely different show. A much, much, much better show.

Buckle up for mid-season spoilers:

Sorry Michael, but my cat Nora wouldn’t fuck with that little holo-toy either—based on her reaction to laser pointers, she needs something she can sink her teeth into—literally—once she catches it. If she can’t pretend to sever its spinal cord, my picky little princess is not interested.

I guess “The Measure of a Woman” would have been too on-the-nose as a title for this episode? Jokes aside, I like how they seem to be positioning Zora as a Data-esque character: the AI who’s a sweet, well-meaning nerd, who’s also still learning organic social graces. Also, the problem with her attaining sentience isn’t that she’ll turn malicious, or pursue her own inscrutable cyber-agenda, but that she loves the crew so much she’s making irrational choices to protect them? AAAAAAAAA 😭😭😭

It figures that Dr. Kovich—who wears glasses and a tie in the 32nd century like a full-time Ren Faire weirdo—also uses a QWERTY-ass-looking keyboard on his holo-computer.

And then he dropped his whole CV in that scene like Michelle Paradise is literally reading this blog? (Ha ha, but also… 🥺👉👈)

Cleveland Booker, I love you like only a lesbian can love a fictional man created by another lesbian, but could you please at least skim The Art of War like, once? If Species 10-C can harness the power of hypergiant stars to—I’m guessing here, based on the themes of this season—accidentally slap entire planets to pieces, there probably isn’t much you can accomplish against them with sheer brute force, my guy. I’m also thinking about the wasp nest on my garage 15 years ago that I was going to ignore until winter (out of laziness), and then one of them stung me on the ear while I was putting my bike away and those fuckers were gone by the weekend. If it’s really a five-minute solution, what’s to lose by asking “Why did you blow up my planet” real quick before trying to kick them in the nuts through subspace?

A real delight to have Phumzile Sitole back as Adira’s old boss, General Ndoye, and in a nifty little hat too! Jonathan Frakes, who directed her previous episode, said in an interview that she’d been planning to quit acting when she booked the gig, but she had such a great time on Disco that she decided to stick with it. So it’s extra wholesome to see her again! I especially loved every time someone proposed violence at the forum and the camera just cut to Ndoye silently nodding like “fuck yeah, blow stuff up.” 😂

President Rillak evaded my expectations once again when Michael suggested she had a personal stake in Earth rejoining the Federation, and instead of hiding behind a bland talking point, Rillak said quite candidly that she was both personally and politically invested. (And it turns out she’s got mommy issues too—take a drink!)

I frickin’ loved how Kovich insisted on… uh-oh, here it comes again… absolute candor when sorting out the issues between Zora and the crew. Emotional honesty: it’s not just a good idea, it’s an overarching narrative theme! (Plus: “We always mean well to ourselves, Captain. The problem is what that means for others.” Ooooof.)

I’m pretty sure that they mentioned Control more times in this episode than in the entirety of Season 3.

Gray and Adira standing up for Zora made me cry happy tears. Say what you will, but I think we’re in good hands with Gen ZZ9 Plural Z Alpha here.

The writers are lucky I don’t mind a little massive amount of didactic speechifying in my science fiction, because for real, I’ve read Peter Watts books that were less transparent about giving every single character an entire TED Talk about every relevant philosophical viewpoint on the table. (Blindsight is still my favourite vampire novel, btw.)

I’m glad nobody except Stamets in full Writer’s Devil’s Advocate mode really entertained Zora’s failsafe solution. “If you stop trusting me, just go ahead and summarily execute me” is uhhhh not really how we treat each other around here, Zora!

Just as I was starting to get sick of Tarka’s shit, he dropped his motive for attacking the DMA—stealing its power source to leave this universe entirely and find his “““friend”””—and Jesus did I ever pivot fast from “this chaotic-neutral mad scientist isn’t quite as endearing as he thinks he is” to just, like, sobbing in my kitchen. I’d say it hit me out of nowhere, but (a) the score reminded me of Jerry Goldsmith’s Star Trek: First Contact theme, one of my favourite pieces of Star Trek music, and (b) I’ve been 1,000 miles from the love of my life for 18 months now because of this fucking pandemic. Tarka might be the most relatable character on this show for me right now. If he’s telling the truth, I hope he gets what he wants—and if he was lying to manipulate Book, I hope Grudge eats his eyeballs.

Speaking of music, I’m pretty sure the theme that played during Paul and Michael’s overlapping speeches has appeared in this season already—I remember finding it unusual to hear so much non-diagetic piano in Star Trek—and maybe even where it changes into the main Disco theme and the woodwinds come in—but combined with the dialogue (or double monologue or whatever) this time around, it really, really hit me.

I did feel like Michael (and/or Rillak?) could have leaned harder on the point that, if first contact with Species 10-C did go awry, they could immediately deploy Tarka’s destructive solution anyway. I’m sure a lot of the pro-violence faction would have agreed that approaching 10-C with a carrot and a stick that big in their back pocket would be a logical move, right? (I know, I know, that’s not what this episode is about, but it was nagging at me the entire time.)

I guess the conflict over leaving Felix at the prison the other week was foreshadowing for Michael and Book being on opposite sides of the vote here. And once again, I’m pretty firmly on one of the sides—Michael’s, this time—but I also feel like I understand the other side, and how they got to their position both intellectually and emotionally, and even though I don’t agree with those conclusions, even though they make my heart feel heavy and sad… I can’t not respect it.

Also, shoutout to the realism of finding yourself on the other side of that kind of ideological gulf from someone you love. There are no good solutions there; the best you can do, I think, is be completely honest with each other and yourselves. And the worst part about Michael and Book’s situation is that they’re already doing that, and I think it’s already done everything it can. 💔 Additional shoutout to the face journeys of both Sonequa Martin-Green and David Ajala for making me feel like my heart got kicked in the stomach.

Anyway. It cracked me up when they established Zora’s personhood by locating her inner clip show device—so we know she’s at least as sentient as Riker, that’s a start. AND SHE’S JOINING STARFLEET??? THIS IS LIT-ER-AL-LY EVERYTHING I’VE EVER WANTED, OMFGGGG 😭😭😭😭😭😭

…though I guess that means Zora doesn’t need Gray as a permanent therapist, awwww. I can’t say I didn’t see it coming, and it’s a storyline that makes sense for him and Adira, but ohhhhh, that goodbye scene was bittersweet. (I’m glad they’ve figured out a way to write queer characters off this show without killing them, lmao.) And Adira knowing, before Gray even had to break it to them, what he wanted to do, and being whole-heartedly supportive and encouraging, was just unspeakably sweet. I’m like twice Adira’s age; how are they such a role model for me?

Another thing I wanted, never thought I’d get, and appear to be actually getting in spades? A genuine romance storyline with T’Rina and Saru! And according to his Ready Room interview, it was Doug Jones’s own idea? He picked up on some Sa’Rina ~vibes~ when he read the script—vibes that the writers apparently hadn’t put there on purpose—and mentioned them to Tara Rosling, who saw them too, and they played a little bit of tension in their Season 3 scenes… and then the writers picked it up for Season 4! I love that so, so much.

I seriously can’t stop laughing at the parallels between Book’s decision to go off with Tarka to destroy the DMA and—spoilers for the Netflix reboot of She-Ra, I guess?—Glimmer choosing to activate the Heart of Etheria at the end of that show’s Season 4. In both cases you have a good-hearted but impulsive character who’s suffered a profound loss and feels a responsibility to stop that from happening again… and tries to do so by unleashing a horrific and destructive power that they don’t understand and can’t control, endangering everyone’s lives and alienating their loved ones. (Also, in both cases, you have me yelling at my TV at 6:30 in the morning.)

Honestly, continuing to parallel Glimmer might be the best outcome for Book: spending the first half of Season 5 in a redemption arc apologizing to Michael (and Grudge) would be better than what feels much more likely for him right now: getting swatted out of space by Species 10-C like—well, like a wasp.

Sparkly princess feelings aside, the “installation” of the spore drive into Book’s programmable-matter interface was by far one of the coolest “oh shit, we’re in the future-future” moments that Disco 2.0 has done yet. More of that too, please. (Finally, my last @ for Book: if you don’t want people calling your ship a “floating bachelor pad,” the very least you could do is give it a NAME they could use instead.)

I wrote this about last year’s finale:

A lot of people were worried Vance was going to turn out to be evil, but I was more worried he was going to end up making a heroic sacrifice for (and/or inspired by) the Disco crew—and he sort of does, but it’s not his life he sacrifices, it’s peace with the Emerald Chain. If the only path to “survival” is as the fraudulently legitimizing façade of benevolence over a corrupt, capitalistic criminal empire, well… that’s the destruction of everything the Federation has ever stood for anyway.

And that’s, by my count, Star Trek: Discovery’s third consecutive season-ending reminder that our principles and ideals, our better natures, must inform every decision we make—every single one, in war and in peace—because a victory that costs you the ability to look at yourself in the mirror isn’t going to feel like a victory at all.

Well. Not only do they seem to be going 4-for-4 on this (profoundly important and perennially relevant) theme, this year they didn’t even wait for the season finale to have Michael Burnham make a big speech about it.

Does that put the back half of this season in uncharted thematic territory? I guess we have to wait five weeks (ughhhhh) to find out. But according to the trailer I saw after the credits, we’ll at least get to see Michael Burnham in some kind of civilian setting tossing around gambling chips like a total fucking badass… so who knows, it might even be worth the wait.

[simsadventures]

Gilded: Chapter 2: Our House (The Mess We’ve Made)

Mobster! Steve x Reader

Summary: Steve doesn’t like to be questioned, and you learn that the hard way. When he wants something, he gets it, and now he wants to have everything over with as quickly as possible. But there are a few bumps on the road. 

Warnings: mafia au, swearing, violence, blood, threats, violence on women, slight mention of a rape, fluff, I mean, Steve is very demanding here, but it’s a theme so… 

Word Count: 6087

A/N: I’m beyond excited that you guys liked the first chapter so much and are giddy for the next one. So, here we have it. More of our arranged couple and more mafia stuff. Let me know what you thought, and again, thank you for reading! xx

Series Masterlist __ Masterlist 

< Previous Chapter 

“You did what? Are you fucking kidding me right now? Y/N, I love you, but you must have hit your head real hard because this is not like you, at all,” Caroline reasoned, but you could see she was close to losing it completely. 

They were both waiting for you to come home that night, and you first had to make sure neither of them would talk about anything you were about to reveal. You trusted both of them with your life, that wasn’t the issue, but you were afraid that if they talked outside of your apartment, Steve might know and the things he could do to them would be the core of your future nightmares, you were sure of it. When they finally agreed, you got to explaining. But you didn’t even get a full sentence out before they started jumping in it, asking questions and wildly swatting their hands, trying to make you see just how stupid of an idea it actually was. 

“Do you think I don’t know it sounds insane? I do, but also like, it’s gonna take care of so many issues, and, I mean, all he needs from me, as far as I understood it, is to go to a few events with him, go to some vacations with him and that would be all. I mean, I can still have the job I actually enjoy and don’t have to slave in that fucking pub with all those weirdos, and I won’t have to worry about money,” you tried to sound reasonable and sensible, but from the looks on your best friends’ faces, you weren’t doing too good of a job. 

“Right, right, cool. So, you wanna tell me that the most notorious fucking mobster in America will let you live here, with us, while he parades you around the city at night? Or that he doesn’t have enemies you should worry about? Or what about the fucking police, Y/N, huh? Have you thought of that? You will be affiliated with a known criminal, and they will start to notice you and your life won’t be as easy as you picture it,” Aidan sighed and massaged his temples, the stress of it all getting the best of him. 

You sat down next to them and smiled at them fondly. It was sweet that they worried so much about you, and just the mere thought that there were people on this planet who gave a shit about you, even to the point of yelling at you at 11 PM on Wednesday night was heartwarming. You understood their reservations, you really did, but you also knew this all before you said yes to Steve. You knew it wouldn’t be as easy, and while you weren’t sure whether you would have to live with Steve in Manhattan or somewhere else, or if he let you just be on your own, you knew you could take it. The police didn’t scare you, you’ve had enough training in diverting the police from yourself, so the police was the last thing on your mind. Besides, you were signing petitions left and right to defund them, so… You were pretty sure they already knew your name from the demonstrations in front of their precincts. 

Enemies were a bit more challenging to handle, but you were sure Steve wouldn’t want his new wife to die on his watch. How would that look for him? So really, all that was at stake was your sanity and your integrity, and thinking about it, Steve didn’t ask you to do something illegal. The only thing he wanted from you was to be a good girl, marry him and be by his side. And you could do that. And you were only human, Steve was a sight to behold, so you didn’t mind being connected to him, even though he specifically told you he wasn’t attracted to you. 

That one still stung, but maybe it was for the better. You wouldn’t have to worry about doing something stupid when the other party was completely uninterested, and knowing it, you could just never let your body have even a minor crush on him, so the situation really resolved itself even before anything could have happened. 

“I really think I can gain more than I can lose, you guys. I didn’t imagine my life being like this, far from it, and maybe Steve and his money can help me get where I want. And I won’t even have to sleep with him or anybody else. He even talked about putting a no-sex clause in our contract so that I would be safe even on paper. You always tell me that I’m not taking enough risks and that I stay rooted in my comfort zone. Well, this is quite the improvement, isn’t it?” You laughed, and they both just shook their heads but chuckled nevertheless. 

“You are a psychopath, babe,” Aidan muttered but gave you a side hug, and Caroline soon joined. 

“We love you and worry about you, that’s all. But if you feel good about this, then so do we. I just hope he’s ready for our wrath if anything even remotely bad happens to you,” Caroline said, and the three of you started to laugh. You would bet somebody like Steve would be scared shitless from two 20-something-year-olds who, one who was scared of wasps so much she almost fainted every time she saw one, and the other having a hard time peeling a grapefruit. Yup, they were the combat duo you would bet your money on in a fight, for sure. 

Waking up, you had a good feeling about the decision, even more so than the night before. You had mulled it over and over in your head, seeing that this was the way out of everything and also your way to a lot of those things you wanted to have by now. You even thought of the saying, sometimes, the only way out is through, and this was your through. There was no foreseeable way of getting out of debt, of getting out of the depression caused by your hectic and unsatisfying life. Your way through it was accepting Steve’s money and his help for a year, freeing you from the shackles of your current life, in a sense. 

That it would come with a different kind of shackled you were sure of, but everything was better than your life now because you really couldn’t even call it a life. You wanted so many things, see so many places, but the world wasn’t made for the people playing by the rules, slaving in their ordinary jobs. No, this capitalist world was made for sharks, and you had been disguised as a sheep for too long. 

When you got to the gallery, you were welcomed by a sight that surprised you, and not in a good way. Where you were used to sitting every day for the past two years was another girl. She was pretty, and you bet she was wonderful, but at that very moment, all you saw was that somebody replaced you. 

You swiftly unlocked the door and walked in, the girl standing up immediately to greet you with a shy smile and a wave. You couldn’t be a complete bitch to her, after all, this was way above her pay grade. So, you just nodded and strode towards the offices where the director sat. 

“Good morning, Ms Y/L/N. I see you have met Laura, our new receptionist. And before you say anything, I just wanted to tell you that we appreciate everything you had done for this gallery for so long and that we thought it was time for you to learn some other skills, as you are more than capable of that,” he smiled warmly, and you weren’t sure if it was a nice way of saying you were let go of, or if you were promoted. 

“What does that mean, Mr Jones?” You asked incredulously, not really in the mood to search in between the lines. 

“You have become my personal secretary, Ms Y/L/N. Congratulations! I know you have the aspiration of becoming a curator, so, this way, you could get a little closer to art even though there is still some way to go, naturally,” he winked and chuckled, and you let yourself relax with the news. 

Wow! Your life was already taking a turn for the better, and all you had to was to go with your gut and risk a little. You wanted to laugh out loud at the universe and its mysterious ways of working. But, thinking of mysterious, your mind suddenly pictured Steve and his devilish smirk, and your smile faltered. 

“And may I ask, why now? Don’t get me wrong, I’m extremely grateful for the chance, and I will do my best to succeed in expectations. I just wonder what happened that the chance has come now?” 

Mr Jones scratched the back of his neck, and you gritted your teeth. You already knew that it wasn’t the universe praising you for your bravery. No, this had nothing to do with the universe. 

“More things have come together, to be quite honest, Ms Y/L/N. First, my long-time secretary left for her maternity leave a few weeks ago, as you might remember, and I have been looking for her replacement ever since. And I forgot what an amazing student we had here, who is already established with the clients and with our partners, and that this will be a win-win situation for everybody. And your fiancée was quite adamant that your resumé is remarkable and that I should give you a chance,” he smiled and piled gathered in your throat. 

