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fatallyfalling · 1 month

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Bitter Water 0.07 ~ ♆

“ You were nothing like him. You were more. And maybe that scared him a little. “

warnings: typical Hunger Games violence/trauma/themes, language, blood, injury, ptsd, forced prostitution, enemies to lovers, slow burn, death, nightmares, unintentional self injury, alcohol, insinuation of suicidal thoughts, mention of aphrodisiac abuse, sexual abuse, etc

{{ word count }} 8.2K

{{ prompt }} Six months was never going to be long enough. You would have sooner dug your heels into the earth and bared your teeth than go back - but you have to keep them safe. You only ever wanted to keep them safe….. in the end you never could…

{{ a/n }} Markiplier voice: “Hi - It’s me! I’m not dead! Which is an awful surprise considering how many people wrote my obituary yesterday! PREEMPTIVELY! In case i did die! But i didn’t! so suck on that!” anyhoo - This is LONG but also get ready to cry <3

p.s.- I promise reader isn’t a crybaby they’re just traumatized 😭 I also apologize if this is a bit scattered, it’s been in the works for over three months now but i swear you’ll get more consistency from reader here on out akkfkskdkskd The ending is also a tad rushed i just REALLY wanna get into them being older so I can write with more substance IM SORRYYYY

They’re alive.

Two words. Three syllables.

This mantra kept you moving. You’ve been home for little more than a month, but the treacherous plague of the arena had left its permanent reminders engraved on your skin. Still, you were too often dragged back by those same claws, kicking and screaming, under the blanket of night to relive the horrors of the 67th annual Hunger Games, only to awaken with bitter copper coating your tongue and a twisted scream retching from your throat. You’d already lost count of how often your episodes upset Dorian and Callan. They were too young to understand the poltergeists that haunted your nightmares. The poor boys had even started running to your father on wobbly legs dragged down by sleep to rouse the gruff man, bleary eyes the size of saucers, as your cries echoed through the too-big house. It sputtered that vital flame still fighting to ignite inside your chest to see them cry because of you.

You hated yourself for it.

Marjorie had hobbled up the three steps to your porch on creaking knees, breathless and panting as your Father led her into the finely furnished house the first night the terrors returned. He hadn't even bothered for his brown leather duster to cover the mangled remains of his dominant arm. Sweat pooled on Marjorie’s brow as the elder gripped her threadbare shawl tighter around her shoulders. The panic on your Father's face was all she'd needed to follow the man home in the middle of the night. Your screams met the elder's ears first. Then Dorian and Callan came bounding out of the parlor to meet her with fearful eyes and tight hugs. "Please, help them, Nana!" The twins blubbered between tears. An expression heavy enough to resemble grief painted your Father's features as Marjorie connected her gaze to his.

"I'll see what I can do."

The unfortunate reality was that there wasn't much that could be done. Marjorie had even enlisted Mags’ help in deciphering a possible treatment plan for the traumatic stress that seized your mind, but any leads ended up inconclusive. A specially brewed tonic of chamomile and lavender before bed at least aided in closing your eyes to combat the insomnia you'd developed, but little could be done to keep you asleep. You had daily sessions with Mags to try and sort through the inner turmoil. But progress was slow going, and you rarely made it past recounting the first few weeks of life in the arena before tears bubbled and panic took over your chest, squeezing so tightly you feared suffocation. Marjorie suggested seeking a higher level of care for your condition, but Mags signaled things might only get worse for you to be removed from your loved ones again so soon. You'd agreed with your mentor. As harrowing as your experiences had been, all that mattered to you were the twins smiling faces and the warmth in their embraces, or the idle chatter over an evening meal about their latest school projects or primary school gossip. The normalcy helped in its own way.

Your father once tried to coax you into going to a local medical clinic on one of your better days. "It's just a check-up." He'd claimed. But after angry red scratches peppered his one good arm, and you were huddled in a corner far from the door like a wild animal set to pounce, the idea was left to rot amongst other failed attempts to heal your internal wounds.

As much as you hated to admit it, your episodes had only worsened since being back.

There were four things you'd learned to despise since surviving The Games.

1. Water

2. Closed Spaces

3. Finnick Odair

4. President Coriolanus Snow

Your aversion to water still clamped around your throat like a vice. But that natural, sometimes visceral, longing for the sea was a heavy weight in your chest. Water still brought painful memories to the front of your mind, with soap suds burning your eyes in the shower between ferocious blinks, but the salty spray of coastal air was too enticing to turn from. You still found yourself sneaking away from Victor’s Village in the wee hours of morning to the brine scented sands down a tall-grassed hill behind your house. Unlike your home, tucked away in a more secluded, woodland, part of town, the Village was right along the coast outside the edge of the port. You could see the lit up pier and ship docks down the shoreline in murky shadows over the horizon, occasionally illuminated by the ever turning lighthouse nestled amongst the cliffs younglings favored to dive from.

You’d ventured up to the cliffs a handful of times since returning to District 4. The wind was wild and whipped your hair this way and that with howling gusts up the face of the rocky mountain. Summer was nearing the end of its course, with crisper air wafting in from the ocean that sent shivers up your spine, and the hair on your arms and the nape of your neck to stand on end. You’d wander up at night, cloaked in shadow with whisps of moonlight curling over the planes of your face and arms. If anyone below witnessed the picture of your gauzy night clothes billowing in the wind amongst the shadows passing your face under moonlit clouds, they’d think they saw an apparition. One of the local myths, told only in hushed voices in warm taverns by rosy-cheeked, ale scented, fisherman out of Peace Keeper's earshot. You didn’t dare try to jump. However tempting the darkest reaches of your mind made the caress of its fingertips along the veil of your sanity, pawing the sheer curtain as if asking permission to flood your thoughts and set that roaring inferno in your chest loose, you stayed firm on the damp earth.

You wouldn’t do that to your family.

Days were easier than nights at least. You favored the large, second story bay windows of the grey dappled house, soaking up warmth from the sun and your personally home brewed tea. Your father had tried to replicate your recipes while you’d been away but Dorian and Callan loved to remind the poor elder that yours still tasted sweeter. Another thing the twins had missed in your absence. You’d taken it upon yourself to teach the younglings the simple brew in perfect replication, earning giggles of sheer joy from the boys and an eye roll from your bemused Father. You’d also begun a small collection of your personal recipes in a small leather bound journal gifted to you from your father to replace the old water damaged cards you used to keep the instructions on. Amongst freshly printing the terms you still tucked the old cards between the pages as keepsakes and tell of origin. You cherished the small book tremendously.

Cooking had also surprisingly became rather cathartic for you in a way. Doing something with your hands helped ease the nervous habit that created burning red crescents in your palms, especially when it came to kneading dough or fixing herbs to garnish meals. It had been an adjustment to fix more filling meals that made enough if not more for your small family. Instead of saving every scrap, or even skipping your own helping to allow the twins seconds, there was enough to feed everyone and then some for once.

The wealth that came with winning The Games was generous and easily enough to live well into the rest of your lives. But it also cast a heavy weight on your shoulders. Another permanent reminder of the spilt blood that coated your skin in phantom stickiness. Sometimes you wished nothing more than to be rid of the fortune, but the prospering health of your siblings always managed to chip away at the solid guilt cocooning your heart.

All you ever wanted was to provide for them and keep them safe.

Safe.

Three months have now passed since You’d arrived back in District 4.

Finnick Odair had kept his distance, if not attempting to avoid you entirely. Well - as much as he could with what shred of free will the boy had to spare. He was exhausted, and the knife that had carved out his bleeding heart from his chest had become a rudimentary ache. No matter how heavy the concealer his stylist’s applied was, dark circles and hangovers could only be hidden under playboy charm and pointy smirks for so long. Since Finnick’s announcement as a “Desirable” Victor four months prior, he’d felt the Capital collar and chain around his neck tighten and yank in whichever way Snow commanded with growing severity. Part of him was surprised there wasn’t bruising where the icy torque would have rested on his throat.

There was never a ‘day off’ for Finnick Odair. Not anymore. There was always a performance to be made, or an appearance at a party, or a sticky-fingered Capital elitist client spewing sultry filth in his ears that made the boy want to either be sick or run the lethal triple blade trident hanging in his bedroom through their gut several times.

The retched hunger of Capital elitist’s, heiresses, and whoever else was rich enough to pay the sharks prowling in shadowed corners of banquet halls or knew who to speak to in order to arrange an ‘evening’ with the ‘Prince of District 4’ was insatiable. Every minute detail of the Golden Boy’s daily life became scheduled, prepped, scrubbed, tested, ordered, dressed, touched, and pressed. There were no choices, no breaks, no compromises.

If Finnick Odair wasn’t perfect or spotlight ready for even a millisecond - people would talk. If Finnick wasn’t flirting or hanging on the arm of someone new every night they’d get bored. If there was no gossip, no allure to the honey-tanned playboy they’d lose interest and President Snow would bring down the iron fist poised mere inches over the carefully crafted safety net around Mags and the few people he dared hold higher than himself.