How Steve managed to persuade Jones to do this was beyond you when you left him only a few hours ago, most of which were during the night, so there wasn’t much room for negotiation between the parties. You just hoped people wouldn’t start treating you differently when they realised your affiliation. That was the only thing you obviously didn’t think through: the opinion of the society. And since the New York society had been one of the most judging and selective ones even back in the 19th and 20th century, you knew not that much has changed since. People were afraid of Steve, with a good reason too, and now they might become frightened of you too. Fucking awesome. 

“I want to assure you that my fiancée won’t be present in my work life, however notorious he is,” you tried to sound as confident in what you were saying as you could, but you weren’t sure if you were doing a good job. But Mr Jones just smiled and sat down, signalling for you to sit down opposite of him, and he started talking about business and about what the job actually was. And while you tried to give him your full attention, there was this angry voice in your head, ready to bite Rogers’ head off. He would meet your famous wrath sooner than you thought, but it was all his fault anyway. 

The job was, actually, quite impressive. As your boss told you, you got to meet several artists already, you could sit in the meeting where they decided what kind of art the gallery was interested in, and you soaked all that in like a sponge. You were radiating by the end of the day, and the wrath subsided a little, but only till the moment, you saw a black SUV parked in front of the gallery and one of the turtlenecks standing beside it. 

You decided that if Steve could do what he wanted, so could you and so you walked in the opposite direction than was the car, leaving the turtleneck yelling your name and running after you. But you ignored him completely, even when he reached you and patted your shoulder, slightly bewildered that you recognised him and still decided not to do as he said. Oh, these obnoxious mobsters needed to learn that they couldn’t get everything they wanted. 

“Miss Y/L/N, please, you need to come with me. Mr Rogers is waiting for you in the car,” he said, and you finally stopped and looked him deep in the eyes while you folded your arms across your chest. You hoped you looked intimidating, but since the guy was wearing a pair of sunglasses you couldn’t be entirely sure whether it worked. But you didn’t relent and just stared him down, and when he shifted uncomfortably, you knew you were winning this contest. 

“Would you please come with me? Mr Rogers hates to wait,” he mumbled the last thing, and you would have snickered if you weren’t so determined to be the tough guy there. It was only when you heard other footsteps somewhere behind you, and the guy in front of you actually flinched that you realised the big boss himself was there to get you. 

“No, Mr Rogers really doesn’t like to wait, Y/N. Is this the way to treat your fiancée?” Steve asked when he reached you, and you shuddered from the poisonous undertone in his voice. Safe to say, it might not have been the best strategy to try and walk away from him, but you had decided for it once, and now you were gonna stand by your decision. 

“Oh, I don’t know, darling,” you hissed but continued before he could comment on your behaviour, “is intimidating my boss to give me a promotion a way to treat me? You really think you have control over everything and everyone, Steve, but let me tell you something. This is my fucking life, and you have no fucking right to march in and do as you please!”

He just raised a brow, and his nostrils flared before you felt his hand on your upper arm, squeezing it so tightly you were sure your arm wasn’t getting any blood. But you didn’t want him to win, which would definitely happen if you pleaded with him, so you just gritted your teeth and stared him down. Steve nodded at the guys around him to leave you two, and they took a few steps back, sure enough to protect their boss but to give him at least some privacy with you. 

“Who the fuck do you think you are, talking to me in that tone, huh? I think you’ll understand soon enough that disobedience is punished greatly here, honey! So, stop acting like a brat who gets off from causing scenes in public and come with me. And, for your information, this is a fucking order, and I dare you to move from me again,” Steve spat in your ear, and you trained your eyes on the ground. 

Well, not your best idea, you had to admit that, and you valued your own head enough to just shut up and follow him. And by following him, you meant walking beside him because Steve obviously didn’t trust you enough to let go of your arm, even if his grip loosened slightly. 

He thrust you in the car with a force that could scare many, but it only just slightly surprised you. When he finally sat down next to you, he bid the driver to just go and stared out of the window, not addressing you in any shape or form, and you huffed in annoyance. 

“Look, Steve, you brought me here for a reason, so what do you want? I thought we agreed to meet tomorrow and not today, in broad daylight in front of my job.”

“Show some respect!” He roared, and you saw the eyes of the bodyguards, or whatever they were, flick towards you in fear. It was funny how such huge men were clearly so afraid of one of them. You remained calm, however, and just remained looking at him. Then you realised something. He didn’t mind your mouth the night before that much when the two of you were alone, but he couldn’t stand it when people were around. He needed to be the man, his people needed to know that nobody treated him differently and that not even his future wife could disobey him, let alone publicly. You swallowed your pride and shifted your gaze elsewhere. 

“I’m sorry, Steve, I’ve had a long day, and I’m taking it on you now. I just wished you spoke to me before you called my boss, but still, thank you for the opportunity,” you muttered meekly, and the triumphant look on Steve’s face spoke volumes. He just hummed and patted your shoulder, his own shoulders slacking and relaxing. These people were so easy to read, you were actually quite astounded that they weren’t played like violins by some secret agents or something like that. Well, you thought, at least you could play them, and it would make your life a little easier if you did it well enough. 

“I came because we needed to discuss more things, honey. I had a pressing matter to attend to yesterday so I couldn’t stay longer, but I have the whole afternoon reserved just for you today, so we can go over all the parts of our agreement in great detail and that we can start planning our wedding,” he flashed you a smile, and it was your time to tense up because if you were to have a wedding soon, which was clearly something Steve wanted, you needed to get a move on and that stressed you out. The arrangement might have been just for a year, but you knew that Steve’s wedding was supposed to be magnificent, showing all that he obtained and all that the mere mortals couldn’t have. You included. 

But then you realised something. 

“Sure, but I need to take care of something first if you don’t mind,” you added quickly seeing the mobster next to you tensing up again. “As I no longer work at Joey’s pub, I need to get my things from there. My boss called me this morning telling me that I still had my work shoes and other stuff there and that I should pick it up or they’ll throw it away.” 

“Just give the address to the driver, we’ll get it, and then we’ll go to my place- oh, excuse me- our place and discuss what we need,” he said simply, and you followed his orders. 

The rest of the drive was silent, and you could unwind a little, reminisce about the 24 hours you have had. From taking the subway anywhere you needed to, to driving in an armoured SUV with the most prolific mafia boss of the USA, your life took quite the turn. You needed to set some boundaries with Steve, but you needed to do it tactfully and, most importantly, alone. You hadn’t known him at all, but you knew the type. There would be reasoning with him as long as he thought he had a free choice and knew that his position wasn’t neither threatened nor questioned.  

This was a part of your agreement that you actually didn’t mind. Joey’s pub was not the fanciest of places in New York and while some of the customers were lovely and tipped well, the weekend sort was made of sleazy assholes who would touch you without your permission and not having to be around them would definitely be something you could get used to. 

The boss who’s name wasn’t Joey, surprise, surprise, but Thomas, nodded your way when you came in. The pub was only half full, but the odour of mixed sweat, beer and vomit was ever the same. Gosh, how you couldn’t wait to be out of there. 

Taking the places of the little box by the box with beer cans, you scanned the supply closet one last time and nodded as a goodbye. However, when you turned around, you bumped into somebody, and it sent you flying back a bit as you didn’t expect anybody to be there with you. You looked up to see Thomas standing there, looking pissed. 

“Funny! I never knew you were on the market, pussycat. And now I find out you are newly engaged and to Mr Rogers no less? I thought you said you didn’t want a relationship,” he sneered as he neared you and you instinctively took a step back. That he had a crush on you, you knew, and you told him multiple times that you weren’t interested, that you weren’t looking for a boyfriend and that you just wanted to be left alone. You scoffed at his immature behaviour now and tried to push around him without saying a word because you knew there was no talking to people like him. But he wouldn’t let you go, of course. 

“Maybe if I fucked you, you would see that I deserve you just as much, huh?” He hissed and took your already sore arm, yanking you towards him till you were pressed tight against his chance. You still remained calm, knowing that trashing and screaming would get you nowhere. 

“Let me go, Thomas. Steve is outside, and he is waiting for me, so I suggest you take your disgusting hands off of me and just let me go,” you tried to reason, but, again, there was no such thing with dumbasses like him. What was more, he probably didn’t like your remark about his disgusting hands, and so, without warning, he slapped you right across your left cheek. 

That made you gasp for the first time because till then, you really thought he was just playing and that he would let you go, but now seeing the bewildered look on his face, you suddenly realised that maybe you didn’t have the upper hand in the argument. 

“Like fuck he is, what would Rogers do in these parts, huh? I bet it wasn’t even him who called me last night and that you were just trying to get the upper hand. But guess what, you fucking whore, you are not getting out of here until I fuck you unconscious,” he roared and you gulped, trying to think of possible escape routes. But you were in a fucking supply closet, so there was literally just the one door, and Thomas was occupying the whole space in front of it. So, you’d just have to fight your way through. You were a little rusty, but this big-bellied idiot would stand no chance. 

But before you had the opportunity to execute your plan, the door behind him flew open and revealed one fo the turtlenecks (you made a mental note to actually learn their names because this was just awkward) and a very angry-looking Steve. 

Thomas faltered in his movement towards you and checked who had the audacity to interrupt him. The shock and fear on his face were priceless. 

Steve didn’t waste any more time as he lunged himself at the man and punched him straight in the nose, and the sickening crack you heard must have meant Steve broke it. But you couldn’t bring yourself to care enough to pity Thomas. You warned him, even though you didn’t expect Steve actually coming to your rescue. There were some advantages to being tied to him, it seemed. 

The turtleneck then took Steve’s place by Thomas, probably so that he wouldn’t escape and Steve marched towards you, still looking too pissed for you to stand calmly under his searching gaze. 

“Did he hurt you?” He sneered but didn’t wait for your reply as he checked your face, seeing your puffed left cheek which told him all he needed to know. The bruise already forming on your arm was both from him and from Thomas, so he didn’t comment on that, but Steve wiped the trickle of blood in the corner of your mouth before he turned around and now calmly walked towards Thomas. 

“Next time that degenerated brain of yours even thinks of her, I will come and slice your throat. Am I clear?” Steve spat into Thomas’s face who just nodded, probably glad that he got out of it so easily. What he didn’t see coming (and to be honest, neither did you) was the turtleneck suddenly pulled out a big-ass knife out of somewhere and the air filled with the bone-chilling cries as he cut Thomas’ finger off as if it was the most normal thing to do before he wiped the knife on Thomas’s shirt and tucked it back in his pocket. The blood flowing from the wound was thick and almost purple, and you had to shut your eyes at the scene. But the image was already seared into your brain forever. 

“Fucking rapist,” Steve said and kicked the already laying man, motioning to the turtleneck and you that you were to follow him. But your legs weren’t listening to your brain, as you were just watching Thomas writhing in pain, wailing and sobbing, and all that because he dared to touch you. An involuntary shudder shook your body, and it as only when you felt an arm around your torso, pulling you to the person’s side that you woke up. Steve didn’t say anything as he came back and wrapped his arm around you, walking you out of there, probably used to that people were dazed when they saw that much blood. And that was just a cut-off finger, how would it look if a person actually bled out there?

“Here, have a piece of chocolate, it should help you,” Steve whispered into your ear as he handed you a little piece when you finally made it to his car, and you took it without question, savouring the sweet taste on your tongue as it streamed into your system like the most delicious medicine. You took a deep breath, your brain recognising that it was a different environment and that the stench of the pub was long gone as was the blood. 

“You didn’t have to do that,” you heard yourself saying meekly, but there was no reprimanding him, there was no anger in your voice and Steve heard that. He knew it was the shock of the scene talking because you weren’t one of them. You didn’t see blood on an almost daily basis as he did and you had the right to be surprised. 

“I actually had to, Y/N. He touched you, he hurt you and nobody hurts what’s mine. And you are mine now or will be very soon, and I can’t have dickheads like him running around the city thinking they are invincible. You are under my protection, and the whole world has to realise that,” he tried to make you see his point, and when you nodded solemnly, he saw you understood it. You might not have been ok with it, but that was another thing, and that would take time. Steve hoped people wouldn’t be so dumb and try anything on you, but, the truth be told, inwardly he knew he would have to protect you more often than not because some people had a death wish. 

“Are you up to discussing our marriage, or do you want me to drive you home?” He asked, and you looked at him for the first time since the pub scene. You shook your head and chuckled a little, not understanding where was this coming from. It was apparent that there were many layers to Steve Rogers, but his mood swings were giving you a headache already. One second he was the infamous mobster and the other he impersonated a caring boyfriend? 

“I’m fine, Steve, thank you. I was just taken by surprise because I thought I would have to take him down myself, and I probably wouldn’t cut off his finger in the process, but we all do our things. I’m good for a discussion, if you are,” you gave him your best encouraging smile and Steve stared at you in disbelief for a moment before he averted his eyes towards the driver and gave him a signal that he was to take you two to Steve’s mansion. 

Three hours later, you regretted your decision greatly. Steve and you had been talking the whole time, trying to reach a compromise that would be suitable for both of you considering your marriage and your wedding. You were quite surprised when Steve came up with things that were up for discussion because you really thought he would just come with a set of rules for you to follow, and that would be it. Well, the set of rules was there, but so were other things, like where you’d like to live (it was either the New York mansion which he called the apartment or some villa he had in Hamptons, apparently), what were the countries he could take you (which was actually a nice touch) and others. You didn’t give a damn about a lot of the stuff, but the countries were something that caught your attention. 

“I would love to visit different places, that’s beyond doubt, but I do not wish to be taken to California, ever,” you insisted, and while Steve tried to inquire why it was that California was on your hard-no list, you wouldn’t budge. You just told him that you weren’t a fan of the hot weather and the swarm of people you heard was in LA and that it was the only place where you wouldn’t go with him, under no circumstances. After a while, he gave up and just jotted it down with a nod. 

“Now, to the sex thing, do you want it on paper that I don’t want you in this way or are you good with my word?” 

You felt your cheeks heating up, but you tossed your pride away again. This was a business meeting, and Steve was actually extremely honest with you, so the best you could do was to be frank with him as well. 

“I’m good with your word, thank you for asking. What I’d like on paper is that you won’t trade me with information. I don’t wanna wake up one morning to be chained by some of your pistol-buddies who wanted to fuck Steve’s wife,” you raised a brow, and Steve chuckled and licked his lips, which was something that got your attention. You snapped at your brain to stop the thought flooding your brain, and a part of you considered putting licking his own lips around you on the hard-no’s list for a second. 

“Alright, I will never do that, and I will put that in our contract. Now, have you decided where you want to live? And no, your own apartment isn’t an answer. I’m willing to pay the expenses so that your friends can stay there, but you are coming to live with me, either here or in Hamptons. So, which one is it?” 

“Here,” you answered after a while, “I have my job here so I can’t be going back forth to Hamptons every day. Speaking of my job, will you require my presence at every meeting? I’m just asking if I even have a chance attaining my job as is, or if I should quit now because you will never let me go there again.” 

“I would have let them fire you if I thought about not letting you work there anymore, now, wouldn’t I? Most of the meetings that I will need you are at night, so your work is fine. I hope your boss will give you enough vacation days because we will need those, but other than that, I think you will be fine at the gallery. Besides, I’ve assigned a personal bodyguard for you who will go everywhere with you, so you won’t have to worry about anybody attacking you,” he concluded, looking proud of himself. You, on the other hand, were bewildered. 

“A personal what now? Steve, I can’t just show up at work with some huge guy in all black following me everywhere I move. I saw the looks from some of my coworkers, and they would never accept me if I had a bodyguard, c’mon,” you were desperate now because just the thought made you shudder. 

“This is not negotiable, so just learn to live with it. Alright, I think that’s all from that, and we will both sign it before the wedding. Now, the wedding will be next week. I already hired planners, so that the only thing you need to care about is the wedding dress. It’s just for a show, and if it were up to me, we would just go to the city hall, but the world needs to see this wedding, so we’re doing it in the Weylin. Write down your favourite colours and flowers, the cake will be red velvet, and that’s not negotiable, but everything else you want, you write down, and the planners will do it. Also, write down all the guests you’d like to invite, family and all that, so we know how many guests we’re having,” Steve rambled on, but your mind wandered towards your family. 

None of them would be attending the wedding, and your heart gave a painful tug at the thought. You had always wanted your dad to walk you down the aisle, and he was so excited to do so, but now that wasn’t possible. And your beautiful mother… The memories made your eyes water, but you blinked the tears away quickly enough so that Steve wouldn’t see them. But he was used to reading people, so he saw your reaction to him mentioning a family very clearly, he just decided against commenting on it. Yet. 

“Alright, I’ll send you all the lists by Saturday, if that’s good enough, and I’m actually good with red velvet. It would be a problem if you said some cakes with loads of nuts because I’m extremely allergic to a majority of those, you should know about that, but red velvet is fine enough,” you nodded, and Steve did as well, glad he didn’t have to fight you on that one. Not that it would be a fruitful fight since the red velvet was his favourite type of cake on Earth. 