Cold water helped ease the pressure.

The freezing splash of droplets on his tanned skin was palpable. The opposite of sparks and flames which singed lapping, invisible burns through his veins and made setting himself ablaze more appealing than the possible friction of another persons touch for a thousand years. It was an expensive effort to not flinch away or recoil from groping hands. The most Finnick allowed himself under a mirror-practiced mask of feigned pleasure or pride was a minuscule flutter of muscle in his sharp jaw and the continuous picking at invisible lint from progressively more revealing tunics and netting.

Finnick didn’t want to think about what kind of scrap fabric or net he’d be forced to wear years down the line if the stylists were already pushing to show more skin on the Victor.

Scrubbing calloused palms down his mascara streaked cheeks, the taste of sea salt met his tongue. Poseidon’s waves had effectively washed the remaining remnants of gold luster from his neck and shoulders in the rolling shallows. Finnick took his time to savor a thorough inhale of the briney coast. He hadn’t bothered to venture back to his house in the Victor’s Village culdesac. He was lucky to have slipped away from the escorts Snow often ordered to be close by. Protecting the “merchandise”. Shades of navy and indigo painted the horizon with thin smears of pink where the endless sky met the waves.

The air was crisp, sending small puffs of white air into the atmosphere under tired breaths. Finnick had just barely returned from yet another unremarkable Capital function. He didn’t care that his luxurious trousers were now soaked to mid thigh in the frigid water, or that his fingertips had gone numb and pruned. He just wanted the memory of touch and the stupid damn gold dust gone.

“Damn it…” Finnick sighed. It was another exhausting effort to bite back the string of curses threatening to push through his teeth on pointed canines. To curse Snow, curse the Games, hell - curse all of Panem and the Capital for all he cared.

The boy let his sea-green gaze sweep across the coastline. Part of him wondered if snagging a boat from the docks and going off on his own would be worth it. Mags would never agree to it. Before the Games, Finnick would have accepted a quiet life as a fisherman, helping younglings and living off the daily catch.

But he wasn’t normal anymore. He wasn’t even a kid.

‘You’re just a kid.’

‘You’re both just kids.’

The memory pierced Finnick’s mind, drawing a crease between his brows and a wrinkle in his nose.

He wasn’t allowed to be a ‘kid’ anymore. He didn’t have a choice. Tearing his gaze from the sparkling lights of the bobbing sailboats sleeping in the far-off dock, Finnick’s gaze lifted to the spinning lighthouse on the cliffs. The weather stained roofing and salt eroded stones that made up the building left an eerie aura to the tower. Some of the older younglings (himself included) had spun ghost stories to scare the youngest kids around campfires on the dusty sands in mid summer.

He’d missed Summer.

The short cliffs were quiet much like the docks, a sleeping district soon to be awake in a matter of hours. There was a chilled breeze swaying the tall pine trees. Breathy smoke curled around the boy’s shoulders as he set himself moving. The frigid air and water had numbed his legs but he welcomed the cold. Late November didn’t freeze the coast but it sure as hell made things icy up here in the north. Wet sand sank and remolded under his leather boots. The boy had cast down his gaze towards the sand for only a moment in quiet contemplation before snapping back to the cliffs at the sound of a shrill cry.

“What the hell?”

Another sob ricocheted across the cliffs and swam over the shore through his eardrums. The sound was pained, and warrior instinct had his eyes scanning the cliffs over and over for its owner. Remembering he did in fact have legs, the boy put them to use, kicking up sprays of damp sand under heavy strides as he made a break for the curving paths that led to the summit. The specter of pale, gauzy fabric had been his only clue that someone was up there. Maybe he was an idiot for chasing danger, a fool for following the snapping thread in his chest like a second heartbeat. He’d remembered that scream as vividly as the day he’d witnessed you finish the Games.

His lungs started to burn halfway up as a haggard cough choked from his throat between ragged breaths. His calves barked in protest at the uneven terrain but he pushed himself harder. Already cycling through worst case scenarios the Victor had thrown caution to the wind well beforehand. Despite every fiber of his being screaming to stay away and forget. Forget the thread, forget the draw, forget the stupid hunger that made his fingertips twitch or the buzz in his ears get louder under your cold gaze.

He just had to get there. To you.

But why?

You were just another Victor. Just another cog in the grotesque clockwork of Snow’s empire. You were just like him.

You were nothing like him.

Maybe that was it.

You weren’t a career. You weren’t born and bred to kill. You weren’t him.

You were more.

And maybe that scared him a little.

Your name was a desperate prayer on Finnick’s tongue as he crashed onto the clearing he’d glimpsed your hazy form upon.

It was empty.

Maybe he was losing it a bit. Reckless paces that brought the boy peering over the edge on a tightened stomach that feared the possibility of what lie below dropped as sea green storms met empty rocks. You weren’t here. A vulgar curse huffed from his chest as damp hands fisted bronze waves as he paced around the empty clearing.

Maybe he was crazy.

But unbeknownst to the bronze-haired boy, your trembling form quickly retreating through the brush on bare feet that had the hemming of your nightclothes snag on stray twigs, growing caked in smears of mud by the second, said otherwise.

Six months passed too quickly.

The sun was a glowing smear between grey, puffy clouds. The weather had been dreary and damp for weeks now as winter set in. Maybe the sun had pushed past the clouds as a form of goodbye. A last touch of warmth before the metal tomb that stretched down the station platform before you swallowed you whole.

The Victory Tour was to begin in a matter of moments.

There was a cruel sense of comfort as you peered across the cobbled station at your family and the ever bustling Capital team featuring Thatcher Bellstone - your escort, and Hyacinth, your stylist from the Games, who was currently fussing with straightening jacket collars and lint rolling trousers.

Everyone had been dressed to the nines in typical Capital fashion. Callan and Dorian featured matching knit hats and handmade mittens, your Father bearing a new fur lined duster, and Mags had a cream colored muff to protect her aging hands that matched her coat.

And Finnick - God why was he even here?

His navy wool coat matched the emerald scarf hugging his throat in a neat knot. Black trousers and snow dusted dress shoes holding a casual stance as the boy’s bronze waves danced in the breeze. Your jaw set in annoyance. The two of you still hadn’t spoken, hadn’t interacted since the train ride six months ago. Vague glimpses of Bronze waves and liqueur coated chuckles had ventured through your cracked windows some nights but you could barely look at the fellow victor without wanting to punch him. The pleasure he seemed to take in being “Desirable” made your insides churn.

All cheshire smirks and no bite. That’s who Finnick Odair was. You’d stopped trying to decipher the hazy echoes of his cries that barely formed your name three months ago. How he’d even seen you on those cliffs that night was wild all on it’s own. Maybe you had imagined it - some half-baked, desperate, imaginary cry for help. Useless. Worthless.

He’d never care about you - maybe anyone - that way. It didn’t matter.

None of it mattered.

Adjusting the dappled grey coat Hyacinth had dressed you in to match the twin’s, you averted your eyes from the Victor just as sea green irises flashed in your direction. You were thankful he wouldn’t be coming with. Finnick would rejoin your ensemble once the tour made it back to District 4 in a few weeks, but until then you’d be Peacock free.

Your senses felt wired with electricity as cameras flashed, with your knuckles burning under the vice-like fists you’d balled at your sides. You didn’t want to go, but you didn’t have a choice. It was tradition for the Victor of every Games to take a tour across the twelve districts and speak to the families of fallen tributes. The idea made you sick. You hadn’t won anything. You’d only survived.

Dorian and Callan were blubbering like sea sponges against your chest as you bent down to grip them tight. “It’s just for a little while…” You murmured while breathing in the love in their identical hair. The words were meek and your breath hitched on the end of the sentence but you bit down on the hiccuping sob prodding your throat and squeezed the boys tighter.

You’d said similar words before entering a death match mere months ago.

“Shh.. it’s gonna be okay, there’s plenty of tea in the ice box. Just don’t stress out Pa okay? Do your chores and be good. I love you.” You murmured between pressed lips, pulling back to look the twins in the eye. The boys nodded vigorously, giving tiny smiles between tear stained faces and red button noses. “We’ll be SO good!” Callan chirped with a small salute.

“That’s my boys.” You rasped, pulling down both of their knit hats over their eyes before quickly standing just as cameras flashed and elated shrieks echoed across the stones from the boys. Your heart squeezed as scruff brushed your cheeks while your Father came to envelope you in a bear hug with his good arm.

“Be good kid, be good..”

“I will, I will…” You nodded back, squeezing the man just as tight.

“Come, Come! We need to keep on schedule!” Thatcher clapped their burnt sienna gloves twice, calling everyone’s attention and causing the warm embrace of your Father to disappear as he returned to the boys a few paces away. The twins were busy ogling Finnick. Ironically, despite your disdain for the Darling, they’d taken a steep interest in the older boy as some “cool kid” much like how they referred to popular younglings at school. It made your eye twitch sometimes, but Finnick wasn’t mean or short with them. If anything he was kind and caring. Gentle. It was weird, seeing Finnick be gentle with someone other than Mags.

You tried to brush off the rising warmth in your chest.

Mags had soon appeared beside your Father, and the two silently communicated in hushed whispers from the man with Mags waving off his worries with gentle nods and heart warming smiles. They no doubt were discussing how to handle your terrors and your ‘zero alcohol’ rule they’d been enforcing the past months. You were thankful they didn’t let you sink too far, but sometimes the itch for that familiar numbness and sway in your vision picked at your brain a bit too harshly.

“Right! We have a tight - tight! Schedule to follow now. Smile for the cameras and let us be on our way dear. You’ll be back before you know it!” Thatcher bellowed between a phlegmy cough. Rolling your eyes, you gave everyone one last hug before standing in front of the bronze-haired Victor while everyone else filed onto the train or off to the side.

“Peacock..”

“Still using names are we? Didn’t know you liked me that much~” Finnick all but purred, earning another eye roll from you. “Shut up. Just - don’t corrupt my siblings while i’m gone. I can barely handle one of you, I don’t need three Peacocks running around.” You huffed with a wave of your hand. Finnick chuckled, the sound deep and rumbling in his chest as his voice had all but deepened and matured further these past months. “Can’t say that’d be the worst thing, would it?” You felt the tips of your ears burn at the flirtatious tone in his voice and shoved his shoulder away before turning around to face the train.

“Goodbye, Odair.”

“Hey - just..”

You couldn’t help but stiffen as the boy turned you back to face him, a firm hand gently brushing your shoulder. The urge to punch him had your jaw setting all over again.

“Don’t sink. You’ll be back.” Finnick’s voice was soft, softer than you’d ever heard it and for a moment you felt as if a thread ran from your heart up to meet his fingertips on your arm. He was never gentle. Not like this. “Stop being weird, Peacock.” You shrugged his hand off your shoulder despite the burning you felt in your cheeks and swiftly turned and strode away.

You had to have imagined it. The softness in his eyes that made him look younger, more alive. The honey in his tone that matched something you’d only read about. There was no way.

None.

The metallic click of the train car doors closing managed to snap you out of your thoughts as you scrubbed a stray tear from your cheek. Hyacinth coming over to flit about a powdered brush to fix the small amount of cosmetics she’s applied to your skin earlier that afternoon. “It’s wonderful to see you again darling, absolutely wonderful.” The stylist chirps while brushing an airy kiss past each of your cheeks.

You feel a bit sick.

A lot sick - actually.

Time moves almost in slow motion for a moment as your knees buckle and next thing you know you’re on the floor hurling up the biscuit and pear jam you’d choked down that morning. Ringing starts in your ears and a shrill cry from Hyacinth has Thatcher and Mags bustling over to help as the room sways and your trembling hands become blurry behind tears.

You’d been caged all over again.

The tour took a little over two weeks.

Every day and different district you visited felt like an eternity. You’d barely been able to keep anything down as the haunted faces of fallen Tributes and their families plagued every waking thought. Hyacinth continued applying increasingly heavier cosmetics to try and conceal your pain. Your facial features had become gaunt from the retching with deep smudges of purple making homes beneath your dull eyes. You couldn’t stand looking out at the families of people you had or hadn’t killed and having the audacity to apologize and read a flimsy notecard scrawled in neat cursive by Thatcher expressing that their deaths somehow meant something. You’d been verbally assaulted by crowd members gathered in the District’s Judicial Complexes more times than you cared to count.

Liar.

Murderer.

Cheat.

Thief.

The colorful names they called you felt like repeated blows to the gut. And they somehow knew exactly where to hit. Part of you wondered how Finnick had done this. How Mags had done this. How any Victor of the Games had done this. You couldn’t do this. You couldn’t handle any of this.

“I-I can’t… I can’t Mags…” You’d begged and pleaded with your mentor to let you not go on stage. Begged her to not make you face another grieving family while you stood there alive like some prize winning salmon. It didn’t matter how much you’d survived you were still a coward. You didn’t deserve to be here.

Coward.

You’d been a coward to hide. It didn’t matter that you’d survived, you’d still killed and fought your way to the end of the 67th Games. You were everything those hecklers claimed you to be and worse and you knew it. Mags gripped your shoulders tight and forced your eyes to meet hers. Her stare alone told you everything you needed to know before she wrapped you in her thin arms and squeezed tight. You didn’t have a choice in this. You understood she’d have done everything and anything to keep you from going out there if she could but she couldn’t.

By the time the tour reached District 7 you’d gone numb.

“Panem thanks your tributes for their bravery. A-and I thank… th-thank them for their sacrifice…” You stammered on the sentence you’d read six times now. You’d continued to stumble through it for the past six districts you’d been forced to speak in front of. A bottle hits the front edge of the stage with a shattering crash, and angered shouts rouse from the crowd as Peacekeepers force themselves forward in an ordered line, batons shooting from holsters and sharp-shooter rifles strapped across their chests. Your eyes squeeze shut as white gloves grip your under arms and force you away. The speech remains unfinished.

Heavy wooden doors slam behind you and gentle hands grip your face as your mouth contorts to an even deeper frown. The owners fingers are soft, but a tinge cold. Mags. Your eyelids crack and the flimsy, wrinkled notecard in your hands falls to the floor as you crumple into the elders arms. The embrace is short as Thatcher comes up to usher your team to the train as shouting starts to echo through the thick doors behind you.

Coward.

“Best we be on our way. Things seem to be getting a bit out of sorts here.” Thatcher chirps, but their face is solemn as your eyes meet. “Come now Dear,” They sigh. Your only reply is a meek nod. Hyacinth provides a small handkerchief to wipe your eyes and the mechanical maneuvers of the Capital train greet your party as the machine lurches into motion minutes later. ‘Just a few more days…’ You try to remind yourself as Mags helps guide you to the observatory car. You didn’t need the physical support but welcomed it as the two of you found places to curl up on the large, curved sofa. The seats were as plush as you’d remembered.

You’d managed to spend most of your down time here. The scents of damp earth and various florals were comforting. Except the stark-white roses, which had been removed from the various coffee tables to one corner of the room. You tried not to look at them. Your mentor laid a gentle hand to your knee as you curled up to peer out the window. Buildings passed and turned into tall trees, citizens working the lumber were only spotty blurs amongst the rush of the train. “It’s hard to keep doing this over and over Mags…” You sigh, sparing a glance to the elder before continuing. “It’s almost like reliving the arena over and over…” A small squeeze to your knee was enough to turn your attention from the window.

Mags’ eyes seemed far away. Although she maintained eye contact with you, you could tell she was somewhere else. Revisiting the countless tributes she’d mentored in the past no doubt. Her small smile didn’t meet her eyes like it normally did. A few hand gestures from the woman was enough to convey what a part of you was itching to ask.

“It never gets easier. Only tolerable.” You echoed. Mags nods, and your knee receives another small squeeze. Your response is a small hum, moving a hand to cover hers as your fingers gently interlace. You’d had quite enough of the tears and the pains overwhelming your thoughts. The past half a year had been harrowing enough. Maybe it was time to take something back from Snow. From the Capital. From the Games. From all of Panem. A muscle in your jaw tenses before you speak, “I-I want to get better.. learn to tolerate it.” You mutter.

“I’m sick of being useless. Of sitting, and doing nothing. I don’t want to show the Capital that they hold power over me. That they’ve hurt me. They’ve seen enough of my heart, it’s time they see something else.”

An echo of words from the train platform almost a week ago ebb their way to the forefront of your mind.

“Don’t sink.”

You wouldn’t sink. Not anymore.

A twinkle of hope appears in Mags’ eyes as spiteful determination sparks in yours. That flame in your chest sparking back to life with a newfound vigor. You’d be better. You had to be.

You will not die. You will survive. And you will float - not sink.

You don’t stutter through anymore speeches from them on. You wouldn’t let them see that they got to you. Even if you broke behind closed doors, hiccuping sobs on the onyx tile of your bathroom floor, you wouldn’t dare let anyone else see it from now on.

Coward.

Arriving back to District 4 was a monumental relief, even if it was only for a day. The twins were overjoyed, forgetting a certain Bronze-haired boy’s existence the moment you stepped onto the cobblestone platform. Your nickname is a shriek behind elated laughter as you kneel to embrace the boys.

“Sheesh, what have they been feeding you boys? You’ve gotten taller and it’s only been a week!” You quip behind a coy smile. Dorian simply shakes his head and clings to your arm while correcting you that it’s been longer than seven days while Callan hollers a retort saying you’re lying. “Nuh uh! We’re just the same!”