“I want you to move in before the wedding, I’ll have a room set up for you tomorrow, and you can bring whatever you want from your home. You will have access to my credit card, but I’m warning you, excessive spending will not be tolerated, alright?” 

You scoffed and rolled your eyes but bowed your head in mocked understanding. Steve had obviously spent his life with women only caring about the sum on his credit card, while you couldn’t care less. The card would be good for the wedding dress, but that was about it. You realised a long time ago that the fashion industry was one of the most dangerous ones for the environment, and while you still shopped from time to time, you tried to reduce it to a minimum. And if you did shop, you loved local stores and fair-trade manufacturers, who vowed to keep the well-being of the planet their number one priority. 

“I’ll take it that you understood it. Fine, so, you’ll move in tomorrow, I think my people can manage it till that. So, they’ll pick you up, let’s say, around 8 PM? That enough time?” 

You blinked and took the information in. He wanted you to move in tomorrow. Not in a week so you’d have time to actually pack and say goodbye to your friends, even if you still planned on meeting them every other day or so. You wanted a goodbye sleepover where you’d just laugh and drink and hope that the year would be a good one. Or, at least, not a disastrous one. 

“That’s definitely not enough time, Steve. Can’t it wait till next week? I need to say goodbye to my friends, and it’s already late, so we can’t do it tonight and just… Give me at least till Saturday evening, Steve, please,” you tried to bargain, and while you saw he wasn’t the greatest of fans, he agreed eventually. That ended your discussion, and you were soon driven away from the house you would soon call yours.

/ Next Chapter >

Taglists in reblogs :) xx

[katnissmellarkkk]

Angst #9

Hahahaha, so uh... you wanted angst? You got it. It may not be exactly what you wanted but it’s what came to mind when you sent this prompt. 

This turned out wayyyyy longer than I intended but 🤷🏼‍♀️. I always overwrite 😂💁🏼‍♀️🤦🏼‍♀️.

Context I think necessary to know for this prompt is that it’s set four years Post-Mockingjay, three years post “so after”, and I think that’s all you need to know? 

Oh yeah, and I should also mention that I definitely took creative liberties here. And also, trigger warning for choking.

Prompt: Angst “Did it mean anything to you? Did I mean anything to you?”

"Peeta," I yelp as he playfully splashes me. "Stop."

"Get in here," he demands, pointing to the water his whole body is immersed in.

"No," I refuse, laying on my back, maybe a little teasingly. "I just dried off."

Today was a particularly sunny day, with the bright light from outside our windows rousing us from bed even before our usual wake up time. I know the people of Twelve will be disappointed they can't get their bread and pastries today--especially seeing that Sunday is the most popular day at the Mellark Bakery--but I just couldn't pass up a lazy day at the lake with Peeta.

Still though, I didn't get as much sleep as I've grown accustomed to and after hours of swimming in the lake—and, jokingly, teaching Peeta to find katniss roots—I'm lethargic. My exhausted body is perfectly happy to lay in the grass with the sun beating down on me, either darkening or burning my skin.

But Peeta, it would seem, has other plans.

"Don't you dare," I hiss as his cacophonous footsteps approach. Even without the noise he still makes when he moves, the sound of dripping water would have given him away.

Not listening to me and definitely not heeding my warning—either he's grown fearless in the four years since the war or I've lost my bite and grown soft on him—Peeta reaches down and grabs me up by the waist, easily hoisting me up into his arms.

"Did you say you dared me?"

"Peeta," I try to command, as a last ditch effort, before bracing myself for what I know is coming.

Like clockwork, just as I have my eyes shut and sucked in a breath, Peeta tosses me in the deepest part of the lake before jumping back in himself.

I easily push my head above the surface just as he creates a massive splash of water with his impact.

"You're going to drain the lake," I complain as his hands find themselves on my hips, pulling me in closer. I go without resistance, but remain annoyed he just tossed me back in the water.

His lips find residence on my cheek, trailing lower and lower, underneath my jaw and down my neck, a non-verbal apology.

"Is all this water really good for your prosthetic?" I murmur after a long moment, some of the irritation fading from my body as he kisses down my shoulder softly.

"My leg is waterproof, Katniss," he reminds, chuckling a little.

"Oh yeah," I try to respond but his lips trail down to my chest, pushing me up higher against him, and speaking becomes difficult. "Generous of them," is all I can manage.

He lets out a real laugh this time. "Can always depend on the generosity of the Capitol, can’t we?" He quips just as I capture his lips with my own.

I don't know if in the last three years that we’ve been together I've become a better kisser—I've definitely become more experienced—and I can't say for certain if our kisses feel any different now to him, but I do know for a fact that Peeta has grown leaps and bounds with time. His lips, which were always soft and warm, now move with expertise, now hold a confidence I didn't realize was missing all that time we were putting on a show. Kissing Peeta now is another kind of experience and one I never knew I needed, one I never thought to ask for, before I had it.

Of course, I get some credit here. I am the one who's lips have given him the practice, who's tongue has freely wrestled with his, the one who he's gained all his expertise from.

As we pull apart for air, my face lolling down into his shoulder, burrowing there, I hear a peculiar sound. One I don't cognitively recognize at first but my sense memory captures instantly. It's a sound that makes my stomach twist and lurch before I can comprehend exactly why.

Peeta tenses too, rather abruptly. I feel his hands grip my thighs tighter to him, almost wrapping me around him, as if to keep me protected from whatever is buzzing above us.

The buzzing only gets stronger—so much stronger, in only a matter of seconds—and I have to consciously force myself to breathe as it hits me where that sound is coming from.

Tracker jackers. A whole lot of them.

Someone, somewhere, must have knocked over a nest. Someone must have been both unlucky and careless and somehow expelled an entire hive by mistake.

That's what I tell myself, at least. That this was purely a mistake. That this isn't an attack, set out to hurt us, to endanger us for deadly entertainment labeled a game.

Because unleashing a whole hive of tracker jackers on us, while we're out alone, secluded, in the middle of the woods, is the exact kind of thing the Gamemakers would do.

"Katniss," Peeta whispers, his voice close to my ear now. I can tell instantly that he's petrified.

Of course he's petrified. Tracker jacker venom is exactly what he was injected with, over and over again, in an attempt to destroy his memory, his mind, the very essence of his being.

"Katniss?" He says again, a little louder and a little rougher. But I'm still too shocked to move. I'm useless, completely frozen in place while the horrible creatures, that are deadly in large quantities—just ask Glimmer—finally come into view, circulating above us.

"We need to run," he urges, and I don't have to look at him to know his blue eyes are desperate.

Nodding blankly, I don't take my eyes off of the venomous creatures flying over our heads. Somehow, a very sore, exhausted part of my brain wakes back up and I feel myself go into survival mode.

A mode in which I had wished to never transition into again.

My legs unwrap from Peeta's waist and I interlock our fingers, squeezing his hand as tightly as I can. I swim to the edge of the lake, towing him behind me, and climb onto the grass just as I hear the buzzing grow closer.

Peeta is only inches, if even that, behind me, and we both grab our shirts and pants from the blanket we set out and dress ourselves while moving through the trees. Our soaked skin makes this more challenging but not altogether impossible, and soon I feel Peeta's hand yanking on mine, propelling me forward.

I know he's even more afraid than I am when I realize he's running ahead of me, dragging me behind him. Peeta is by far a slower runner than I am. The idea that there's enough fear in him to compensate for a naturally slower gait and a fake leg makes my heart ache.

I hear the tracker jackers still getting closer though, no matter how fast we move. It's not a surprising, really, as when these creatures were designed, they were made to lock in on a target and chase it down until it died. After all, they were made to be a weapon in the first war.

And they were used as one in both.

I feel myself let out a loud sigh of relief as the sound of the wasps begins to fade away, as we come closer and closer to the edge of the woods.

Still, it isn't enough. It's never enough.

Peeta's prosthetic does better than I cynically imagined but in the end, it gives out just as I knew it would and he goes tumbling face-first down into the dirt and branches. I didn’t see it but I can tell by the way his leg, his only real leg, is scraped up, that it must have gotten caught on the fallen branches strewed across the ground.

"Peeta!" I scream, louder than I intend to. Louder than I know I should.

I kneel down beside him, adrenaline still pumping through my veins like red, hot blood, and I yank and tug at his arm, trying to force him to stand and run again, as my wail evidently alerted a few stray wasps that hadn't entirely disappeared yet.

"Peeta," I cry out now, desperation taking over my entire being. "We have to move." I try to push him to stand, to move forward, but he's shaking his head with a sad, defeated expression.

"Katniss, just run," he orders firmly, his voice surprisingly strong. "Leave me here, I'll be okay."

I give him an incredulous look, so shocked by his statement that I completely ignore the small growing buzz flying closer and closer by the second. "Peeta, I'm not leaving you!" I exclaim, as if the thought is outright offensive. Because to me, it is. "You can't honestly think I'm going to abandon you-"

"Katniss, please!" He snaps now, his eyes getting desolate. "Please, just go! I'll be home as soon as I can-"

"No! You're coming with me!" I demand furiously. Just as I am preparing to quickly stand and drag him by force out of these woods, his baby blue eyes widen fiercely and he envelopes me into his arms, shoving my body underneath his.

It all happens in a matter of seconds. Peeta holds me down the way he used to hold his opponents down in a wrestling match, paralyzing me into place, and I can't move to escape, to try and run and drag him with me.

I don't understand what he's doing though, what his true intent may be, until I feel through him, through his body that is sheltering mine, the vibrations of the tracker jackers' stingers.

I don't know how many times he gets stung but it's not enough to kill him—especially not him, who has such a high tolerance after the abuse he was subjected to—but enough to hurt him. Enough to have an effect.

Enough that only seconds after the creatures fly away, he flings himself upwards, attempting to get as far away from me as humanly possible. Attempting to put as much distance between us as his distorting mind will allow.

"Peeta!" I cry out again, plainly reaching for him. It doesn't click in my head what could be happening. It doesn't seem even real anymore, after four years home without a single episode, after three years of bliss together, that he could ever again become that dark, twisted shell of a person he was in Thirteen.

"Stay away from me!" He hisses and I recoil instinctively into a tree trunk behind me. His stumbles backward and snaps a branch with his prosthetic leg. The sound is enough to set him off and he practically snarls down towards the ground.

I don't know what he's seeing, what terrifying hallucination is taking over his psyche. I can't even imagine where his mind is right now, but I know that’s horrifying.

"Peeta, it's okay," I try again, but my voice is breaking and I must have started crying at some point and my eyes are wide and displaying just how blatantly unnerved I feel and I know I'm of no comfort right now. Still, I can't stop myself from saying, "it's just a tree branch, Peeta. Nothing is going to hurt you out here, I swear."

"Except you," he states, so blankly, so matter-of-fact, that I visibly flinch as he turns the gaze of his cold, dark eyes on me.

The sweet blue sky that live inside his irises are long gone and in their place is a blackened night and I haven't seen it in so long, I actually forgot what it looked like.

"Peeta," I whisper now, knowing it's fruitless to say anything, to try and get through. But I just can't leave him here, alone, when he's been hurt, when he's still suffering from what Snow did to him to destroy me.

His hands shake and he clutches the roots of the tree beside him to the point of pain. As if the wood can keep him in place. As if the wood can stop him from reacting to the venom like his every impulse is surely screaming to.

"Go away," he spats at me, his teeth clenching together so tight I'm afraid he'll chip them. "Would you just go!"

"No!" I yell stubbornly. My legs suddenly find a way to work and the shock must be wearing off because I find myself manically crawling through the dirt and leaves towards Peeta, where he's practically locked himself against a tree.

"You're a stupid mutt," he snarls as I come closer—closer enough to touch. "A mutt created by the Capitol to trick me. Don't touch me!"

I ignore his words and lay my hand on his forearm. "Peeta, please-stop!" I order desperately as he swings his arm in my direction. "Listen to me, please! This isn't real! I swear, this is just a bunch of lies the Capitol told you!"

"The only lies that I've been told were from you, sweetheart," he practically spits at me. "And I'm tired of your lies. In fact, I think I'm tired of you altogether-" He cuts himself off, one of his hands flying up from the branch and smacking him in the face. "Run!" He abruptly exclaims in a different voice. A voice that gives me hope. Hope that he can mentally fight this off. "Katniss, go!"

"No!" I refuse still, my jaw clenching and my eyes locking in on his furiously. "I won't leave you here!"

He squeezes his eyes shut at my words, and when he reopens them, my every hope he would be able to pull himself out of this evaporates. "I hate you! I absolutely hate you! Why won't you ever leave?"

"Because I love you," I hoarsely shout, not caring that he's in no position to listen to me. "I love you, Peeta. I love you and I'm not going to leave you."

I never say these things, even now. Even after the years since the war, I rarely offer sentiments. In words at least. Peeta knows I love him. I know I love him. But there's little need for me to proclaim it every single day and night.

Until now, until right now in these woods, with Peeta and all that he is nearly evaporated, do I wish I had showered him in verbal sentiments over and over again. No matter how unnatural words as opposed to actions are to me, I should have forced myself to speak up more, to say how I feel, to overdose him in it until he's tired of hearing my voice.

Maybe if I had been more vocal, he wouldn't still be so fast to believe the worst. Maybe then he wouldn’t be susceptible to these dark thoughts when the venom enters his system.

I shake that idea off as soon as it comes. This isn't my fault and it definitely isn't his. The tracker jacker venom isn't something we could have seen coming and it isn't permanent, I force myself to remember. This will wear off.

I just have to make sure Peeta doesn't hurt himself before that happens.

"Peeta," I whisper now, seeing his eyes squeezing shut again. I don't dare to let myself hope again he's fighting the hallucinations off. Cautiously, like I'm about to pet a tiger, I lean my hand in to touch his cheek.

He doesn't relax into it but he doesn't snap at me either and I take it as progress.

At least, I do until he opens his eyes.

They're still black as coal and my heart sinks at the realization. But before I can think to do anything else, his mouth opens again, his voice now slow and quiet and pleading. "You're the worst thing that ever happened to me. I loved you so much and you cost me everything."

I feel myself let out an involuntary sob at that, my chest heaving before I can swallow it down. Because it's true. If it weren't for me, if I'd just eaten those stupid berries myself, he wouldn't have been tortured and hijacked. Millions of people wouldn't be dead from the war. Finnick would be playing with his son right now, probably teaching him to swim or fish or tie a knot.

Prim would still be alive.

As if reading my mind, his next sentiment matches my line of thinking. "You destroyed me, just like you destroy everyone. My family is dead because of you. You killed them. You killed millions of people and laughed about it. You even killed your little sister."

And I know he's not in his right mind, but his words still ring true to me and all I can say, while trying to suppress the overflow of tears gathering behind my lids is, "I know."

"But it never meant anything to you, did it? No matter who you hurt or how much pain you inflicted, it never mattered to you."

I shake my head automatically, not even registering that I'm about as good as arguing with a wall here. "That's not true. I do care. I've always cared."

"Liar," he hisses again but it's under his breath, through clenched teeth and I can't respond to it. "You never cared about anyone besides yourself."

"Not real, Peeta!" I frantically try to get through to him. "Not real, not real, not real!"

He acts as if I hadn't spoken. "I always, always loved you. So much." He says it, not as a compliment or endearment, but as a dark fact, as a burden to bear. As if it were a heavy load he was forced to carry. "Did that mean anything you? Did I mean anything to you? Or was I just second best to him?"

"Peeta," I whimper out desperately, wiping my eyes with one hand and reaching out to grip his palm with my other. "You mean everything to me. You're my whole world."

Something flickers in his eyes and he snaps like the branches beneath our feet. "Liar!" He screams again, and shoves my hand off his. "You're a mutt! You're a liar! You’re not going to kill me like you did everyone else!"

"Not real!" I scream on the top of my lungs, giving up every other defense I have, just for the insane hope of getting through to him.

I remember how I got him to cooperate, to see reason, to fight, in the middle of the war. How I kissed him desperately, knowing I rationally should kill him, knowing there was a likely chance he'd kill me for even trying to save him, but how I did it anyway, in the face of all that.

It was different then. He wasn't freshly full of venom. He was already beginning to overcome his hijacking on his own. He was already starting to fight his way back to me.

But that doesn't mean the same methods couldn't be repurposed here. That doesn't mean they wouldn't work again, under different circumstances.

Somehow, in the seconds I considered this method, my eyes had traveled to his lips and my plan was foiled before it could be put into action.

"Don't you dare," he threatens, his voice dripping with fury. Even more deadly than I heard only a moment ago. "You're not going manipulate me like you always do, mutt."

Before I can gather my bearings or even process what he's implying, he forces both his hands to let go of the roots he's managed to maintain an iron tight grip on. His hands come flying at me, knocking me back against the forest floor, knocking the wind out of me painfully.

I feel my shoulder blade take the impact and fight back a wince, just as two large hands wrap themselves around my throat.