You’re dressed in the same dappled grey coat with the edition of a sage colored scarf as breathy puffs of white air curl through your conversations.

“Uncorrupted just as you ordered.” Finnick quips with a dramatic wave of his hand and a slight bow as he approaches. Your eyes roll in annoyance but you can’t help the slight pull at the corners of your mouth. “My hero,” you deadpan as you rise, picking up Dorian and setting him on your hip. Finnick is dressed much the same as when you last saw him, though his bronze waves are more tousled than usual. His scarf is tied tighter around his throat, but you still catch the tinge of red and purple smears under his jawline. A tightness seizes your chest as Finnick seems to notice your stare and adjusts the knitted material.

“It’s nothing.” The boy claims, but a crease draws his brows in, and his tanned fingers pick a piece of invisible lint from the lapel of his navy coat. “Hm,” You hum in response, averting your own gaze back down to the twins as you feel an awkwardness rise in the air. You clear your throat while scrunching your nose and wetting your lips a moment before moving to say hello to your Father. Finnick remains rooted to his spot, but you can sense the Darling’s eyes lingering on your form as you retreat.

The rest of your visit to District 4 runs smoothly. There isn't much of a speech to be given, rather a small banquet is held in your honor instead. You dread parties, and a painful twist in your stomach squeezes as you sit through the meal that night under the beaming lights of the Judicial Complex auditorium making your head start to spin. What a part of you wouldn't give for one of the many glasses of champagne floating around, but based on the daggers Mags sends your way each time you reach for one of the crystal glasses has you quickly retreating and second-guessing your decisions. Finnick is somehow glued to your side much to your dismay. The boy looks almost like a prince. His pine-colored poet's tunic is cut low, almost to his navel, with black, slim-fit trousers with knee-high laced boots to match with a shimmer of iridescent luster sprinkled across his clavicle and the highest points of his cheeks. The miniature rendition of his famous trident rests around his neck again as well. Part of you wonders if Hyacinth and the boy's stylist were in cahoots behind the scenes as your equally pine-colored ensemble matches the elegance of Finnick's outfit a bit too well. You weren't fond of form-fitted clothing but had become rather desensitized to the matter following Hyacinth's frequent choices to show off your figure. Your garment tonight was a form-fitted silk gown that featured a high slit up your left thigh and an open back. The sleeves were off the shoulder and flowed in a balloon-like fashion before gathering once more at your wrists. Inky, strapped shoes with a short heel could be glimpsed at your feet as well. part of you wondered if Finnick had caught on to the whole ordeal but by the carefree, cheshire smirk on his rosy lips you couldn't tell.

Finnick had caught on the moment you'd stepped into the auditorium.

It felt as if he’d been set on fire. Sparks shot like lightning up his arms and across his chest as he couldn’t help drinking you in from across the room. That excruciatingly tight thread in his chest started to fray.

Finnick tried not to think about it.

He couldn't. He shouldn't.

'Shit...'

The closeness as you sat beside Finnick absentmindedly picking at your plate, not even a foot away had the boy so overwhelmed he couldn't think, only sparing a glance your way every now and then while trying to casually drape himself over his chair. The effort to keep a smirk on his face and a carefree aura was suffocating. What the hell was wrong with him? You’d sat next to or across from one another plenty of times. He'd seen you dressed up like this plenty of times.

Okay - maybe it had only been on screens but that was besides the point.

He had to get a grip. He'd already heard the rumors of there being something between the two of you from the Games starting to stir again amongst the elites as the end-of-tour banquet in the Capital district edged closer in the coming days. You didn't need more to stress over. especially not regarding him. You may have been able to keep a mask of chemical calm when dealing with everyone around you but he could see the shadows under your eyes and the limpness in your hair. Your hands still trembled, and your lower lip remained puffy from biting it. He'd learned your anxious habits from quiet observation. He had plenty of his own tells he was well aware of himself.

Finnick silently cursed himself again.

You were lucky enough to sleep in your own bed for the night, though Dorian and Callan insisted on joining you as if they were attention-deprived puppies. You welcomed their embraces as they nestled close, but knew you'd end up in a corner of the mattress without any blanket to keep warm as the boys occupied the majority of the bed space available. But you didn't mind. Nor did you want to leave them again so soon. But the tour had to be finished. You rested easier that night than you had in weeks, despite the bed-hogging of your siblings.

The morning was met with a quiet breakfast and another teary-eyed goodbye. Then it was back on the train and on to the final three districts. Homes of the Career Tributes.

This time around, Finnick had joined your party of escorts for the last leg of your journey. He claimed he had some occupations to fill and favors to uphold but didn't offer more explanation than that. He'd also opted for wearing higher-necked shirts and sweaters around the train, which you had found unusual compared to his normal attire, but didn't bother to question. It was his business and therefore you needn't bother with it. Pretty Peacocks had Pretty Peacock things to do, you supposed.

The remaining districts were as troublesome as the last eight. District 2 was especially harsh, considering the blade you'd driven through the chest of their male tribute in the final moments of the Games. The district of luxury held nothing back as the family spewed filth your way for your cowardness in killing their son. You couldn't manage to keep your dinner down that night. You didn't stay in your personal quarters either, opting to remain in the Observatory car instead.

You hadn't missed the dazzling limelight of the Capital district.

You especially hadn't missed the pawing hands of the elite citizens.

The gala outside of President Snow's mansion was beyond anything you'd seen previously. To say the vibrant lights and overstuffed buffet tables were overwhelming would be an understatement. They were downright outrageous. Between the high-pitched caws of heiresses and the phlegmy coughs and sticky fingers of brokers and other top-class citizens and staff, you felt your skin practically buzzing from the overstimulation. You wanted nothing more than to slip away or melt into the floor. Peacekeepers lined every alcove and doorway on guard. But there wasn't any concern for the groping hands or lingering touches as you tried your best to squeeze through the crowd. Thatcher had disappeared almost instantaneously, swallowed up by the sea of brightly dressed vultures. You felt your breath grow hyper as your eyes darted around in search of anyone to hold onto and ground yourself. Finnick could be spotted across the swell of dancers in the hall hanging on the arm of two squawking elitists. The Darling was dusted in a similar luster you'd seen at the banquet in District 4, except in much more excess as the boy wore an organza tunic the color of his eyes that left little to be imagined. His trousers were bone white with chestnut dress shows. The Darling was equally adorned in dainty, golden chains as he was glitter and smudged lipstick. Your own cheeks burned at the blatant display.

What on earth was he doing??

Your eyes locked for a mere second, your bewildered gaze pleading, if not begging but the victor paid you no mind as pointed, too-white canines flashed in scandalous conversation with the people around him. You were utterly stranded.

Someone gripped your backside suddenly, earning a yelp and the urge to whip back and punch but instead, you whirl, backing straight into someone's shoulder. Amid the swirling music and voices, you felt tears spring to your eyes, threatening to spill as a gloved hand catches your waist and you're steadied on your feet. Your deep aqua gown whispers on the tiled floor (yes, another secret match to finnick's ensemble) and you're sputtering apologies quicker than you can think. You had to get out of here.

"It's quite alright Dear. A bit overwhelmed are we?"

"I- uhm... I'm so sorry, s-sir." You stutter as you behold the man standing before you. Snow white hair slicked back, with a neatly groomed beard and stark white suit has you gulping down the lump forming in your throat.

President Coriolanus Snow is standing in front of you.

You wish nothing more than to be shot dead right then and there. The creator of your horrors, of the hardships across the districts and the killing games children are forced to play in, was standing in front of you with his hand on your waist. A wolf in sheep's clothing. The devil himself.

A string of colorful profanities cycles through your mind as you're only able to blink in horror and feigned surprise. Any confidence or spite you thought you might have leeches from your mind as your skin blanches.

"I've been meaning to have a word with you. You did quite well in the Games this season, and have caught the interest of a few...clients, of mine. Not to mention the Mockingjays flittering about with rumors of a certain Darling, hm?" The President's tone is hollow. His steeled gaze bores into your own and you can't form the words to reply before the gloved hand at your waist slides up your torso and over to the back of your arm as the older man begins to guide you. The crowd instantly parts and conversations nearby halt, obviously eavesdropping on what the President of Panem has to say.

"Let us move away from prying ears. Gossip is a terrible thing." The President drawls as he pats your elbow. You swallow hard with a meek nod, sucking your lower lip between your teeth and feeling the taste of copper coat your tongue. You bit too hard.

No words are exchanged between the two of you as you pass a very unbothered Finnick, his cheeks and honey-tanned skin are flushed as his overly dilated pupils pay you no heed. Something was wrong. very wrong. The Darling reeked of champagne, mint, and something you couldn't place, and strong. The heiresses on his arms were speaking in hushed, sultry tones, and were tugging at his barely-there tunic. The boy wasn't fighting back. Your stomach drops to your toes as you can only sense the growing fear coming from the crease between his brows and the muscle fluttering in his jaw.

The greenhouse the President brings you to has bile rising to your throat. Every pot, bed, soil flat, and more was covered in white roses. The sickly sweet scent had your skin crawling and nose scrunching, despite the tang of fear on your tongue and the gnawing pressure squeezing your chest. Snow gestures for you to sit on a stone bench near a small fountain. The water gurgles as it threatens to overflow the basin it waters. Snow takes his place beside you, a gentle twist in his torso that sends whispers of his blazer over his silk shirt.

"You put on quite a show in the Arena my Dear. Playing soft and subtle but outlasting the wolves and striking like an asp in the end. You caused quite a stir amongst high-profile viewers. There have been whispers of intrigue about you. Many people covet a doe amongst a pack of wolves. Soft and sweet - like a lily among a field of thorned roses. Something to control," Snow begins. You feel miniscule compared to the powerhouse of a man beside you. You worry he can scent the fear seeping into your bones as you clasp your hands together like a vice to hide the trembling.

"I-I'm sorry. I don't quite follow."

Snow chuckles. Chuckles. The sound makes you wish to crawl out of your skin.

" Certain individuals feed on control. On submission. Complete - submission." The President's eyes grow dark and feel yourself shifting away, though the attempt is futile on the small bench.

"I'm saying people want you. You're - Desirable."

Desirable.

You'd heard the word only in hushed whispers less than a handful of times. Mainly when Finnick was involved. This couldn't be good. An awful nausea settles in your stomach as the President makes his proposal.

"Predators enjoy the hunt of their prey. The thrill of the hunt. They want a new Desirable Victor. Yes, they've had their shiny new Princeling to enjoy and ravish. Mr. Odair, if I'm not mistaken. But with your victory and spectacular display, they crave more. So I'm offering this," The mention of Finnick's status holds a venom that solidifies the sickness in your gut. If you could run far, far away right now, you would. And you'd sure as hell hunt down the vipers coiled around Finnick and take him with you.

"Become Desirable - or those fetching siblings of yours, and dear old Father, and everyone you hold dear, will be punished. Severely. What are their names? Dorian? Callan?" The President squints his eyes, crow's feet becoming pronounced around the corners of his eyes as your throat goes dry. Horror shoots through you as your heart all but shatters into a million pieces.

"Maybe I should throw in your dear Peacock, hm? The Capital would adore a star-crossed scandal. Trading their prince for a heartbroken princess?"

"P-please..." You murmur, the word barely audible.

"There's no room for discussion here. They'll be dead by morning if you don't accept. For the greater good of Panem and the strength of the Games, Dear."

Your vision blurs as defeat slashes your chest. Your limbs feel like jelly as you feel blood drip down your chin from the bite on your lip and a dampness coats your cheeks.

"Let them live..." You squeak.

Shame filters through the horror and disgust you feel. But you have to keep them safe. You'd lay down your own life sooner than any of theirs. Always.

A white glove smudges the blood from your chin, a crimson stain coating the President's glove as he accepts your agreement and gestures for you to stand. You do.

"Smile for the cameras Dear, tonight will be grand."

You can't bring your lips to move. Another tear slides down your face.

President Snow wipes the stray tear from your blanched cheek as a vile grin adds to the wrinkles on his face. You say nothing as the Predator guides you away from the greenhouse and up to the balcony overlooking the party. The President clears his throat and the room falls silent.

Finnick is nowhere to be seen through the crowd and panic surges through your chest.

"My dear citizens of the Capital, and all of Panem. I have a very special announcement to make this evening. As you know, we are gathered here tonight in honor of the Victor of our 67th Annual Hunger Games. " Snow's voice booms over the gala. Your insides churn as he continues to announce the sentence to seal your fate. You'd lost an even bigger game than you thought imaginable. You can’t find Finnick anywhere. A part of you wants to scream.

"May I present to you my dearest subjects, the doe who won against all odds. They prey who vanquished the beasts. Your new desirable," Snow bellows your name with a venom that makes you fear vomiting right then and there. You weren't a Victor, you weren't a survivor, you weren't even considered a human anymore. You were a product. You were a doe staring down the maw of a starving wolf.

You were nothing.

Mechanical shutters fill your ears as flashes blind your vision. You’re supposed to be smiling. Things will get worse if you don’t smile. But all you can feel is the bile rising in your throat and your leaden tongue refusing to move. The sickly scent of roses invades your senses as gloved hands pat your trembling ones that grip the President’s suit jacket like a vice. You don’t dare move an inch.

There are two things you've learned to despise since surviving The Games.

1. Liars

2. President Coriolanus Snow

@emerald-09 @reader-bookling123 @finnickodaddy @thehairington86 @darlingsoulbeautifulthoughts @avoxrising @meri-soni-meri-tamanna @whens-naptime @violettbae @the-lonely-abyss @secretsicanthideanymore @nexxus13 @takanparadiae @yourdailymemedelivery @wowzabowza69 @c4ttheart @lizzo-del-jaileraka @inatimate-icarus @thestrals-and-firewiskey @honethatty12 @goldencolorrock @cherrsnut

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toothy-writes · 2 years

Text

Hello sorry if the formatting is awful. I have never posted writing here. anyhoo. dwelving deeper into what Klaus went through after vietnam, and some selfish self-actualization on Diego's part

TW for past torture, drug abuse, and withdrawl

This hurts. It hurts like hell. Klaus curses himself for ever coming up with this stupid idea. His skin burns and his head feels like that time he took a tumble off a building at a rager in his teens. Or maybe the two days Hazel and ChaCha spent treating him like their own personal stress toy whenever Five slipped through their grasps. Bastards. Sweat coats Klaus’ neck and beads down thickly down to his collar, making him shiver. His entire body quakes and he lets out a guttural shriek that makes his own head pound. He squeezes his eyes shut with a moan and his head lulls back limply.

“Diego you prick! Come back! I swear I just-”

“What, just need another hit? That would just start you at square one. Again. Yknow you were sober yesterday.”

“Yesterday was approximately a year ago you dip shit!” Klaus follows up his statement with kissy-noises that make Ben’s eyes roll.

Klaus shakes violently in the chair. “I just feel-” Ben’s eyes lighten up with hope,

“Yeah?”

“I fe… I feel like I need to get really high, like, ràpidamente, Benirino.”

Ben groans and leans back, rubbing his temple.

“I’m so moist, Ben.”

“God Not this again. Can't your stupid junkie ass take anything serious?”

Klaus only lets out a drawling laugh as he blinks away sweat from his eyes.

A heavy silence fills the room as Ben offers no more words, the two of them listen to Klaus’s shallow breaths and pitched whines as he strains against the royal blue nylon rope, digging trenches into his thin wrists. The silence sprawls and time ticks by as the two wait.

And wait.

Klaus opens eyes that he didn’t know he’d closed; he rolls a heavy head down to look at his hands. His body jolts as duct tape comes into focus. Didn’t Diego… His head snaps up and he takes in the dingy motel room around him. Dust dances through the dimly-lit room. No.

“No no no no no-”

Klaus begins to thrash violently in his chair, blood coats his mouth from the punches and someone straddles his lap, putting hands on his bare chest. Nails dig into his flesh no- a knife pierces his skin, leaving behind a white-hot line that wipes Klaus’s mind of any previous thought. You ever been in so much pain that all you can see is white? Yeah.

It was bad when they were wearing those goddamn animal masks but now ChaCha has removed her mask and she’s grinning. I mean, Klaus enjoys a little rough-up to get his blood going but this is above whatever he’d get up to with his midnight high-hookups. Now he just hurts. So bad. Hazel grabs his hair and yanks his face down, making him look as the knife trails down his torso. He can only scream as his arms shake against the old wood and duct tape gauging into his pale flesh.

“Just tell us where the kid is, Klaus. Tell us what his next move is Klaus,” His ears ring

“Klaus, Klaus, Klaus, Klaus Klaus, Klaus, Klaus.”

“Klaus! Wake up!” Klaus shoots straight with a scream that tears his throat raw. “Klaus!”

—

Diego sits in the kitchen with a resigned look. He had plopped down an hour ago after re-securing Klaus upstairs. He’s worried for his brother. He can’t deny that. He thinks back to the bar fight, how sad he looked. Then how that sadness mixed with determination as he approached Diego with an idea to get sober.\

“Ohhh Diego!” The man looked like shit. His army coat hung off his shoulders, leaving Diego to notice tattoos that weren’t there a day ago, Klaus was as ‘chilled’ as ever. obviously a litte high or tipsy. His eyes were heavy, he looked… Exhausted. But he still put on a flourish as he held out the rope to Diego.

“Diego! My favourite brother, I have a teensy favour to ask of you-” He finished the sentence with a flutter of his eyelashes that made Diego roll his eyes.