They squeeze tight, effectively cutting off my air supply, giving me the same horrible sensation I still remember from his rescue. The horrible day I still sometimes have nightmares about.

This whole entire thing is a nightmare come to life. Just as much as it was back in Thirteen four years ago.

I stare up at him, my vision swirling, my eyes stuck on his. And, in spite of how angry I should be—at Snow or Coin or the Capitol or just life in general—I find myself uncharacteristically hoping. Not hoping that he won't kill me. But rather hoping that when he comes back to his senses, he is able to forgive himself for this. That he is able to forgive himself for all of it.

I stare into his eyes, because if this is my end, I want the last thing I see to be the person I love, even if he isn't himself. I want him to somehow retain the memory of me right now, at this moment. So he can know that I'm not angry with him, that I don't hate him. That I love him. In spite of every reason anyone has tried to create for me not to.

I'm so focused on his eyes that I don't even notice that his grip is weakening. I don't even register his stance changing. All I see, all I register, is his eyes suddenly changing from black to blue and then black again. It's haunting to see up close, like a demon is stuck inside of him and he's having to fight it off from the inside out.

"Peeta," I whisper hoarsely, reaching my hand up to cup his cheek as his irises become a blue ocean again.

But his body language remains stiff, even as he clumsily pulls himself upwards and off of me. He trips backwards once again, and I watch in a frozen stupor as his eyes change once more to ebony.

"Go!" He shouts abruptly, his features wild and downcast and tormented. "Katniss, go!"

And I don't know if it's the fact that he's seemingly fighting off the darkness now or if the tracker jacker venom may be growing weaker inside him or if it's just the plain fact that he sounds like my Peeta again, but I listen this time. I roll over gracelessly and cough and sputter and grapple for a breath before finding my footing and blindly racing out of the trees. Blindly leaving Peeta behind, hoping he'll be able to find his way back to me.

Hoping that he'll come back to me at all.

X.

I crash onto the couch as soon as I step foot into the living room, lying down on my stomach, burrowing my face into the cushions beneath me.

I mindlessly ran from the woods, tripping and falling and unable to catch my breath, my heart racing a thousand beats per second. I didn't stop when Thom waved at me or when Haymitch barked to ask what I was up to now. I didn't even stop to lock the front door.

I wasn't worried about Peeta coming home to harm me. He was in enough control in the woods to hold himself against the tree, to stop himself from strangling me, to yell at me to run. If he was going to chase me down and hurt me, he would have done so in the woods when I refused to leave.

No, I wasn't worried about Peeta coming home to harm me. I was worried he wouldn't come home at all. I was worried that this is going to push him to the edge, that he won't trust himself, that he will insist he has to go back to the Capitol for hospitalization. I was worried that this will cost me him and our life together and everything we've worked so hard to build.

I squeeze my eyes shut to hold in my tears, terrified that the tracker jackers are going to cost me him, even after all this time. That what Snow did to take Peeta from me will finally succeed, even after his death.

Me and Peeta don't see eye to eye on this topic. This topic is one of the few things we can't agree on.

Peeta still gets flashback, on a fairly regular basis. He still grips the back of a chair or clutches a wall, hides in the back of the bakery when a customer triggers some atrocious memory by mistake. He still has insomnia some nights and still paints his nightmares.

Some of those paintings consist of things I never could stand to know. Some of his paintings, so haunting and gut-wrenching, display things that have brought me to tears more than once.

I was looking at them one morning over a year ago when I blurted out the worst possible thing I could have.

"What would happen if you ever were hijacked again? If you ever became the way you were in Thirteen again?"

I honestly expected him to say that Dr. Aurelius has warned him that there is a possibility of that happening and that he has a plan in place and he would have to go to the Capitol again and just about a million things I don't want to hear but I as much as expected.

But instead he caught me entirely off-guard and simply said, "I'd leave. Go out to the woods and probably never come back."

It's only now that I realize his wording, that I realize I left him out in the exact place he specified disappearing and I feel my blood run cold as I process this.

I don't know what I intend to do, as I stand up off the couch. I don’t know if I intend to go to Haymitch and see if he's too drunk to be of any help, to go maybe to Delly or Thom or anyone in the district who cares for Peeta, or if I even intended to just go searching for him myself in the woods, but in the end it all becomes irrelevant.

Because as soon as I stand, frantically trying to stop my shaking and figure out how I planned to find him, Peeta walks in through the front door.

His eyes are blue again and they've lost the cloudy look that have always appeared in his episodes. I don't know why I forgot that until now.

Probably because I black out the things that really hurt me. The things that hurt my heart too much to fully process.

Peeta, the sweetest boy I've ever known, being tortured and destroyed to pay for my acts of rebellion is at the top of that list.

I just stare at him, taking him in now, here, alive, relatively unharmed aside from some scratches. His eyes are clear but they're so sad and so desolate and I open my mouth to speak. To say just about anything that'll convey to him that I'm not angry with him, not in the least. That I just don't want him to leave, that I can't take losing him again.

But all that comes out are choking noises and I don't know if it's the cries I fought off or if it's because his hands were wrapped around my throat not long ago, or if it's just plainly that I don't put my feelings into words well. By any stretch of the imagination.

Either way, it doesn't seem to matter. Peeta just shakes his head slowly, the skin around his eyes already wet and swollen and pink and before I can utter another sound, he's walking forward towards me and falling down onto his knees, wrapping his arms around my waist. His face buries itself into my stomach and suddenly, the most painful, the most wretched sobs fill the room and if I wasn't right here with him, if I couldn't physically see Peeta, the cries would almost be unrecognizable as him.

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

I try to resist it, I try to hold it back, I do everything I can to fight it, knowing it'll only make him feel that much worse, but in the end it's a lost effort and it's all I can do to raise my head up to the ceiling just as the tears come pouring from my own eyes. If they're out of shock or fear or pain--or a combination of all three--I don't know, but I do everything I can to hide them from Peeta.

It becomes just one more thing I fail at, as he somehow instinctively notices and squeezes me tighter to him, clutches me like Prim used to clutch her baby blanket.

"Please forgive me, Katniss. Please, please, please forgive me."

I open my mouth to say there's nothing to forgive but once again, the words won't form. All that comes out is a simple sob, quiet but strong, and I feel Peeta squeeze me again.

"I'm so sorry. I'm so, so sorry."

X.

"Roll over for me," Peeta whispers softly, his hand as tender as his voice, stroking my hair back attentively.

I do what he asks, rolling onto my stomach, but still manage to say, "this isn't necessary."

He ignores me, his eyes no longer wet but still swollen and bloodshot from the hours he cried. Lifting up my shirt—technically his shirt originally, but we repurposed it as my sleep attire months ago—he slides a cold cloth onto my back, holding it in place for a long moment of time.

There's now a particularly large bruise already forming on my back from where he knocked me to the forest floor. I couldn't care less. I got worse bruises than that from hunting on a regular basis.

But the look in Peeta's eyes when he saw the mark, almost--but not quite--rivaled the look in his eyes when he stood upright and saw my neck. I hadn't even seen at it yet, I hadn't even given any thought to checking for red handprints, but when Peeta stood upwards, when he'd calmed down enough to look me in the eye, his gaze flew there instantly and words can't convey how awful he must have felt.

If there were a way to verbally say how wretched and sick he felt inside, Peeta would be the first one to do it.

Telling him it wasn't his fault didn’t work. Telling him he couldn't have known about the tracker jackers nearby, he couldn't have known what would happen, did absolutely nothing to convince him that he shouldn't feel responsible. Especially not when I'm speaking in a hoarse tone of voice.

Of course, I knew he'd feel this way. I would feel this way. But somehow I just can't stop trying to alleviate his remorse, no matter how useless it may be to attempt. Somehow I just can't stop trying to remove that tragically sad look from his eyes.

As soon as he lets go of the cold cloth, I spin around in the bed and snuggle myself tight into him.

He takes me into his arms willing, wrapping his every limb around mine, burying his face in my hair. His lips press repeated kisses to my forehead, his hands rubbing up and down my spine, massaging my back.

"I'm so sorry," he whispers, probably for the twentieth time.

"Peeta," I all but groan, leaning my head back slightly to peer up into his heartbroken eyes. "Stop. There's nothing you could have done."

He looks like he wishes to argue but nothing comes out of his mouth. Instead he rubs my back again and squeezes me tighter. I shut my eyes against him, breathing him in, a part of me finally relaxing for the first time in hours.

Even after he returned home, even after his breakdown, I remained cautious at first. The last thing I wanted was to let my guard down too soon and have the venom—that is surely still working it's way out of his bloodstream—cause him to snap again, to lash out at me or attack.

Just like the last thing I wanted was to make him feel worse, make him feel remorse for something that was done to him, something he didn't ask for and he'd worked so hard and made so much progress in controlling.

But when he'd noticed the tears I’d tried to hold in, down in the living room, the remorse was inevitable.

"Are you sure you're okay?" He whispers now, moving my hair aside carefully, pressing his lips gently to the red marks where his hands had left their imprint.

This isn't the first time he's asked though and despite the fact that I rather enjoy his lips on my neck typically, I can't help but respond with ire. "Peeta, I already told you my neck and back are just fine. Please stop worrying," I say tensely, my voice tired and worn thin.

He says nothing in response, instead placing more kisses against my throat and collarbone. I let out a sigh I didn't even know I was holding in and reach out to stroke the back of his head, massaging where his skull and neck met, where his blonde curls touch his skin.

"You scared me," I whisper finally, the words easier now that I can't see his eyes and he can't see mine.

"I know," is all he can say.

"Not physically," I immediately correct before he can take that and internalize it. "I don’t mean you scared me physically. You... you..." Speaking becomes a challenge all over again, the syllables not wanting to form intelligibly on my lips. But when he pulls back and looks me deep in the eye, his gaze full of love and sorrow, I force myself to just say how I feel. "I was scared I was going to lose you," I whisper, leaving whether I meant lose him physically or mentally up in the air.

Still, he doesn't seem surprised by the confession, whatever way he took it. "I know."

I have to bite my lip to keep an awful choking sob inside, as one is doing it's best to escape from the back of my throat. Almost as a distraction I bury my face into his chest again, shutting my eyes, and I allow myself to be thankful that Peeta's still here and he's my Peeta again.

When he doesn't fill the silence though, I realize I have to or else the tension in the room will continue to linger. "I was so scared," I admit, so quietly it's almost inaudible.

"I know, baby."

I scrub my face against his cotton-made shirt before rubbing my nose with the neckline of my own sleepwear, just as something hits to me. Peeta's words in the woods, even while hijacked, still sting inside my head. Not the cruel things he said, because even though I know they're true, I also know he doesn't truly believe any of them himself. He doesn't think I murdered his family or am an evil person who laughs at the misery of others, and I know beyond a shadow of a doubt, he doesn't think I'm in any way responsible for Prim's death.

But originally, his hijacking was predicated upon his insecurity and uncertainty in our relationship and in my feelings for him. In the last three years I know I've made my feelings clear. At least, in my mind I have.

But a quietly violent voice whispers, and I ache deep inside as it questions, what if I haven't expressed how I feel enough to him? What if he truly still feels unsure of my love for him?

"Peeta?"

"Yeah?"

"I just... I want you to know-" His finger presses against my lips now and he's shaking his head, his eyes forlorn.

"Katniss, if this is about anything I said, just don't. Okay, I meant none of it. I hate that those words even-"

"Peeta, you mean everything to me," I blurt out then, clumsily cutting him off. "You're the only thing that really matters to me an-and," I stop myself then, having spoken too fast, rushed my words and now am stuttering. There's so many things I want to say, so many things I want him to know. So many they all become jumbled up and confused in my head, and it's all I can do to say the simplest, plainest thing that comes to my mind. No matter how unnatural it feels for me. No matter how painful it is to rip down your walls and to physically have to force away an armor you spent years of your young life building up. It's so hard and so painful and I don't even recognize my own voice when I speak again, when I force myself to spit out how I actually feel. How, until today, I told myself he knew I felt. "I love you so much," I try to say but it comes out choked and raw. "I love you and you were never second best. To anyone. You're everything to me and I don't know-I don't know how to convey this right or say the right thing-"

He cuts me off—finally—then and moves his fingers against my cheek comfortingly. "You've conveyed it perfectly," he promises, his lips moving then to press lightly against mine, in a grateful but simple and sweet gesture. "I know you love me, Katniss," he assures again as he pulls back and breaks our kiss. "I've known it for a long time."

As his finger traces the outline of my mouth, I whisper, almost to myself, "So have I."

He gives me a smile, that is full of guilt and devastation, but still somehow warm and hopeful and kind. "Oh, have you?" I know he's feeling better when he teases me.

But my reply isn't sarcastic or cunning or anything but simple and small. Just like me in general.

"Longer than I could ever admit."

[weirdochick56]

Dress- Dean Winchester One Shot

Jealous!Dean Winchester x Plus-Size!Reader

Warnings: Self-hatred,self-doubt talks badly about self, weight, etc. PLS PLS if you’re sensitive to this please don’t read!

Word Count:  5,155 words

Disclaimer: I don’t own any SPN characters/plots mentioned.

Summary: “I don’t want you like a best friend Only bought this dress so you could take it off” (Loosely based on the song “Dress” by Taylor Swift.)

*

It shouldn’t hurt this much right?

To watch something that was never yours to begin with get taken away from you, that was.

It shouldn’t feel like someone was stabbing a dozen daggers into your chest all at once then twisting it around once it was well and sunk inside your skin. It shouldn’t.

You have to know by now; Dean Winchester would only ever belong to you in your dreams.

A man like him- tall, gorgeous, charming- would never go for someone like you.

If he hadn’t done so during the many years he’d known you why would he start now?

That slender, big-chested, perky blonde on the other hand- she was exactly the kind of woman he’d go for.

And the way he looked at her, gripped onto her protruding hips and gazed at her glossy lips- it was more than obvious how much he wanted to get her into his bed.

You had spent years wishing that was you. Wishing those rough hands would hold you like that, that those sparkling emerald eyes would ravage you hungrily.

Unfortunately, not only did Dean only see you as a little sister, but you were the farthest thing from his type.

With a sharp inhale, you force yourself to look away from the heinous scene unfolding before you, even when it took nearly all your strength to do so.

Because you couldn’t tear your eyes away from how easily her body curved in that skin tight red dress, the way her long legs seemed to go on for miles in those heels...and then comparing her utter perfection to your own body- only to come up short.

You were always too fat. Your curves were always too aggressive, too vuloptuous and out of control.

Not to mention, you could never pull off a dress like that. You knew this which is why you stuck to baggy jeans, and big t-shirts and flannels.

It was what you felt comfortable in, after all.

Never pretty- you don’t remember the last time you’ve felt pretty, but that was why comfort was what really mattered to you.

Without noticing it, your eyes fill to the brim with tears when you peek back at them and realized the way Dean’s hand fit so neatly in her tiny wasp-like waist, plump pink lips tilted upwards into a tiny smirk as he stares her down with hunger.

You never even stood a chance, did you?

When the sinking feeling settles in you at the thought, like an anchor sinking to the bottom of an ocean, you suddenly get off your stool, slamming a twenty on the bar.

“I’m leaving Sammy,” you inform your best friend, trying to keep your voice from breaking.

“Y/n-“ He opens his mouth to retort something to you but one look at your face and his mouth instantly snaps shut.

You probably looked like a kicked puppy.

He offers a sympathetic little frown, looking like he wants so badly to say something but instead only nods at you without further protest.

You sniffle, shoulders sagging with the weight of your heartbreak as you trudged your way back to the dank motel you’d gotten for the night.

After a long shower and changing into a baggy shirt and shorts, you tucked yourself into your bed and began watching some TV, trying your damn hardest not to burst into tears in case the brothers came back.

This was the way it would always be.

*

Another town, another night, another hunt.

“Friggin witches man,” Dean hisses with disdain, shaking his head. “I hate them.”

You can’t help but laugh at him. “I, for one, like witches.”

Both Sam and him stare at you like you’ve grown two heads.

“...dead,” you quip with a tiny smirk, pausing right outside the motel door.

Sam chuckles, pressing the key into the slot and pushing the door open for you. “Yeah,” he agrees.

“Second that, sweetheart,” Dean sighs out with a soft smile, ruffling your hair as he walked past you and made a beeline to the bathroom.

Your chest tightens at the tiny gesture as you pause by the door.

And once more it was made clear to you just who you were to Dean; a kid. A sister.

That’s all you’d ever be, you keep reminding your crushed hopes everytime they resurrected.

You wanted to stomp them out and keep them that way, but you just couldn’t help but let a tiny part of you hope for something more.

Despite how impossible it was for that to happen.

Sam presses a gentle kiss to your forehead when he gently pushes past you and sees your conflicted expression, rubbing your back comfortingly.

“We’re going out tonight- somewhere special to celebrate. You’re coming right?”

You shoot him a look as if to say ‘really?’.