He’s proud, he has to admit. Klaus sits down on the chair determined, and grabs Diego’s shoulders before he can begin securing him to the chair. “Listen, baby right now I’m still a little well- well I could go for another round if you know what I mean- but these shits change you. You can’t let me. Yknow. Fall off the wagon. So don’t untie me. Ever. Well not ever ever but. Ever.

Diego chuckles and pats his brother’s shoulder.

“Yeah I get it bro. But I was wondering,” Diego speaks as he secures Klaus’s wrists first, “-Why now? The world is ending and now you want to get sober? Did you meet someone or what?”

Klaus pauses as Diego makes a circle around him, tying the rope taught. A far away look crosses his face, “Well, yeah. I met someone.”

“Oh? What was her name?”

Klaus pauses again. so Diego stops as well.

“His name was Dave. He was so wonderful.”

Diego coughs awkwardly and continues his task.

“He just. got me y’know? Then he died and then I came back and god-” Klaus’ voice falters, a slurred sentence that crackles into a drawn out whisper by the end of it.

“He must’ve been real special, Klaus.”

“Oh he was.”

—--

Diego should have never let him piss. He could tell on the trip down to the second floor. Hell, he could tell While he was undoing his work on Klaus. He had gotten clammy, trembling and shivering. He got that desperate glaze to his eyes that has become the norm over the past few years. Diego had seen him a couple times, and every time he wondered how his brother hadn’t overdosed and died in an alley or someone’s couch. But now that look is back, and Klaus begins to falter. But he keeps going surprisingly. Only when the two of them return does he turn around, bringing his hands to his face as he tries to back track.

“Yknow maybe this was a bad idea- maybe I need to lean into it. I should go take a hit just a quick-” Diego blocks his brother’s way, and he’s met with the same broken look of a man desperate for release. His eyes are wide and blood shot, and his eyeliner is beginning to smudge, accentuating the bags under his eyes.

“Nope. Sorry bro.”

“Diego come on please”

Klaus draws out his plea as he tries to push past Diego to the stairs. Initially Diego intends to just grab him and stick Klaus back in the chair, but he fights back with a surprising amount of force, so Diego jabs him in the stomach. Klaus haunches over and whines as Diego scoops him up and throws him into the chair, securing his wrists once again before making quick work of tying him to the chair. “Diego no no no!”

His brother thrashes and jumps around like a child having a tantrum, but Diego continues, remembering Klaus’ earlier request.

“Nope. You’re staying here.”

Diego walks to the side, grabbing a bucket and handing it to Klaus, with the appropriate amount of explanation that ends with Klaus staring at him with wide eyes and a shaking lower lip.

“This is for your own good.” Diego says this as he’s walking away. But Klaus is probably too busy thrashing and yelling for him to come back to notice.

–

Diego sighs as he reruns the memory. It saddens him to see Klaus like that. But he can’t say he and the rest of his siblings haven’t grown tired of his habits over the years. He was always looking for something to pawn for the next hit, or getting out of rehab just to end up back by the next week. This time feels different though. If he really had been in Vietnam for ten months and fallen in love. Then hell, maybe he will reach sobriety, if just to see Dave one more time. Diego looks up at the ceiling, twirling a knife in his free hand. He realizes with a start that Klaus has gone quiet. Well mostly quiet. His frustrated screams and begging have died down, replaced by occasional whine and sobs that barely filter through the floor of the old mansion.

Running up the stairs Diego begs whatever god is out there that Klaus isn’t choking on his own vomit or something.

What he finds is arguably worse.

His brother is in a fitful sleep, brow knitted together and skin slick with sweat. He trembles and shakes, sobs wracking his body as he jerks occasionally. He’s begging for someone to stop, and Diego’s heart hurts. Was he dreaming about Hazel and ChaCha? He had mentioned some of what happened when he was taken.

When no one noticed that he was taken.

But that isn’t their fault right? Five had been missing as well and they were all dealing with the fallout of the fight in the house.

But Klaus had been in the house. They just all assumed he had slipped out with some stolen items to chase another high.

God Klaus.

Diego snaps to the present when Klaus screams. He screams a terrified shriek that takes him back to when they were kids. He would always have awful nightmares that had Mom spending the night in his room as he sobbed and screamed as if he was still being attacked, even while awake.

His eyes are screwed shut as he continuoly sobs and whimpers, ocasionally choking out another scream that makes Diego flinch.

“Klaus?”

His brother seems to panic more. Squealing and shaking as he sobs.

“Klaus you need to- Klaus it’s Diego I’m here”

Klaus only responds by shaking harder, he’s soaked in sweat and he strains so hard against the rope that it leaves angry red lines as he thrashes.

“Klaus- Klaus I- I can’t-” Diego quickly loosens the rope as he tries to sooth his brother.

but he continues jerking around. Eventually he just holds Klaus to his chest, securing his arms in an ‘X’ across his chest, all the while begging Klaus to wake up.

“Klaus, K-Klaus, Kl- Uas. Klaus wake up!”

Klaus jerks up with a shout and a gasping cough that rattles his entire body.

“Ohh-oh Christ on a cracker-”

Klaus shudders and shakes his head, nearly knocking Diego in the jaw.

“Welcome back.”

“Oh Diego- didn’t see ya there-” Klaus collapses back, leaning against his brother as his breaths wrack his body while he holds Diego’s sleeve with sweaty hands.

“Looks like you caught me at a fun time.” Diego frowns and loosens his hold. Klaus doesn’t move. Even without doing anything he’s shivering and twitching.

“Are you…. Through?"

“Not even through the worst my dear Mon cher.”

Klaus laughs, a high sort of manic laugh that makes Diego frown.

“You should sleep.”

“Methinks I need a bath. And-” He cuts himself off “-I know that. That just begs the question of where can I actually get it, Benirino.”

Diego stills and decides to actually pay attention to his brother’s rambling.

“What’s wrong?”

“You see, dear brother. I uh. Well there's a lot of-”

“Yeah?"

“uh- yeah let’s go with that,” Klaus twists to look at Diego.

“-There’s a lot of. Temptations in my room.”

And ghosts. But Klaus doesn’t say that. The angry ones always manifest first.

—-

Diego pauses for a bit longer than he probably should.

“kl-Klaus?”

Klaus simply hums, he’s still shaking. But he’s calmed down. At least calmed to his usual demeanor Diego is used to. He’s hot. Like really hot. But his teeth chatter as he spins himself around fully, wrapping his body around Diego like some sort of malnourished koala. this takes him back. Before the drugs, before everything fully fell apart, Klaus would pick a sibling at random seemingly, and follow them around the house, gripping the back of their uniform. He’d pad after them like a ghost, occasionally quipping at his siblings. That habit didn’t last though. After Klaus’ ‘private training’ with Reggie began. He would try it, but their training began to get more intense.

And everyone regarded him as a hinderance. His relationships with ghosts never improved, and even as a lookout he’d get distracted, and wouldn’t contribute much. Eventually he figured out the pain pills he got after breaking his jaw while trying to run down the stairs in Mom’s heels got rid of the ghosts, and he began his decent to the Klaus Diego knows today. Guilt pangs in his chest. Could he have helped if he had just noticed Klaus suffering? Stopped focusing on surpassing Number One? They were just kids.

Diego is brought back as Klaus shivers horribly, he tries to wiggle even closer to his brother, attempting to get warm.

“Hey bro. you can- y- you can stay in my room for now. But your filthy. Take a bath or whatever.”

Klaus grins up at him with a flushed face.

“Awww Diego does love me! See Benny? My instincts are never wrong”

Diego snorts, and helps Klaus stand. As they amble down to retrieve clean clothes for Klaus Diego thinks. yeah. He will never be forgotten, as long as I have anything to say about it.

#the umbrella academy #fanfic #klaus hargreeves #writers on tumblr #klaus hargreeves needs a hug #likereally #like how was he not more pissed #diego hargreeves #tua klaus #tua #toothywrites

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dakotacrisis · 3 years

Text

Topsy Turvy

Hyper-fixation has been activated! Who needs to work on their wips when they can start something else entirely? Hahaha...it’d be funny if it wasn’t true.

Anyhoo! Saw this cute comic by @hannahyonana and my goblin brain latched on and wouldn’t let it go. So I give you this unofficial expansion of this wonderful comic. In short: these children are disasters in more ways than one.

---

Two weeks. That is how long Adrien would be gone. Two long and painful weeks without seeing his face or hearing his voice. Pictures and videos were well and good but they were no proper substitute for the real thing.

Marinette came to the train station to see him off and steal a few more blessed minutes with him before he departed on his work trip/vacation. She had tried to convince Alya and Nino to come so she wasn’t totally alone with him but they already had plans. Marinette hadn't heard about any plans before this so she could only assume this was another Alya scheme to give Marinette a chance to confess.

Marinette had thought about it. Telling Adrien how she felt would get a lot off this nervous tension and anxiety off her chest. He didn’t even need to respond or give her an answer. Just having him know would be enough.

But could she do it? She had tried countless times before to no avail. What made this different?