Ever since the last time you’d seen Dean with that blonde woman, you refused to go with them to any more bars, opting to stay home in your pjs, eating ice cream and binging TV.

“No,” you instantly reject the offer.

Of course Sam knew exactly why you were refusing, but whenever Dean asked, you had to make up excuses so he wouldn’t get suspicious.

Most of the time you just acted like you were too sick or too tired from the hunt and although you could tell he was concerned for you, he fortunately never pushed for more than you were willing to give him.

“But why not?” He whines. “It’s gonna be fun I promise. Plus we get to dress up for once.”

You laugh. “You say it like I wanna dress up this whale body of mine.”

“Y/n,” he enunciates sternly. “Don’t talk like that. You’re gorgeous.”

You instantly scoff, rolling your eyes. “Okay.”

“He ain’t lying,” Deans gruff voice chides in.

A towel hangs low on his slim hips as he steps out fresh from the shower.

His tan skin glistening with fresh water, sparkling green eyes, damp dirty blond hair clinging to his forehead and that manly scent are all entirely too much for you.

“I never got why you feel the need to bring yourself down, sweetheart. You’re pretty.”

You have to force yourself to snap your gaze onto your duffel bag, aimlessly ruffling through your clothes to make yourself look busy.

“I-I’m too tired,” you manage to stammer out, trying to control your pounding heartbeat.

Dean clicks his tongue with slight irritation. “You always say that.”

“Well I am,” you insist. “Plus guys, it’s not like some fancy night club is really my scene anyways.”

Sam huffs. “Yeah, it isn’t ours either. But we deserve a night out, don’t you think?”

“You guys can go. I’ll just stay here and-“

Dean cuts you off. “And what, Y/n? Wallow in self-pity?”

“Dean,” Sam warns.

“No, Sam. I’m right and she’s knows it. Look at me, sweetheart,” he commands and acting on pure instinct, you obey.

His breathtaking gaze bores straight into you, unwavering. “You think I haven’t noticed how strange you’ve been acting lately? How you refuse to share so much as a beer with us? You’re sad and I’m worried about you,” he breathes softly.

You swallow the lump in your throat, but your brain is still unable to form anymore words. You just stare at him, watery eyed, praying to whatever will listen that the truth doesn’t burst out of you.

That you don’t blurt something like “it’s because of you dummy. Because you break my heart everytime you leave with a new set of tits. Because you could never love me the way I love you.”

Sensing your discomfort, Sam tries to diffuse the situation. “You can stay if you want to, Y/n. We understand. Right, Dean?”

Even without even looking at him, you know Sam is giving Dean a death stare.

Dean looks at you then back up at Sam, sighing. “Fine. Yeah okay.” And walks towards the bathroom to get dressed.

You instantly relax once the weight of his gaze is off you, shoulders drooping.

“Y/n. C’mon, you need to unwind. At least think about it? Look if you change your mind I texte you the address. ”

You purse your lips, staring at his puppy dog eyes. “Okay,” You whisper softly.

A little while later, the boys are all dressed up and ready to go- meanwhile you’re still in your pjs.

Dean looks absolutely scrumptious and all you want to do is rip that button off right off those broad freckled shoulders and mess up that perfectly styled spiky blonde hair.

The green-eyed five course meal pauses before you, frowning. “Not saying you don’t look good in them, but maybe a change of clothes once in a while wouldn’t hurt, sweets.”

He presses a kiss to your forehead, petting your head as he walks out.

*

You know he didn’t mean it like that with his remark.

Dean would never bring you down like that, but for some reason it still stung like a bitch.

To further confirm that you would never be the kind of woman he’d please endlessly or hell- even look twice at was something Dean probably hadn’t realized he’d done but that stuck with you for the rest of your uneventful night.

At the peak of your boredom, you start looking through old pictures of you and the brothers. The nostalgia that flooded through you at the memories nearly made you cry as you came to stop on a certain one- your favorite picture.

It was one with only you and Dean, leaning on the impala. He was staring down at you with a soft smile and made you laughed gleefully at some dumb shit he’d said.

Your chest clenches tightly at the look in his eyes. It almost looked...wistful. Like he was happy and sweet and tender but also...sad.

It was the same look you’d give him.

You gasp without noticing. What if-

No.

You stop yourself before letting your thoughts get much farther and shove the picture away.

Stop getting your hopes up Y/n.

Maybe Dean was right and it was time for a change.

Because if you were going to forget the Dean Winchester, you were gonna need a hell of a replacement and the only way to get that was to at least try to look good.

You started with your hair, curling it loosely so it fell softly over your shoulders. Then you shaved your legs and went about doing your make up.

You weren’t very good at make up, but you had watched a few you tube videos so you settled for a deep wine lipstick, a bit of a Smokey eye and some mascara. Good enough.

Next was your clothes. You didn’t have very many nice clothes, but at some point Sam had convinced you to buy a few dresses and heels along with your formal FBI suits in case you needed it in the future.

You never did which had made you extremely grateful because you didn’t feel comfortable in anything other than your baggy clothes.

“Today isn’t about comfort though,” you mutter to yourself with disdain, tugging uncomfortably on the tight black dress as it clings to your thick thighs.

You clasp on some heels, walking around a bit for practice. Your ankles bend and your knees wobble at first, but the longer you walk in them, the easier it gets.

When you feel comfortable enough, you head over to the mirror, staring at yourself.

Instantly, a wave of insecurity slams down on you. The dress left basically nothing to the imagination and you were less than pleased.

Your tummy was protruding and your thighs were basically glued together. Your stretch marks were in full view too.

Before you let the thoughts get to you too much, you stop staring at yourself and spin on your heel to walk away from it.

Not today Y/n. Not when you’re this desperate to stop caring for someone who would never care for you in the way you did.

You’re forgetting Dean remeber?

*

Needless to say, your resolve doesn’t last long once you step foot into the night club bar situation the brothers had opted for.

It immediately feels like everyone is looking at you as you nervously play with your fingers, writhing uncomfortably beneath the itchy fabric of the dress.

You already regret doing this.

It isn’t long before Sam spots you by the entrance of the semi-packed club and comes running over, eyes wide.

“Y/n,” he breathes, eyes trailing over you. “Oh.”

You scrunch you’re nose up. “It looks bad doesn’t it. I knew it did! I shouldn’t have-“

“What?!” Sam shook his head furiously. “What? No. Not at all Y/n. You just look different is all.”

You look down at yourself, pouting. “Is that bad or good?”

He throws an arm over your shoulder, tugging you to his side. “Good. Definitely good.”

You’re skeptical of his words, but follow him anyway to the bar where Dean is currently at- flirting with a perky brunette.

Your heart instantly drops, but you hide it behind a polite smile as Sam taps his brother’s shoulder.

“Dean. Look who’s here!”

Dean, looking downright annoyed, turns around, clearly ready to tear Sam a new one for interrupting his current rendezvous.

“Sam what- sweetheart,” the nickname falls from his lips like a curse. Like a “fuck!” Or “holy shit!”, except it’s quiet, breathless.

His mouth snaps shut when those eyes land on you, timidly standing beside Sam.

His eyes widen and his lips part as he inhales sharply. And then his eyes are flying everywhere at once, taking in your full figure with a slack jaw.

You shyly smile. “Hey, D.”

He doesn’t say anything, just stares at you and you instantly grow insecure thinking maybe it’s because of how ugly you look.

Was he so shocked to see you being “brave” by showing off your huge body like that?

“...Dean?” You hesitate.

He finally snaps out of it, shaking his head. “Y/n.” He swallows thickly, smiling warily.

Geez. That bad?

You excuse yourself to go to the bathroom, desperate to leave their judging faces.

In your halphazard attempt to run away, you accidentally bump into someone, nearly knocking both of you on the floor. You topple to the side in your tall heels, letting out a tiny yelp. 

Without hesitation, two big hands watch you by your arms, steadying you. 

“Be careful there sweetness,” his southern accent is thick as sweet molasses and it instantly attracts your eyes to his dark brown ones. 

You flush with embarassment when you realize how cute he is. “Oh my God! I am so sorry, I wasn’t looking where I was going.”

He lets out a bemused chuckle. “It’s quite alright, hun.”

You smile up at him bashfully, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. “Thanks.” 

And with that, you start to walk away from him. He stops you before you can get too far, gripping onto your forearm firmly. 

“Wait.” 

You look cautiously at where his hand was and he quickly takes it away, laughing nervously. “Sorry. I just- I hope I’m not being too forward. You’re beautiful.” 

You raise your brows in disbelief almost instinctively, blushing madly. “Me?” you blurt incredulously. 

He laughs fully this time. “Yeah. You. Come sit with me?”

You glance over your shoulder at where the brothers were, immersed in flirty conversations with pretty women and decide why the hell not. 

So you nod at him affirmitively with a tiny smile. “Sure.”

It wasn’t long before you were laughing full-heartedly at the man, James. He was genuinely funny and cute and for whatever reason, seemed taken by you. I mean, you couldn’t possibly fathom why. 

But the more time passed with the easy banter, the more you drank and the less you worried about well, anything. 

“You wouldn’t like me in real life. I’m not like this usually,” you confess, taking sip of your matini when he compliments you once again. 

He raises a brow. “Oh? I highly doubt that. But tell me, miss Y/n, what do you usually wear?”

You lean forward, smirking confidently. (Yeah the alcohol was getting to you.)

“Well for starters, the baggiest shirts. The biggest jeans. The oldest flannels,” you lean back, laughing loudly. 

“You still look gorgeous probably.” 

You can’t help but giggle at his remark, touching his arms for a second. “Oh, James!” 

Who even are you right now? Giggling...flirting..

You weren’t used to any of this. So when he places a gentle hand on your thigh you freeze, unable to react any other way because you’d never gotten this kind of attention. 

He smirks. “Wanna head back to my place? Keep the party goin’?” 

You open your mouth to answer but are cut off by another voice- gruff and angry. 

“I don’t think so, buddy,” the deep voice bites.  

Your head snaps up and you see Dean, flaring deep green eyes glaring holes into the hand which was still nestled neatly on your thigh. 

“Take your hand off her before I make sure you don’t have one at all,” he husks without even looking at either of you. 

James instantly retracts his hand, looking between you two with his brows furrowed. 

Dean doesn’t let either of you say anything before he’s yanking you off your chair by your arm. 

“We’re leaving,” he informs grumpily, leaving no room for protesting of any kind. 

Then he’s yanking you along behind him, rough fingers wrapped tightly around your forearm as he carelessly pushes people out of his way. 

“Dean-” you whine, struggling to keep up with his long and angry strides in your heels and intoxicated state. 

He doesn’t stop until you’re standing before baby and you physically have to rip your arm from his hold.

You’re absolutely fuming at this point.

Who the fuck did he think he was, pulling you out of there like that?

“What the hell, Dean?!?” You wrap your arms around yourself to protect your exposed skin from the cool night breeze. 

He doesn’t turn around to look at you, but his voice says it all when he speaks. “Get in the car, Y/n.”

He’s one-hundred percent serious. And done. So so serious and done, in fact, that his voice wavers with the weight of his stern. 

And if it weren’t for the fact that you desperately wanted answers or the fact that you were buzzed enough to be able to ignore his fury, you might’ve let it go. 

Unfortunately, neither was currently the case. 

“No. You had no right! James was-”

“Oh, James!” He exclaims, throwing his hands up sarcastically. “Is that his name!?”

You reeled back from his harsh tone, frowning. “What the fuck is wrong with you Dean? You’re acting completely irrational.”

“Nothing is wrong with me, Y/n. Absolutely nothing,” he grits out with a wry smile. 

“I’m going back inside.” You shake your head at him. 

He laughs bitterly. “And I’m the one acting irrational! That- that ass just had his hand on your thigh and you just let him. Oh. And now you’re going back inside to do what? Continue letting him feel you up?”

“And what’s so fucking wrong with that?!” You yell back, frustrated by his hurtful words. 

What was he insinutating? That you were easy? And anyway, what did he care? 

He pauses for a split-second before answering in a venomous snap. “Everything! You’re...” he trails off abruptly. 

“I’m what, Dean?” you growl, stepping closer to him. 

You licks his lips, inhaling sharply. “You’re-” he falters, softening for only a split second. “Just get in the car, sweetheart” he demands once more this time more quietly, apple green eyes shimmering under the dim street lights. 

But you refuse to back down. “No. Tell me what the hell your problem is or I go back inside.”

He let’s out a yell, slamming a hand on the hood of the car and leaning his forehead against it. “Dammit!”

You jolt, startled. He stays there for a few more seconds, back heaving with his audibly labored breaths, 

You’re afraid to touch him right now, so you just speak in a soft comforting tone. “Dean. Just talk to me. Why are you acting like this?” 

He sighs, slowly turning around to face you. He looks pissed. 

“You really wanna know why I’m acting like this?” You go to say yes but before you can, he’s cutting you off. “It because of you,” he growls. 

“Me?”

“Yes, you, Y/n. W-with your fucking tight little dress and your heels.” He motions loosely to you, jaw clenched and tight fists by his side. “Flaunting that ass around like-like you wanted James and every damn douchebag in there to fucking come up to you!” He spits the name out like it’s vile in his mouth and you flinch at his accusatory, disgusted tone.

Why the hell was he blaming you for something like that? It made no sense.

You raise your brows, shocked and hurt. “Oh, so because for one night I’ve decided to do what you suggested and actually got some male attention you’re acting like a little bitch?! What the hell is so wrong with that, exactly, Dean? You do this shit all the time, and you don’t see me giving you shit about it!”

He huffs, rolling his eyes and muttering, “It’s different with me.”

You bark out a laugh. “Different how?”

His jaw flexes. “I’m not a kid, for starters!”

You let out an incredulous sound, looking at him like he was out of his damn mind. “I’m not a kid Dean! When are you going to get that? There’s no need to act like a protective ass. I can damn well take care of myself.”

“I’ll get it when you stop acting like some sleazy hooker,” he snaps, green eyes flaring a darker, sinister shade.

You instantly stop, freezing at his words. As if realizing what he’s just said, Dean’s face drops.

He tries to grip your shoulder. “Y/n-“ but you aggressively shove him off of you, holding back tears.

“You’re a dick, Dean.”

He frowns apologetically. “Sweetheart I didn’t mean to-“

“I’m going home Dean. Alone.”

And with that, you spin on your heel and start making your way back to the motel.

*

Five minutes don’t pass of you first getting inside the motel before you hear the sound of the impala’s engine pulling up.

And suddenly the door is being thrown open, startling even your bones.

Then, before you can even react, Dean is standing in the doorway, chest heaving.

“Dean-“

“It’s because I was jealous,” he blurts as soon as he sees you.

“What?”

He doesn’t say anything as he runs a hand through his hair, stepping into the dark room and closing the door behind him.

The tiny ‘click’ of the door closing is defeaning against the tense silence now settled in the four of five feet between you two.

He licks his lips the way he always does when he’s nervous, cautiously look up at you. “I was jealous of James,” he repeats, the confession quiet but more powerful than if he would’ve screamed it because the raw emotion and sincerity were in clear display.

You don’t know what to say for the first few seconds after he speaks and so many thoughts are spinning around in your head.

“Dean I know I’m like your little sister and you’re protective of me but I’m fully capable of-“

“I know you are,” he mumbles, looking at you with a strange glint in his eyes- something new and unfamiliar. “That’s not...” he inhales deeply, searching around in his head for the right words. “I wasn’t jealous of you as a....sister.”

Still bewildered, you step a bit closer to him. “Dean, what are you trying to say?”

He groans, chuckling softly. “Are you really going to make me say it?”

Silently, he strides up to you, closing the remaining distance between you two. His hands creep up, gripping your face between them like he’d done so many times before, except this time it felt...different.

The air around you cackled with an unspoken electrifying emotion, his fingers felt like pure fire against your skin and you did it understand what exactly was about to happen but it felt like Ike you were on the verge of something big.

You gaze up at him through your lashes, questioningly.

He smiles, swiping his thumb over your cheek. “You look absolutely beautiful tonight sweetheart. Did I tell you that?”

Your breath hitches and you can’t help but blush madly. “I-I thought you didn’t like it,” you stammer out the admission, scared of his reaction.

He chuckles and his warm breath warms your skin. “Of course I do. You’re stunning. I just don’t want...other guys to see it.” He winces at his confession.

You laugh- not because it’s funny but because you’re nervous and all you can do is laugh.

He turns serious. “I’m sorry for the way I talked to you, sweetheart. I just-“ he purses his lips, pausing. “I hated seeing his hands on you. I hated the fact that he made you laugh in that way the makes your head go back and your eyes glimmer. I hated his stupid accent and his dumb hair because I knew you’d find it adorable. And fuck, I hated that he could give you everything I never could or will be able to,” he lets out all in a few breaths.

You just stare up at him, tears building up in your eyes, starstruck.

“I hate you,” you mutter finally.

He frowns. “Wh-“

You pound on his chest harshly, sobbing. “I hate you. I hate you. I hate you! How could you!”

You try to get your hands on him ever after he’s easily grabbed your wrists, wriggling aggressively.

“Sweetheart! Calm down. What the hell are you on about?!”

You settle for a second, warm tears rolling down your face and easily answer him because he was being a complete and utter jackass right now.

“The fact that you’d lie to me because you pity me makes you a cruel, vile human being Dean Winchester.”

He instantly shakes his head at you, eyes sad. “I’m not saying it because I pity you, sweets. Why would you even think that?”

You laugh bitterly, pointing to yourself. “Well, isn’t it obvious? I’m fat!”

At your words, something clicks in him and he’s suddenly titling your head up to meet his perfect green eyes.

“Y/n, I need you to listen to me very carefully right now okay? You are and will forever be the goddamn most beautiful thing that asshole God has put on this earth. If there is anything I have to thank him for it’s you. Don’t you understand?” He pleads quietly.

You don’t know how you manage to work around your erratically beating heart or the fact that Dean is so close and he smells so much like him, but through the huge lump in your throat you manage to stutter something along the lines of “understand what?”

“That I have to hold myself back from moving my lips from just a few inches away your cheek or your forehead to your lips and kissing the living hell out of you every damn time I touch you. That I love everything about you, even the bad things. Especially the bad things because really, they’re all good.” He laughs breathlessly. “That I wake up and go to sleep with that sweet smile on my mind. That I would do anything to keep it on that pretty face of yours. That I fuck anything with legs imagining that it’s you I’m sinking into. That all I want- no. All I need and fucking ache for every damn day I spend with and without you is the feel of your skin and the softness of your voice.” He swallows thickly, whispering. “That I am so hopelessly in love with someone I can never have.”

You close your mouth after a few long stretched out seconds of having it open. You don’t know what to say at first, still trying to process the emotion in his voice and the sincerity in his eyes and the sudden jolt of electricity shocking your entire body to your very core.

All the same, Dean is looking at you with a terrified expression, holding his breath.

Then, you speak.

“You can have me.”

He looks relieved at first, but then he turn wistful, brushing a strand of hair away from your face and behind your ear, lingering with his fingertips on your cheek for a few seconds.

“I couldn’t do that. You’re so young and we’ve been practically raised together. I couldn’t.”

“But you could!” You protest, chest clenching. “For as long as I can remember, Dean, you’re all I’ve ever wanted.” You bite your lip, placing a tender hand over his chest. “You’re all I need,” you finish in a breathless whisper, leaning against his touch.

You hear him breathe in shakily before he abruptly takes his hand off you and answers in a quiet, regretful tone. “I can’t.”

His words are like another stab to your chest and before you know what you’re doing-

“Fine. But don’t try to stop me from finding someone who can.” 

You angrily walk towards the door, but before you can so much as lay a finger on the door knob, Dean’s own hand is shooting out, grabbing  your elboe tightly. And then he;s yanking you back. 

“The hell you are,” he growls, crushing his mouth onto yours roughly.

The kiss is enough to freeze you in your tracks and everything stops moving for a split second as you take in the feeling of his lips on yours, hard enough to bruise. 

Your eyes flutter shut and you suck in a sharp breath, melting in to his touch as his fingertips glide into your hair, tugging at it gently. You moan lightly into his mouth as it slants over yours, deepening the kiss. 

His tongue is warm and wet and silky and he tastes like liquor and apple pie and it leaves you breathless for a minute. You drown in his scent of leather and cologne, kissing back with just as much passion, holding onto his neck and shoulders in order to remain upright because your knees are about to give out beneath you. 

The kiss happens in a flurry of heat and passion and anger and ends with unimaginable sweetness. 

You peer up at him, chest heaving. 

“Dean?” your voice trembles. 

He smiles softly. “I love you and I’ll be damned if I let you go running to some other man.”

You laugh unbelievingly. “Really? Y-you love me?”

He nods instantly. “Of course.” Suddenly, he smirks. 

“What?”

“Nothing, I’m just glad you wore that dress.”

***

[babieyangyang10]

violent ends (chapter 11)

(chapter 11)

series masterlist

genre: hunger games!au

pairings: huang renjun x oc, na jaemin x oc

warnings: language, death, description of injuries, hallucinations, important character death,

previous | next

Athena's POV

It was quick the way he died. Before Haechan fell forward, his left eye cried tears of blood. There was nothing on his face, no acknowledgement or realisation of what just occurred. No evidence of any previous life in his face.

Just nothing.

People always say that your entire life flashes before your eyes once you die. However, there was not even enough time for that. No time to remember the eighteen years he once lived. He was just gone.

Mark Lee and I sprung forward. Once the corpse was thrown off him, Mark lifted up Jisung from the water. The young boy bent over and began coughing up the water in his lungs.

Once he finished, you could tell the reality of what just happened to him was sinking in. Frantically looking around, he saw Haechan laying face-down in the water, blood flowing out from his wound. Going pale, Jisung silently grabbed the body and flipped him over. He ripped his hand away and would've screamed if it wasn't for my hand covering his mouth.

Not used to injuries, Jisung was practically hyperventilating at the site of my throwing knife lodged in one of the body's lifeless eyes,

"Jisung, it's okay. Don't look at it." I brought my hand down and closed the remaining eye, thinking it would help. It didn't.

"Oh my god. What did you do?!" Jisung was about to throw up.

Mark looked around nervously, before saying, "She saved you. Quick, let's go." He grabbed the distressed boy's arm and pulled him to his feet.

After we had gotten a good distance away, I could hear the cannon go off.

"That could've been me." Jisung mumbled to himself in disbelief. He looked really bad. Almost as if he could go off the deep end any second. I mean, the kid has came to the brink of death twice in the span of only two days.

Trying to lighten his spirits, I suggest, "You're a lucky kid, aren't you?"

He considers my words before murmuring, "Yeah, I guess so."

Chenle's POV

I think I'm the unluckiest kid in the world, right now.

As the Careers and Jaemin start yapping away, I take this opportunity to look around the tree for something to help us escape. Alarmed, I look around where Jaemin is perched to see a raccoon sized nest. Swaying gently, I peek around to discreetly get a better look. Immediately, the bright gold body captures my eye.

No, these aren't just any wasps, they're tracker jackers.

Made in the Captiol's labs, they were placed directly in the districts during the war. Tracker Jackers were named according to their ability to 'track' down and hunt anyone who comes into contact with them. If they bite you, most likely you'll die. Even if you don't, most people will go mad from experiencing the hallucinations from the venom.

Our options are: we let Haechan come back and kill us or possibly die from these creatures. Reaching behind Jaemin, I discreetly began sawing away at the limb carrying the nest with my knife. Both Jaemin and the people below were too wrapped up in the conversation to notice what I was doing.

I kept sawing back and forth. Suddenly, a tracker jacker came calmly out of the nest. Holding my breath, I watch as it walks onto an unaware Jaemin's hand. Unable to warn him, I just speed up as quick as I can. More and more tracker jackers began leaving the nest to check out what was happening. Back, forth! Back, forth! Another jacker lands on Jaemin's shoulder.

Then there was a cannon.

The nest fell down right after. I could hear Jaemin yelp, however, I just pulled him out of the tree and bolt. I could hear the two Careers yelling above the buzzing from the army of angry wasps.

Once we've ran far from the chaos, I stopped to check on Jaemin. Right away, I noticed the plump-sized lumps on his neck and hand.

"I'm Jaemin," He slurs, "Nice to meet you, sir."

Oh my god.

Jaemin squints his eyes, trying to focus, "I have to admit. I've never met a three-headed, green person before. Are there others like you?"

It was almost dark, we have to get home, now. I grab him and began running again. Once we get to camp, I spot Mark, Athena, and Jisung all sitting down.

"Jaemin, got stung by tracker jackers!" I'm out of breath. Lee Athena immediately runs over to us, stopping in front of the disoriented boy.

"Athena, is that you?" His eyes are excited, but confused. The girl grabs his hand and quickly removes the stinger and does the same to his swollen neck. Green pus seems out from the now orange-sized bumps.

"I think-" His eyes roll over to the back of his head and Athena barely manages to catch him before he falls to the ground. Mark runs over and helps her carry him into the shack.

The next day, she took care of him. Every few hours, she would grind up a special leaf to put on the wounds.

She knew a lot about the wilderness. While Mark stayed to watch Jaemin, she would take Jisung and I out to practice hunting. It was nice learning, especially since I have always felt bad for relying on Mark so much. Not only does he have to take care of himself, but he also has to make sure two, weak kids don't die as well. After capturing a rabbit this morning, I felt happy knowing I got to help ease the pressure, even if it's just small.

"Good job, Chenle." He praised, making my heart swell. We were all sitting around the fire.

"I bet I'll get a even bigger one tomorrow." Jisung challenged, making us all chuckle.

Eventually, the conversation led to us talking about living in our different districts.

"Yeah, I swear all District 10 has is cows and desert. Although, I got to grow up with a lot of different animals, which was really fun." I explained.

"I wish I could see a desert, but we have that fence keeping us in District 11. Growing up, a lot of us had to climb trees in the orchards for fruit, which could be pretty fun. Although, it wasn't fun when you'd occasionally run into the tracker jackers." Jisung winced in remembrance.

"At least you guys have the orchards, District 12 is really small. When you turn eighteen, you work for the coal mines. Food is pretty hard to get also. To get grain and oil, I had to enter my name into the Reaping about forty times." We all gasped aloud  at Mark.

"I have a question that I've always wanted to ask," Jisung announced, "I've seen District 12 do that think with the three fingers so many times. What does it actually mean?"

"It's been around forever, I guess. It's a sign of love and respect to show thankfulness for someone or something. Sometimes we use it to say goodbye. That's what everyone did to me, when I left after the Reaping." Mark explained to him.

Jisung kissed his three fingers and held them up in the air, "Well, I love and respect all of you."

All four of us, Mark, Jisung, Athena, and myself, giggled and did the salute to each-other before heading off to sleep.

Athena's POV

It's now been two days, since Jaemin has first been stung. The swelling has gone completely down, however, he still has a bit of a fever and hasn't woken up.

The most nerve wracking part is that, until he wakes up, I can't feed him anything. I can't even give him water to drink. It's not like real life, where he would have a feeding tube. Even we were alone, we barely got anything to eat. Gosh, it really is so easy to die of hunger in here.

Today, the boys wanted to show off their new hunting skills to Mark. So, it was just Jaemin and I at the camp. Apart from Haechan, none of the other Careers have shown up in the sky so far. So, I have no idea if Renjun is the same way as Jaemin. However, his health shouldn't be of my concern, anyway.

Since they are just two members now, Mark and I have been discussing an attack on them. After he snuck to their territory, he saw that they have pilled up all the supplies. Protecting them are random mines, which, if you stepped wrong, could easily blow you up to pieces.

Instead of risking stepping on a mine by trying to fight them directly, we thought we should find a way to blow up the pile of supplies. That way, they'll starve themselves out.

Suddenly, I notice Jaemin stir. His eyes are confused and wide. He looks around his surroundings, before he sees me next to him.

"Athena!" His voice is excited and relieved, yet weak. His hand shoots out to grab mine.

I sigh, "You've been out for two days, you know."

"Are you serious?" He looks around again, "Wait, where are we?"

"We're at Mark's camp. Chenle brought you back." I said, knowing he probably doesn't remember anything.

I hear a pleasant beeping noise, which makes me nearly burst with happiness. Near our feet, a box drops. Inside is a container of warm soup and a spoon.

Knowing he was still in bad shape, I grab the spoon and scooped up some soup to feed to him. Smiling, he accepted the food. His eyes shut in delight, finally getting to eat a real meal.

He happily suggests, “You should eat some."

I know he hasn’t eaten for two whole days. This makes me feel warm, knowing that, even though he’s literally starving, he would still offer me it.

"I think Jisung and Chenle would kill me if I didn't eat what they catch,” I laugh before getting serious, “Besides, you really need it right now."

He’s disappointed, but still continues eating.

Concerned, I ask, "So, are you doing okay? I mean those hallucinations can be really messed up."

"I mean, apart from the trees turning into blood and thinking ants were eating me, I'm fine. Especially, since your here now." Jaemin laughs.

I shake my head, smiling at the ground.

"I mean it, though. I felt so bad after I lost you. If I had known you stopped, I would've gone back for you, Athena,” He stops me, “You know that right?"

"Well, I did have your supplies." I point out.

He provides clarity, "Supplies or not, you're still a priority to me. That's just not even a question at this point."

I felt a deep pang in my chest. There’s so many things I want to say. On instinct, with both of my palms, I hold his face in my hands,"If there wasn't cameras on us right now, I would-"

Jaemin breathes out, "Who's stopping you?"

His eyes darted down to my lips, then back up to my eyes. I checked his face to see if there was any hint of joking, yet his eyes were filled with warmth. It occurred to me that he was feeling the same need and want that I was. Like if I were in a black hole, I felt myself being pulled closer and closer into him.

"Hey Athena, look what I caught—oh,uh?"

Jisung, stares in shock, at the close proximity between Jaemin and I's faces.

I jump up, brushing myself off, "Come on, kid. Let's go see it."

Jisung brought me outside to see Mark and Chenle by the fire.

“Jaemin is awake.” I announced to the two boys.

“That’s really good.” I could tell Chenle had felt guilty about him getting stung.

Mark proposed, “Well, today I was thinking that we should go destroy the supplies.”

Chenle eagerly asked, “Can I help?”

“Well, I guess you could help us by starting fires with me to lead them away from the Cornocopia.” Mark turned to Jisung, “Jisung, could you stay with Jaemin?”

“What’s going on?” Jaemin popped his head out of the shack.

“We’re going to destroy Jeno and Renjun’s supplies.” I caught him up.

His eyebrows are furrowed, “Are you going?”

“Of course.” I nod, plainly.

After we ate, I headed into the shack to get my backpack. On the ground, Jaemin was looking up at me unhappily, completely different from how he usually looks at me.

“Why are you looking at me like that?”

“It’s just,” He sighs, “every time we’re separated, something bad always happens.”

“Well, you still need to rest, besides I’ll have Mark with me.” I lie. Mark will be separated from me, but I didn’t want to stress him out.

“You better come back. I’m serious.” He deadpans.

“Okay, Na Jaemin.”

I brush his hair out of his face. He’s not aware, but I can’t help but thinking the way he’s looking at me reminds me of a lost puppy, “I mean it.”

“I know.” I smile.

Then, Mark, Chenle, and I began heading towards the Cornocopia. As we’re walking, I notice Mark fiddling with something on his jacket.

“What’s that?” I ask, intrigued.

“It’s a mockingjay pin.” He states. The pin contained the small golden bird with an ring around it. It’s connected to the ring only by its wing tips.

Mockingjays were the result of a failed project by the Capitol to spy on the rebellious districts. Because of this, they have become a symbol for the rebellion. It’s almost as if they are rubbing it in the Capitol’s faces.

“I like it,” I beam up at him, “It suits you.”

“I think so too. It’s cool.” Chenle gushes.

Mark blushes before coming to a stop, “This is where we separate. Chenle, after I set the fire, wait a little before setting yours. That way they’ll think it’s real and definitely come to yours.

All alone, I hide beneath the trees as I come to a stop in front of the Cornocopia. Sitting to the right of the supplies, were a group of boys. Along with Jeno and Renjun, I spotted a boy from District 3. I’m assuming he’s Haechan’s replacement.

“Guy’s look!” Jeno points out. There, hidden in the tree’s, Mark has created a fire. The smoke created a cloud in the sky right above his position.

“Let’s go, Renjun. Guard the place, until we get back.” Jeno tells the young boy.

Once they’re gone, I grab into my backpack and pull out knife. Getting ready to throw, I rear back my hand.

However, from the left, a figure darts out from the woods. Avoiding the piles of buried mines, she is calculated and precise. From the pile, the red-head grabs an armful of supplies and runs past the District 3 boy.

As a result, he stood up and began chasing her into the woods. Perfect.

I scan the pile, looking for something I could knock down to trigger the mines. That way, I would be kept safe from the blast. At the very top is a bag of bright red and green apples.

Taking a deep breath, I throw a knife as hard as I can. It manages to make a rip in the bag, but not big enough for the fruit to fall through.

So, I grab another one. I calm myself down, before I launch my second one. Almost in slow motion, I watch as an single apple drops from the fresh hole. Rolling forward, it halts on top of one of the piles.

One after the other, all of the mines are triggered. Before I can react, I am thrown back by the incredible force. I can feel ash and debris raining down on my head. In my head and ears, I can hear a sharp buzzing. With my fingers, I could feel blood coming out of my left ear.

Running back from the woods, Renjun and Jeno meet the District 3 boy in the middle. I was able to see if Jeno had even said anything. Although, even over the buzzing, I could hear the crack of the boys neck after Jeno snapped it.