Adrien and her walked along the platform full of people bustling to get here and there. Marinette gripped the box of macarons her parents made for Adrien behind her back.

The Gorilla took Adrien’s luggage and carried it onto the train. He looked back to see if Adrien was following.

"You go on ahead, I want to say goodbye real quick." Adrien ushered his bodyguard away. The Gorilla looked between them and with a curt nod of his head disappeared inside the train.

Adrien turned back to Marinette. His hair was stylishly tousled and his smile bright and beaming. Could the boy stop modeling for even a second? How was anyone meant to keep their wits about them with that thousand watt smile?

"Thanks for coming to see me off, Mari." Adrien said.

"Of course," Marinette replied, shuffling from foot to foot. "Even if you're only gone for two weeks…"

She brought the box out from behind her back and held it out to him. "Also, this is for you from my parents. A little something to snack on during the ride."

"What! That's so sweet! Literally." Adrien took the box with glee. "Be sure to give them my thanks."

"I will,"

BEE-BOOP!

The pair looked up at the sudden sound.

"Oh, that means it's time for me to go," Adrien said with a small shake of his head.

Gone again. In just another minute he'd be out of her reach once more. Even after all this time saying goodbye felt so hard. He was only going to be gone for two weeks! He was gonna come back! Why did it hurt so much being away from him?

That familiar weight settled on her chest. So many feelings left unspoken. Secrets she was dying to share. It felt like they were smothering her.

"Before you go," Marinette halted him before he could enter the train, "I have something to tell you."

"Oh yeah?" Adrien tilted his head like a curious little puppy. Why did he have to be so cute? Marinette was sweating he was so cute. Or maybe that was just her inner terror at what she was about to say.

"Well I--you see--I…" Marinette stammered and lost her nerve, "I uh, make sure to send us pictures."

"Of course!" Adrien responded with glee. "Alright well, see you later, Marinette."

He turned to get on the train and Marinette’s heart sank. Another chance at happiness, wasted. Perhaps it was for the best.

She forced her feet to move, to carry her from this painful moment. When they did though they didn't back away. They surged forward. She was barely aware that she had reached out for Adrien until she grabbed the back of his shirt.

"Wait! That's not it!" She proclaimed loudly. Her nerves came out in the shakiness and desperation in her voice. She kept her eyes shut tight. Afraid of what she would see if she opened them.

"The truth is, I'm in love with you!" She blurted out. She let go of his shirt, her hands fisted into tight balls by her side as she quickly explained, "I'm not expecting a reply. I know you don't like me back. But have a nice trip!"

She turned on her heel and fled. Tears of anxiety or fear stinging her eyes. The last thing she heard was Adrien calling out for her to wait. Once she was far enough away she risked a glance back and saw Adrien’s face staring out the closed door in shock before the train pulled away from the station.

She stared at the now empty train track for a long time before it truly hit her. She just told Adrien she was in love with him. He was going to be thinking about how she told him she loved him for the next two weeks. Then she was going to have to face him knowing all that when he returned home.

Marinette whipped out her phone and called Alya. “I did something stupid and I need help.”

---

Adrien pulled himself away from the train door and sat down in his seat. Marinette’s parting words echoed in his ears. She loves him. She is in love with him.

When did that happen? He knew they were friends but he hadn’t expected her to be in love with him. Marinette…

He glanced down at the box in his hands. Something small and sweet to take with him. A reminder of home. A reminder of someone petite and kind that just spilled her heart out to him on the train platform.

She said she didn’t expect a response but he felt like he owed her one. She had also said she knew that he didn’t like her the same way she liked him. While it was true that Adrien’s heart had belonged to Ladybug for as long as he’s known her he did feel a warmth around Marinette. Was that love? Or was it just friendship?

Nino had a crush on Marinette. Maybe he would know. Adrien pulled out his phone and hit Nino’s number. “Hey, I’m on the train heading out but I had a question about Marinette.”

---

“Oh dear,” Alya shook her head, she covered the receiver of her phone so Marinette couldn’t hear. Not that Marinette could hear anything over the sound of her own panicked ramblings. She turned to Nino on the couch with a sly smile. “Marinette just confessed to Adrien before he went on his trip and she’s freaking out.”

“Wow, good for her, do you think Adrien will respond?” Nino asked.

“No idea,” Alya shrugged, “It’s a good thing we left them alone though. Marinette finally got the guts to say something to him.”

“Speak of the devil,” Nino held up his phone where Adrien’s contact picture flashed on the screen. He hit answer. “Hey dude, what’s up? Miss me already?”

Alya went back to listening to Marinette and trying to calm her down while Nino talked to Adrien. The both of them were panicking messes as they ranted and lamented at their respective best friends over the phone.

“I don’t really know what to tell you about your own feelings, dude,” Nino told Adrien, “Yeah I had a crush on Marinette but it only lasted a week. That’s kind of how it is with most of the people from our class.”

“What?” Adrien said.

“Yeah, literally everyone has had a small crush on Marinette at one point or another growing up. You’re like the only person who hasn’t. Which is weird considering how much she dotes on you and swoons around you. Did you really not know about her crush until today?”

“No!”

“Ah...then again you have been head over heels for Ladybug I don’t suppose you would have noticed anyone else unless they confessed to you point blank.” Nino said. He had thought that Adrien’s crush on the spotted hero of Paris was something that had been waning recently once he had agreed to go out with Kagami. But when they broke up it had returned full force.

“Marinette, hold on a second,” Alya shushed Marinette on the other line and turned to Nino with wide eyes, “Did you just say that Adrien has a crush on Ladybug?”

“Uh yeah? Why?”

“What’s going on?” Adrien asked.

“Alya is--”

Alya snatched the phone out of his hands. She held up the other phone with Marinette on the line. “Girl, I know you are spiraling right now but I am gonna need to call you back. I swear I will only be like ten minutes max. Goodbye.” she turned to Nino’s phone, “Now you, pretty boy, I’m gonna need you to repeat that for me.”

“That I have a crush on Ladybug?” Adrien answered timidly.

“How long has that been a thing?”

“Since she first showed up in Paris. Why?”

Nino saw the calculations going off in Alya’s head as she processed this information. Had she not known? He was sure she had to have known but apparently that wasn’t the case.

“Adrien, listen to me very carefully,” Alya said, “You are going to want to accept Marinette’s feelings.”

“Listen, Alya, I know that you are her best friend but--”

“No buts, Agreste!” Alya snapped, “Really listen to me here. I know that you have feelings for Ladybug. Who wouldn’t? She’s amazing but she’s also a superhero with a secret identity. Do you really think you can take Ladybug out to the movies or invite her home for dinner? How are you gonna call her? How do you plan on making that work?”

“Well I--”

“Moonlight rendezvous over the rooftops of Paris sound fine and dandy but you know what else is nice? Marinette. Tangible and readily available with romantic feelings already pre-downloaded in her core. You already call her our Everyday Ladybug. What more do you want?”

“I see your point. But that situation is a little more complicated than that.”

“No it isn’t. Do you not think Marinette is great?”

“She is. She really is.”

“Do you not think she is cute?”

“She is very adorable and attractive. I will confess to that.”

“So if Ladybug wasn’t a thing then would you consider dating Marinette?”

“I mean I guess. But Ladybug is still real and she owns my heart. I can’t just give up on her that easily.”

“Adrien, I do not know how to tell you this but you are not giving up anything by dating Marinette. She is every bit as amazing as Ladybug and you would do well to remember that. As a wise man once said, “far better than any dream girl, is one of flesh and blood, one warm and caring, and right before your eyes.””

“Did you steal that from The Little Mermaid?”

“Not the point! Just think on it. You have two weeks before you come back and make a decision. I suggest you use the time wisely and really consider what I’m telling you. I’m not just saying this because Marinette is my best friend but because I know deep in my gut that you two were made for each other. The only one that doesn’t see it is you.”

“You think we’re made for each other?” Adrien’s voice was soft and quiet. It made Alya’s heart melt.

“I do. I think that you two would make each other so incredibly happy.” Alya sighed, “But no pressure or anything. At the end of the day it is your heart and your choice. I’m just asking you to look at all the possibilities before you make a decision.”

“Okay, I’ll think on it. I promise.”

“Good. Now I gotta call Marinette back before she worries herself into a human pretzel. Bye.” Alya handed the phone back to Nino. She dialed Marinette back and wandered into her room for privacy.

“Why did you hang up on me?” Marinette asked. “I am having a crisis here!”

“Girl,” Alya’s face broke into a grin that would put the Cheshire Cat to shame. “You are not gonna believe this. Adrien’s had a crush on you this entire time. Or rather, a huge, massive, fanboy crush on Ladybug that is.”

“WHAT!”

*Two weeks later*

Well that was the longest two weeks of Adrien’s life. He had done what Alya suggested and really thought over his feelings for Marinette and Ladybug. The more he compared them the more he realized how alike they were. He knew he called Marinette their Everyday Ladybug but he hadn’t realized how true that was until now.