Alarmed, I run back into the woods to hide. Blinking, I could feel my sight and hearing slowly coming back.

“Help!” I hear a young voice. Wow, that was quick. The Careers already found another victim.

“Mark! Athena!”

Chenle!

I run, following the shouts. Not even caring if I was about to run face first into a planned trap. His shouts continue and I feel can feel the quick tempo of my heart.

When I force my way into a clearing, I spot the young boy entrapped in a net on the grown. He stops struggling and smiles in relief when he spots me in front of him.

However, it fades when the arrow lodges straight into his chest.

To my left, I look just in time to see Mark shoot an arrow into the neck of the other District 12 tribute. Using my knife, I quickly cut Chenle free from the net. Mark runs over, propping him up in his arms. Blood is seeping through his shirt. I look up at Mark, giving him a telling look.

“Is it bad?” He doesn’t have enough strength to look down. I don’t know what to say.

“I never imagined I would go like this.” His voice is shaky, but knowing.

The cannon for the District 12 girl goes off.

Chenle reaches for my hand, “Please, don’t leave me.”

With my free hand, I wipe some of his tears, “I’m not going anywhere.”

“Did you blow up the supplies?” His voice is in a hopeful whisper.

“All of it.” He smiles at this.

Looking up at Mark and me, Chenle breathes out, “Thank you both. For protecting me. Even in these circumstances, these past days have been some of the best days of my life thanks to you.”

I feel my throat become choked up. This wasn’t supposed to happen. I wasn’t supposed to get attached to these people, who are supposed to be my competition. But I did and I don’t regret any of it for a damn second.

There’s fear in his eyes, “You two, don’t forget me, okay?”

“Never.” Mark and I say.

Then he’s gone.

It takes a few minutes for it to sink in for the two of us. For us to realize this boy, who was speaking a few minutes ago and laughing with us yesterday, was gone forever. I look up to see Mark distraught with the same realisation, “It’s not fair. He was just a kid.”

“I can’t just leave him here. He deserves better than that.” I agree with Mark’s words. Looking around, I spot violet, blue, and white wildflowers. I began loading my arms up with the flowers. With Mark’s help, we placed the flowers all around him.

How dare they. It’s shameful that they would do this to an innocent child. Not just him, but all of us children.

Placing my arm on his shoulder, I try to comfort Mark. Like a switch going off, he bursts into tears. I know it has been hard, the weight of caring for three people. I wrap him in my arms and cry with him.

It’s only before we leave does he turn around suddenly. After kissing his three fingers, he held them out in his direction. Myself doing the same, we both say goodbye to our friend, Chenle.

[ilguna]

Whist - Epilogue

summary: you can’t protect her forever.

Word Count; 1k

Warnings; swearing, murder!

NOTES: not a finnick odair x reader. it’s a ‘what if’ series

–

It’s been months since you last saw your brothers. It was the day of Alyssum’s funeral--which half the district attended--and it was when they broke the news that they would be moving out of your house. They told you that they had already moved everything back into the childhood home.

They also told you that they never wanted to see you again, and you weren’t welcome back. The only thing they left with you is everything that you had bought for Alyssum, her room is still intact. But all her baby toys and blankets and clothes have been moved back to their house.

So, you’ve had the whole victor house to you and Finnick. And you can’t think of a bigger slap to the face. Them not talking to you in this house is one thing, but leaving you to deal with a ghost town is another. They packed everything and left just like they had promised. 

It’s a barren land.

And you’ve been trying to convince yourself for a while now that it’s not your fault. You didn’t know that being with the careers would get her killed like that. You always knew that tributes would get creative with how they’d kill each other, you’ve seen it for years now. But you never thought that would happen.

Finnick tries to reassure you that it’s not your fault. You couldn’t have known, and he didn’t either. And he also said that it was inevitable, and you knew it yourself. You said it over and over, and so did Alyssum when she was talking to Peeta.

You wanted her to go a more gentle way, though. You didn’t want her to be stung by wasps, have her skin swollen and face mangled. When she was being brought out of the arena, her body was stiff because of the venom, and Elysia told you that it was hard just to get her to look presentable.

It wasn’t just Alyssum that had died, it was also Glimmer. While Glimmer didn’t bother to act quick on her feet, Aly tried. And she tried hard. 

You should have sent her a sponsor gift or something to wake them up. The second that the wasps were revealed, you should have gotten down to the betting room and found the nearest sponsor. The gamemakers can’t deny you of a gift, especially if you want it sent out in the open like that.

You’re sure it would have jolted them all awake. You know it would have saved their lives, and it would have been for the better. Maybe then Katniss and Peeta would be dead, and not televised. With their whole marriage bullshit being plastered all over Caesar’s show.

You can’t even turn on the tele anymore without being bombarded about the engagement, the venue, the flowers, cake, wine or this time--the fucking wedding dress. It makes you sick, and angry. To see the girl that had killed your sister being rewarded like this.

The only reason why you’re watching it now is because there’s a mandatory viewing. Mags told you earlier that this is the announcement of the quarter quell. The special games that happen every twenty-five years. It’s an even bigger reminder that the districts will never truly be able to escape the Capitol.

Finnick sits next to you, off to the left. He leans against the arm of the couch, one leg tucked beneath his thigh. 

The anthem plays, and suddenly it’s cutting to President Snow, walking to his microphone from where he sat a few feet from it. Behind him trails a boy in white, a box in his hands.

Snow explains that the Quell’s are put in place to refresh the memory of those who were killed in the district’s rebellion. He then moves on to the Quarter Quells that have happened already, “On the twenty-fifth anniversary as a reminder to the rebels that their children were dying because of their choice to initiate violence, every district was made to hold an election and vote on the tributes who would represent it.”

Mags likely mentored for that one.

“On the fiftieth anniversary, as a reminder that two rebels died for each Capitol citizen, every district was required to send twice as many tributes.” President Snow pauses a moment, before continuing, “And now we honor our third Quarter Quell.”

That’s the games that Haymitch had won. Lucky fucking bastard.

You watch as Snow opens the box, and plucks the envelope that has a 75 clearly printed on it. Then, he sticks his finger beneath the flap and forces it open.

He pulls out the paper, and without missing a beat continues, “On the seventy-fifth anniversary, as a reminder to the rebels that not even the strongest among them cannot overcome the power of the Capitol, the male and female tributes will be reaped from their existing pool of victors.”

There’s a silence that settles over the house.

District Four has enough tributes on both the male and female side that it’s really a roulette on who will get chosen to go inside. It’s not really that bad of a worry, and you can’t even bring yourself to be upset. Hell, it even feels like it’s right. You’re getting a punishment like this for what you’ve done to your sister.

Mostly all the districts have a male and female tribute--for a while District Twelve didn’t, but then…

Katniss is the only female tribute.

A smile begins to spread over your face, a laugh bubbling in your throat. Finnick looks at you like you’re nuts, “What is it?”

This is the best news you could have received. 

You laugh a little louder now, looking at Finnick. He’s concerned, you shake your head, “Don’t you get it? Katniss is the only female tribute from twelve.” he still doesn’t say anything, so you continue, “Which means she has to go inside of the arena. But this time it’s all victors.”

“I know.” the words are slow.

You couldn’t save your sister last time, but you can do something so much better.

“And since it’s victor-only, that means I can volunteer.” the words sound harsh on your tongue, you never dreamt about volunteering, because who would willingly put themselves in that situation? “And if I volunteer, I can hunt down Katniss and Peeta, and get revenge for my dear baby sister.”

Finnick makes a noise, but you’re so focused on the tv.

No, this isn’t a punishment. It’s an opportunity.

[potaetaezz]

|| Sweet like Coffee || 11

prev << >> next

pairing: Nct Dream x Reader  [female]

genre/au: fluff | teeny bit of angst (to come) | enemies to lovers | Everyone is just a clueless bunch of weirdos, you get the drill… or so you thought.

warnings: slight swearing, immature content, underage drinking

A/N: its’s my first fanfic so no judgment lol | Longer Chp | here we go~

_____________________________________

The look in Jaemin’s eyes was sinful. His smirk was evil. The darkness was playing tricks on you. 

“This means nothing.” You blurted out, half understanding its meaning. It felt like the right thing to say, the only thing to say. Lies. He stared back with glossy eyes, face unchanging, lips bruised red. 

In an instant, you turned away from him. Away from what you just did. Your mind lost in the confusion, at war with itself, heart pounding. Everything inside you stumbled to a crash the moment his lips touched yours. You knew he was still watching, as you walked off in search of fresh air. Those dark eyes intent, your insides aflame. 

The music, the people, the alcohol, everything was abuzz. Everything was -too much. You needed air, to breathe at last. To breathe in something other than amber and musk and him. Your mind was clouded, hazy. You could barely think. You bumped into wandering bodies, lost in the many rooms. You had no idea how long you’d been walking, but you were ever grateful to finally spot a door. Your warm cheeks met the cold air. 

Your burst out onto a decking, stars looking down on you.

Finally, there was silence. The music seemed distant. Those tempting eyes seemed faraway. Your heart began to slow. You could just about hear yourself think, but you hadn’t the slightest clue how you felt. You forgot about Jeno, Lila, Renjun, Haechan. You forgot about everyone other than Jaemin. The butterflies wasps were back, messing with your stomach. Your eyes wandered up to the sky, the stars. 

The door opened behind you, but you didn’t look. The person walked over, as quiet as the night itself and placed themselves beside you. You were so caught up in your own head, you couldn’t care less who accompanied you. But your eyes, those curious fools, decided to check anyway.

He was beautiful amongst the stars, yet your heart ached.

Jeno stood there, breath steady, eyes focusing in front. You tore your eyes away from him, to your anxious hands instead. You wanted to speak, but your mouth couldn’t form the words needed. Rather, you accepted the silence, his company. And so did he.

Perhaps it was the alcohol running through your veins, or the mayhem inside your head, but you couldn’t hold back the words.

“Who was she?”

You barely whispered, hoping he might not hear you. Your words weren’t coated with envy, but interest instead. You bit your tongue for speaking. Swallowed the ache. You had no right to ask that, you were well aware, and he didn’t have a reason to answer. 

He stood awhile in thought. Embracing the silence between you. Although you knew he’d answer, he was just collecting the right suit of words first. And he did reply. But not what you expected.

“Why Jaemin?”

His words were layered with spite, a chuckle hiding in his throat. You couldn’t tell him the truth, although he probably already knew. His eyes attempting to figure out the chaos inside you, impatient for an answer. But what else could you say other than nothing.

———

POV - Jaemin

———

“This means nothing.”

Those words stung more than they should have. It meant nothing to him, too. He was glad when you turned around, so he could escape your gaze. He watched you warily. But he let you go. Into the darkness.

A hand firmly gripped his shoulder, a laugh counting as praise. 

“That was- how the fuck did you do that?” Haechan’s mouth dropped. His mind could barely comprehend it. “I mean like, that was y/n right? Right?”

Jaemin kept silent. It wasn’t because of him, it was because of Jeno. The kiss was fake.

“So I win the bet.” Jaemin spit out. It was less of a question, more of a statement.

Haechan shook his head, “Let’s see what he does first.”

Jeno, of course. He wouldn’t lose that easily. Jeno had a lot of people fooled, including y/n, but Jaemin always knew exactly who he was. They were friends for years, and Jaemin had never cared for his hoax before, he had never minded it. Until now.

Haechan’s body began to loosen once again to the music, his voice fading. “Cmon….drink?”

Jaemin hadn’t drunk anything yet, so gratefully he followed Haechan. The alcohol slid down his throat easily, warming his cheeks. The kiss replayed in his mind, affecting him more than it should’ve. He grabbed another drink. Alcohol always tasted best when you wanted to forget.

But forgetting never was easy. 

Lila appeared beside him, grabbing another drink, chatting up a ‘magician’. Renjun soon followed. 

“Ayyy mateeee-y.” He spluttered.

“Have you seen y/n?” The words were out of Jaemin’s mouth before he knew it. Before he could take them back.

“Nope-dope, arrr ya kay?” He was too drunk for his own good, so Jaemin left without a reply.

He pushed passed bodies, feeling an unusual sense of urgency. He didn’t know what he’d say or do but he just needed to find you. He checked upstairs but there was no sign. The music clouded his thoughts, or perhaps it was the alcohol. He was losing hope of finding you, fast. He dashed to the next room. He stopped. He halted.

The only thing between Jaemin and Y/n was a glass door. The only thing between Jeno and Y/n was air. But Jeno was stepping closer. What else did Jaemin expect. She never liked him, she despised him. He was a bad influence, he was bad for her, he was well aware. But he wished she saw the real side of Jeno, to show her he was also bad. To show her he was worse.

———

POV - y/n.

———

“Why Jaemin?”

You were aware he saw your kiss, but to bring it up, to be so daring. You didn’t know he had it in him. It seemed there was a lot to Jeno that you didn’t know.

His expression changed in a blink. The unfamiliar look in his eye made your heart race. He stepped closer. The dangerous charge in the air lifted the hairs on your neck. Those potent eyes studying you, and your lips.

“Am I too close?" His voice was a rasp. The sharp sounds and throaty underscores of the language from his lips made you shiver.

You kept silent. Eyes on the floor

He skimmed his knuckles up the length of your arms, fabric snagging between them. Your heart stopped. Your breath shook, and his echoed. He stepped impossibly closer and dipped his head. “And now?”

He was teasing you. He was mischievous. You lifted your chin and looked him right in the eye. Facing him and his growing desire.

“Where’s my nice guy?” You attempted. A part of you always knew he could be enticing, waiting to witness the seduction lurking inside of him, rushing through his veins. Waiting for him to show his hand. But you never could have imagined it he would be so intoxicating, so enticing. So hard to resist.

“Not here.” His voice darker than the night itself.

You wanted to ask why, but your mouth was failing you. It was as if he saw the confusion on your face, saw your mouth attempting to ask the real question on your mind. So he answered it for you.

“Because that’s what you wanted."

———

POV - Jaemin

———

They were close, too close. Jeno’s hand delicately gripping her arm. His eyes adoring her, filled with unsatisfied lust. Jaemin could see it. Jaemin could see what was going to happen, but he couldn’t look away.

He knew you were naive, but he had underestimated you. He knew you liked Jeno, but he didn’t know just how much. He waited to watch you fall prey to him, fall victim.

The party roared behind him, but it was as if he stood in silence, staring at the two of you.

No one had ever chosen Jeno instead of him. The feeling growing inside him was an unusual one. His confidence had always been sky high. His self-worth had always been too large for life. He was arrogant, conceited but that stemmed from somewhere. That stemmed from the countless girls admiring him. The amount of girls who’d look at him hoping to get a glance in return. It stemmed from the look on a girl’s face after they kissed him. Their utter delight, that sheer look in their eye.

But y/n was different. She never looked at Jaemin with hope, she never admired him. After their kiss, she walked away. She chose Jeno. Maybe that was why the stupid bet was so important. 

Jaemin watched Jeno shift closer. He watched y/n lift her chin up, ever so slightly, holding his gaze. Jaemin knew what would happen next. 

So he turned around. 

He walked away. 

———

POV - y/n

———

“Because that’s what you wanted."

You knew you wanted a good guy, you always have. But Jeno was making you doubt that. You could’ve easily fused your smile with his, easily leaned into his wrath, just as you wanted this morning. Just as you wanted now.

But this Jeno was different, this Jeno was embraced by a roguish charm. A charm you could resist. Nevertheless, your mind wandered to the girl he had kissed earlier, you remembered the desperation in his tongue, the pure desire escaping him. His eyes were inked with want. His lips taunted with attraction, desire. But you could resist. You had to resist. To give in to Jaemin was one thing, but to Jeno, you weren’t sure if you could handle that, not yet.

You tore your eyes from his and looked away.

Looked away just in time to see Jaemin divert his gaze. Turn around. Walk off. He was still a beautiful mess.

You swallowed, facing Jeno’s allure once again. His eyes bore into you. His hand grabbed yours. His warmth overpowered you. He dipped his head, his lips just a fraction away, just a breath away.

You found your voice in the dark, swallowed your cravings. “Do this sober and I’ll be impressed.”

———

You stepped back into the party, music embracing you. You spotted a dancing Lila and a wild Renjun in the next room. You waded through the sea of people to meet them.

“Y/N!!” Renjun screamed, “Twherehwaveyjou been?” 

“God Lila, how much did you let him drink?”

“Don’t look at me.” she said, “It’s all Haechan.”

You sent a glare in Haechan’s direction, whilst he recorded Renjun dancing, nearly pissing himself. 

You checked your phone for the first time that night. The words seemed to dance as well, but you could just about make out the time.             [3:14am]

You were becoming aware of just how exhausted you actually were, and no amount of alcohol was going to get rid of it.

———

imaginey/n: care to collect moi??

                                          sent to bestbigbro-not

                                                               @3:17am              

———

You gestured your head to the door, so Lila could see. She nodded in agreement. It was getting too late, and your body was lacking the energy or enthusiasm to dance some more. You had your fill of drinks and fun. You would’ve classified the party as a success, but you forgot one important detail. Or two.

———

bestbigbro-not: outside      [3:24am]

———

You said your goodbye’s to Renjun and Haechan.

“Haechan, you better take care of Renjun.” Lila warned, as he winked.

bestbigbro-not: outside      [3:24am]

Lila trudged to the door as you followed. Slowly, other people were leaving as well. Before you stepped outside, you gave a backward glance to the emptying crowd. In search of him. But of course, he was probably still inside partying.

———

The drive home was short and your stomach was grateful. You peeled off your outfit drenched with sweat and threw on your comfiest pyjamas. As you clambered onto your bed, Lila cleared her throat.

“So, Jeno huh?”

You paused. She laughed. “It’s okay to like someone you know.”

You did know, but what happens when the person you like turns out to be different. What happens when they’re not what you expected.

“I did like him, but now I’m not so sure.” Your voice was heavy with thought.

“Is it because of Jaemin?” 

You did a double-take. Looking at her with confusion and suspicion at the same time. You kept your mouth shut, waiting for her to explain. But she didn’t. She climbed into the bed, tucking herself under the heavy duvet. Silence stretched between you both.

“Did you kiss him?” she asked, voice calm but you could tell she wanted an answer.

A mere ‘no’ slipped through your lips, quietly. Only to be heard by someone who was listening. And she was, intently.

“Oh thank God. I just heard something like that at the party, and I had to double-check. I knew you wouldn’t though. He’s trouble, bad news, everyone knows that. I mean even I wouldn’t kiss him and I’m me.”

You chuckled nervously.

You did know he was trouble and you did know he was bad news. But that didn't stop his luring, taunting eyes from finding you. That didn’t stop the butterflies from dancing in your stomach.

She whispered a good night as she rolled around.

Your heart sank, as your replaying thoughts cradled you to sleep.

———

Sunday [4:09pm]

You spent most of Saturday in bed reading or watching Netflix (so productive), and Sunday playing video games. You barely looked at your phone since the party. You saw a message or two from Lila, an apology from Renjun for his ‘drunk and retarded self’ and one message from Jeno which you ignored. Well, you didn’t even read it let alone look at it.

The rain outside kept you company, and you did anything to stop thinking about the party. You didn’t regret what happened, you just wanted to forget.

You were playing ‘Skyrim’ when Lila walked into your apartment. 

“You’re not answering any of my messages!” she whined. 

You rolled your eyes. “I’m not answering anyone’s messages.”

She plopped down beside you, entertained by the dragon you were fighting on the screen, until she pulled herself back into reality. She grabbed the controller out of your hands in one big swoop.

“Hey! I was so close to killing that stupid dragon!”

“Look, Renjun is hosting a game night tonight, coming?”

You knew socialization would be good for you at this stage, and if it included games then that’s an obvious plus.

You let out a reluctant, “Fine.” whilst snatching back your controller. 

“Good,” she began, quirking her eyebrows, “now show me how to play.”

You couldn’t help but laugh at her eagerness.

———

[6:53pm]

In the end, Lila killed the dragon, which disappointed your pride. But knowing that you got the chance to beat her ass in Mario Kart helped you recover.

Ten gave you both a lift to Renjun’s in return for letting him borrow Skyrim. It was a not so fair deal.

Lila opened the door, ushering you in first. You walked in cautiously, only to find your worst nightmare before you.

Haechan waved at you, while Jeno sent a smile your way.

Before Lila could close the door, you bolted back out. 

“What the fuck are they doing here?” It was an understatement to say you were panicking. Never could you have imagined Jeno and Haechan both sitting casually in Renjun’s house. Never.

“I thought it would be a nice surprise. See Jeno?” 

“First of all I H-A-T-E surprises and second of all, I do not like Jeno.”

She winked at you, then proceeded to literally push you into the house. “Love you too hun.”

You dragged yourself awkwardly over to the group and perched on the empty couch. Jeno looked as smiley and pure as he did last week, but you would never forget his daring self, his roguish side, those enticing, dark eyes. You wouldn’t be fooled twice. Sweat gathered in your palms, as you avoided his heavy gaze.

“Fancy seeing you here.” Haechan spoke first.

“Right back at you.” 

They were all gathered around the tv playing Mario Kart: Renjun’s favourite game, although he can’t play. Jeno and Renjun must have bonded at the party because you swore you’ve never seen them even talk before. Haechan and Lila were the first to play against each other. They sat too close together for comfort. She looked back at you, smiling effortlessly. You sent her a wink. 

Jeno sat up beside you. Your heart raced and he didn’t even have to say anything. You didn’t what you wanted to say to him, but you knew that you didn’t want the conversation to last long. 

“Hey, look I—”

“Let’s just forget about the party.” You interrupted. Assured in your words, for once. Whatever overcame Jeno at the party was a mix of alcohol, adrenaline and cravings. Just not for you. 

“I don’t want to.” 

Your breath shook. He too, was confident. 

“I won’t forget about it. And I know you won’t either.”

“Don’t flatter yourself.” Your voice wrapped in a smirk, “You had me deceived, I thought you were innocent.” You were playing coy, trying to rise him, elicit a reaction.

His dark eyes met yours, “I’m not all you think I am. And don’t act like you’re so innocent either. I saw the look in your eye.”

You couldn’t help but laugh at his audacity, at what even just happened. He stood up, and whatever had just overpowered him, he swallowed. “Would you like a drink dear y/n.” It was as if he was at war with himself over two different sides.

“There’s my nice guy.” You chuckled, playing along.

He began to walk away when you called after him, “Yes please!”

Things were turning out to be okay after all. You were actually able to joke with Jeno instead of avoid him.

‘Maybe his new side is better after all.’

You turned to Renjun, joining him in a debate about ‘Far Cry 5′ when you heard the door click behind you. You didn’t dare turn, but the ache in your lower stomach sent out a warning. Your body awakened at his hand on your shoulder. The blood racing throughout you, memories torturing your mind. 

“I’m finally here.” His voice was a rasp, teasing you.

He pulled Renjun in for a man hug and tousled Haechan’s hair.

‘Since when were he and Renjun friends?’

 He turned to you. Looking at you all of you, with all of him. He sauntered over, plopping himself by your side. He inched secretly closer, but you were well aware. You dragged your eyes to his. He contained the essence of chaos, hair disheveled, eyes heavy with lack of sleep. His gaze empty, but dark. That same smirk taunted his soft lips, and your body remembered how they felt crashing against yours. He was wearing that same black shirt you wore at his house. 

It was hard to forget.

His eyes were dangerous, the perfect weapon. They were a trap, and you were a fool. He searched your gaze, eyes black beneath his hooded lids, dark lashes brushing the tops of his cheeks.

“Miss me, princess?” At least Jaemin was still the same flirtatious dick as always.

You didn’t know what overwhelmed you; “Call me that one more time, and see what happens.”

Silence absorbed the room, forcing you to turn away. 

“Tut-tut-tut.” Haechan began, staring at you as he shook his head, “And what do we have here?”

_____________________________________

See you next time -> Sunday 27th xx

_____________________________________

Love you loads <3

[roseyturtles]

more mikey angst yeehaw

welcome back to “oh lawd Rose is on their bullshit again” and this time I have writing done at 3am

So this requires a little bit of explaining. First, I’m using “Artist” as a nickname for 2018 Michelangelo and “Freckles” for 2012. Second, this is fast-paced. Almost uncomfortably so. You’ll have to suspend your disbelief enough to believe that talking to another version of yourself is more vulnerable than anyone else, and that all Mikeys are just that empathetic. Third: I’m not making excuses for wrongs on the part of 2012′s writers or characters, and I’m not leaving room for anyone else to do so either.

Tagging @brightlotusmoon in this as per usual because she’s my ultimate motivator in Mikey writing.

That being said, enjoy.

"Wait wait wait wait," the freckled turtle started, waving his hands in front of his face. "So. Your brothers DON'T smack you around when you're being obnoxious?"

"Wh--no?? What kind of brothers hit each other?!"

When Michelangelo---or, well, "Artist Mikey," as they would later clarify to try and discern between the two versions---first had this other version of himself arrive at his doorstep, he wasn't expecting this to become of it. The "rounder" turtle, a few inches taller and formed from a different base species entirely, but still very much a clone, had started out with bright smiles and a skateboard under his arm, ready to grind the sewer walls with his counterpart. And grind they did, both using their skills to perform impressive tricks around every bend and railing available, until they chose to mount on a surface rooftop for a breather. That's when real conversation started up, mostly about their common and different hobbies and the state of their worlds.

It was only when freckled Mikey mentioned off-the-cuff that he'd be smacked by Raphael for too many bad jokes that the artist realized that maybe they weren't so similar after all, and neither was their family.

"...uh. The normal kind?? What, are you guys all hugs and kisses?" Freckles asked, making a smooching gesture with his hands in a lightly mocking manner.

"Well, I mean, no," Artist started, "but like. Even when we get super mad at each other none of us get hit! And what do you mean by "annoying" anyways?"

Freckles seemed a little bit at a loss, brow furrowed and blinking. Whether that was out the same verbal processing disorder that Artist had or out of disbelief he wasn't sure. Eventually Freckles couldn't make eye contact, or even so much as look at Artist anymore, instead choosing to look away and scratch the back of his head, voice quieter when he spoke.

"Y'know," he tried to reconcile. "Stuff like…being too loud, or moving around too much, or talking about a video game all day."

Again Artist was horrified. That…was all normal stuff for him and his brothers both to do. Yeah, it was more him than them, but none of it was ever considered "annoying." None of it warranted violence. 

"I mean, I remember one time Leo chased me and hit me with a mop after I used his favorite comic as toilet paper, heheh. I was, uh, I was trying to snap him out of a weird mutant wasp trance after he got stung. Nnever--" Freckles suddenly went silent, and for a moment there was tension as he slowly pulled his knees up to his chest.

Then Artist spoke with rare but completely characteristic softness.

"Never thanked you for saving him?"

More silent tension as Freckles remained looking to the noisy city, trying to drown the storm inside his chest with other stimuli. Eventually, though, he 

nodded. Artist took a minute to process everything this implied. The fact that the major good thing Freckles did was overshadowed by the minor bad. The fact that a simple "thank you" or even an "I love you" was too much for that Leo's pride. The fact that nobody stood up for Freckles in that violence, and no one was going to, not without some sort of intervention.

…

Artist scooted a little closer to his counterpart and hugged his nearest arm. Freckles seemed shocked by the contact, and almost a tad uncomfortable, which made Artist's heart hurt more. Was he also never comforted in times of distress?

"I'm gonna be real honest here, Mike," Artist started, opting to use one of their assigned nicknames until they later figured out universal ones. "I don't think any of that's…good. I mean, bouncin' around and talking about stuff for hours is either teen stuff, ADHD, or both. For you to get smacked for doing normal stuff?..." He couldn't collect enough thought matter to say exactly what was wrong with it, but the heavy silence afterwards spoke volumes.

Freckles, too, remained silent after the speech. He had read about ADHD in one of Donnie's countless textbooks and found himself identifying with the symptoms, but never told anyone about it. He was already different from his brothers enough, why give it name and form that could be used as a stamp over his mouth? But something about hearing it from someone else, someone that didn't just know him but was him, made the concept somehow more real, like adjusting pronouns. And yet all of that was overshadowed in a split second by what exactly Artist was getting across. This…how his brothers treated him…wasn't normal. Wasn't okay, even. Another version of him, a fundamentally happier version, wasn't being hit and wasn't being called annoying and was being thanked by his brothers and wasn't trying desperately to appease them and was pursuing his hobbies fearlessly and---

Freckles looked at Artist with just the barest bit of hope.

"What's your dad like?"

"...Imperfect. He's got a lot of bad stuff in his past. But he loves us a lot, and he wants us to be us before we're ninjas. …and yours?"

A moment more of silence. Then, Freckles returned the hug, burying his face in Artist's shoulder. Artist couldn't begin to imagine what kind of a Splinter---of a dad---could normalize domestic violence and emotional frigidity. The best he could imagine was that their Splinter just wasn't there for them. The worst? That he was an active participant in this. Either way, his slowly wettening shoulder told the story loud and clear, and Artist's heart was squeezed by grief for his other.

His whole world, everything he thought he knew, had been shattered in an instant, leaving nothing but shards of rose-tinted glasses and ruinous truth.

It both crushed him and burned him alive to see this happening, and when Artist raised his head, his eyes were determined to set it right, and set it right together.

[renthebarbarian]

Tagged by @fictionandtheatre :-*

1. what color is your hair brush?

Pink

2. a food you never eat?

Onions

3. are you typically too warm or too cold?

I’m always cold, winter fucking sucks

4. what were you doing 45 minutes ago?

I was writing an article for the online magazine I work for

5. what is your favorite candy bar?

I love Twix, although I’d rather just eat chocolate bites or truffles

6. have you ever been to a professional sporting event?

Yes, once, when I was 12 I went to a Braves game in Atlanta. It got rained out.

7. what was the last thing you said out loud?

(to my uncle) Did you know they’re thinking of making a third Mamma Mia?

8. what is your favorite ice cream?

Chocolate Peanut Butter Cookie Dough (it’s a Blue Bell flavor)

9. what was the last thing you had to drink?

Dr Pepper (can you tell I’m from Texas?)

10. do you like your wallet?

It’s just a plain grey wallet, it does the job and it’s not tacky, so

11. what was the last thing you ate?

A GIGANTIC burger at lunch, nine hours ago and I’m STILL full

12. did you buy any new clothes last weekend?

I bought some new underwear a couple of months ago

13. the last sporting event you watched?

Probably the last SHSU game I had to film for ESPN (I’ve had a weird life)

14. what is your favorite flavor of popcorn?

Uhh...regular popcorn? With butter and salt?

15. who was the last person you sent a text message to?

@flamingbluepanda

16. ever go camping?

When I was a kid I’d sleep in a tent on our front lawn sometimes

17. do you take vitamins?

I get plenty of Vitamin D if you know what I mean...Vitamin Depression

18. do you go to church every sunday?

No, I’m a heathen who likes sleeping in way too much (I’m already going to hell for being gay)

19. do you have a tan?

I am vampire

20. do you prefer chinese food or pizza?

Here’s an idea: Chinese food ON pizza!

21. do you drink your soda with a straw?

Yes! More fizzy that way.

22. what color socks do you usually wear?

White, I’m very boring

23. ever drive above the speed limit?

Nope! I don’t speed! I wouldn’t give cops the pleasure of giving me a ticket.

24. what terrifies you?

WASPS

25. look to your left, what do you see?

My grandma’s walker

26. what chore do you hate?

Dishes >:(

27. what do you think of when you hear an australian accent?

“Outback Steakhouse”

28. what is your favorite soda?

Dr Pepper -- again, I am a Texas bastard through and through

29. do you go to a fast food place or just hit the drive through?

Depends if there’s a line in the drive thru

30. who was the last person you talked to?

My uncle

31. favorite cut of beef?

Uhhhhh...sir...loin? I’m not a butcher.

32. last song you listened to?

There’s a commercial with David Bowie’s “Starman” that keeps playing on TV so

33. last book you read?

Still working my way through American Gods

34. favorite day of the week?

Usually Sundays because my mom makes barbecue :P

35. can you say the alphabet backwards?

Sey, I nac.

36. how do you like your coffee?

Like I like my men -- ground up into tiny pieces and boiled in hot water.

37. favorite pair of shoes?

Do slippers count as shoes?

38. at what time do you usually go to bed?

Bed? Midnight-ish. Sleep? Uhhhhh-

39. at what time do you usually get up?

Let’s just say, Dracula’s holding an intervention for me because even he thinks I get up too late

40. what do you prefer: sunrises or sunsets?

Sunsets -- again, I am not a morning person. Also, pastels can get fucked. I have no time for weak colors.

41. how many blankets are on your bed?

A bedspread and a sheet so...1? 2? 1 and a half?

42. describe your kitchen plates?

Red, ceramic, and square

43. do you have a favorite alcoholic beverage?

A Cape Cod/vodka-cranberry with lime. I refuse to call it a Cosmopolitan because that would make me Carrie Bradshaw, and Carrie Bradshaw is THE WORST. I’d much rather be Samantha.

44. do you play cards?

Not often but yeah

45. what color is your car?

Kind of silvery-beige. I got it from my grandma

46. can you change a tire?

No...but I want to learn!

47. what is your favorite province?

Whichever province produced Ryan Reynolds

48. favorite job you ever had?

Every job I’ve had has pretty much sucked, but I do like writing for Mxdwn Magazine

49. how did you get your biggest scar?

My biggest “scar” is a little dimple on my right forearm where a red wasp stung me when I was five

50. what did you do today that made someone happy?

I haven’t done anything today, positive or negative *shrug*

Tagging...whoever.