His heart belonged to Ladybug but he would be lying if he said he didn’t feel anything for Marinette. Adrien knew that through Alya and Nino’s eyes the answer was obvious. Marinette was their friend and classmate and she was so much closer to them then Ladybug. But they didn’t know that Adrien was Chat Noir. They didn’t know that he had a direct line to Ladybug. They didn’t know he had this already huge connection to her.

So what was there to do? Have a happy civilian life with Marinette and stop his pursuit of Ladybug? Or let Marinette down gently and keep trying to make things work with his Lady? He needed to come to a decision quick since his train was getting closer to the Paris station. What if Marinette was waiting out on the platform? What was he going to tell her?

The train came to a screeching halt that flung everyone forward. What in the world was that? HE scrambled to the window and saw the leg of a huge a robot. An akuma.

He was thinking up an excuse to leave his bodyguard when the roof of the train was ripped off. The giant robot looked in and reached out its hand and started grabbing random people and dropping them into its mouth.

He had to get out of here and transform! He made a bolt for the bathroom but the robot got him first and lifted him off the ground. He struggled to get free but he was no use against thousands of pounds of metal and magic.

“Oh no you don’t!” the robot’s arm lurched away from its mouth. Ladybug stood on a nearby building with her yo-yo drawn tight to keep the robot from dropping Adrien down its gullet. “Rena! Now!”

Rena Rouge leapt out from behind Ladybug and pounced at the akuma. She dug her flute down between Adrien and the clamp holding him captive. With a large heave she pried the clamp open enough for Adrien to wiggle free. She reached to grab him but at that moment the robot had broken free from Ladybug’s hold and the pair of them were thrown off.

“I got ya!” Ladybug swooped down and grabbed hold of Adrien. Rena was quick on her feet made a safe landing down on the ground.

They landed on a nearby rooftop for Ladybug to deposit him. “You okay?” She asked.

“Yeah, never better,” Adrien’s heart was beating wildly in his chest.

“Good,” Ladybug looked back at the akuma with a small frown, “I gotta go take care of this guy but you should be safe here.”

“Alright,”

“By the way you’re really cute and I think we should go to a movie sometime. Bye!” Ladybug said quickly and leapt back into the fight.

“Wait! What?!” Adrien shouted after her but she was already gone. He was so stunned that by the time he remembered he was Chat Noir and should be helping Ladybug and Rena Rouge had already defeated the akuma.

The miraculous cure swept across the city and Adrien was deposited back in the fixed train in his seat like nothing had happened. Well this got a whole lot more complicated!

---

(Part 2)

#affectionately named after a tag in OPs post #post gang of secrets #miraculous ladybug #adrien agreste #marientte dupain cheng #alya cesaire #topsy turvy #ladrien question mark?#adrinette question mark?#writing

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mini-moongi · 4 years

Text

Curse || Namjoon || t w o

Genre: Fluff, Adventure, Fantasy

Summary: [Dragon! AU] [Namjoon x Knight! Reader]; Apparently there's been a dragon wreaking havoc in the nearby village, and so King Kim Seokjin asks you to deal with it as the newly appointed knight. When you arrive, it seems that the truth is not exactly as it appears. This is a Fem! reader.

Thank you to lovely @ahgassok for the title pic!! I am very much in love with it (o´ω｀o)

curse masterlist

prev // t w o // next

A/N: Hoseok and Jimin are introduced in this chapter + yoongi n tae have the hots for them but anyhoo--

────── ☽. ✧₊∘ ──────

“I’m still not sure about this Taehyung.” Yoongi paces around in the study. It’s littered with spell books and hex bags, much like the rest of this cave-like home. “We haven’t worked with anyone else since the Werewolf incident in ‘43.”

“You do make a compelling argument,” Taehyung nods thoughtfully. He shudders for a moment, recalling vivid memories that you and Namjoon could only assume was from the incident. “What was I supposed to do though, let him eat me??”

“No that’s-- you know what? If you had just given him your left pinky toe, none of it would’ve happened!” Yoongi interjects.

You and Namjoon watch the two of them bicker with each other whilst you’re sat at the lavish table. The tabletop is sleek and smooth, with a soft glow illuminating the surface. Namjoon is sipping on an herbal tea he was offered, and you sit stiff in your armor. Namjoon and Taehyung talked earlier, trying to catch up on each other’s lives.

A part of you feels like a fool; you’re sitting here with a couple of magic users and the dragon you were supposed to kill. Back at the castle, magic and things alike were strictly forbidden. Breaking orders was strictly forbidden. But here it felt like you finally belonged somewhere. Namjoon treated you so kindly, and the heavy guilt of almost murdering him was too much to just leave alone. This was just your way of repaying him. Afterwards, maybe you could continue serving as a knight in the next territory over, and restart your life there.

“---ugh, fine.” Yoongi grumbles,”and you better wipe that stupid grin off of your face, or else.”

“Or else what?”

Yoongi’s black attire reminded you of grim reapers in old fables you read when you were young. His pouty lips and soft complexion compared to his ensemble was a juxtaposition in itself. “Or else I’ll throw you back into the year 2020.”

Taehyung’s smile drops, and horror filled every pore on his face. You want to question about what was so bad about the year 2020, but Taehyung clears his throat and changes the subject. “So, dearest brother, are we really going to uh,” His voice falters,”...murder him?”

Namjoon sets down the drink he’d been nursing all afternoon and stands up. “I was hoping we could work around it.” He says. You wonder what he’s thinking about as you stare up into his eyes. Even when King Kim betrayed his own flesh and blood, here they were, still hoping they could forgive him. “Most curses work like that, but I’m pretty sure this one is old and complex magic.”

“Yeah, as much as I hate him,” a huff comes from Taehyung’s nose, like a barely there laugh,” I’d rather not have to kill him.”

“Bummer,” Yoongi shifts in his seat that he’s taken across from you. “And I’m guessing we need to pull out the original spell book?”

Yoongi rolls his eyes when Namjoon nods at him in response. You hear him grumbling incoherently to himself as he gets up to retrieve the book. When he comes back, he opens up the pages. “..Hey, it says here that there isn’t a cure.”

Taehyung ponders over the predicament. His face lights up,” What about The Book of the Damned?” Yoongi is immediately shaking his head, trying to refuse.

“Whats that?” Namjoon asks.

“Some crazy witch hag made a book that undoes uncurable curses.” Yoongi answers. “It’s extremely sketchy, and not to mention really uncomfortable to look at. Each page is made out of human skin.” He shudders.

“It’s worth a shot though,” you look at him,”It wouldn’t hurt to at least look.”

Taehyung starts pulling out five other books,” We’re gonna have to decipher it.” He calls out. Hours and hours of endless research later, the words start to reveal themselves. “--it’s definitely not going to be easy,” he quips as he reads over Yoongi’s shoulder.

In return, Yoongi scoffs,” Yeah, tell me about it. Where the hell are we going to get these ingredients? Wild Ashrier and Edreet are extinct, last time I checked. I really don’t think time travel is a good idea right now.”

“That never stopped you from craving that big slushie from Buc-ee’s, though?”

“Shut up.”

At this point, You and Namjoon have given up trying to understand their meaningless arguments. Taehyung had tried to explain to you what a minecraft was, but your head started to pound so bad that you couldn’t listen to it anymore. Wild Ashrier and Edreet did sound familiar though, but where have you heard it before?

“I got it!” You stand up, garnering the immediate attention of your peers. “I know a botanist just outside of Cromerth that has those plants!”

“Really?” Taehyung looks at you incredulously. His eyes are wide as he looked between you and Yoongi’s (also) shocked face. “...but how?”

“King Kim made me investigate for prohibited herbs.” You laughed. “They were very upfront about how they used their plants, and none of the items were explicitly banned, so their business is still up and running.”

“Well, let’s go I guess?” Namjoon looks at you. His smile catches you off guard, and you wonder how Namjoon and the King could possibly be related. You’ve only seen frowns and (more often than not) fake laughter from your King, but with Namjoon, he’s nothing short of compassion and genuine kindness. He opens the door for you, and your footsteps slowly walk out.

“Okay lovebirds, let’s get going!” Yoongi rushes you out, and your attention snaps back to the world. You laugh and shrug, unsure of how to respond to a comment like that.

It was close enough to go by foot, so you four set out along the path heading towards your destination. You see Taehyung slip Namjoon a potion similar to the one at breakfast. He takes it, and you are touched that Taehyung had remembered even when he hasn’t seen his brother in so long. Cromerth is a busy and bustling town with tons of markets, so it’s no surprise when you pass by many different travellers along the route. When you see the sign indicating that Cromerth was up ahead, you take a left into the forest. Soon, a clearing opened up the vast field in front of you; a pretty little hut off in the distance.

You see one of the botanists in the front of the house tending to a garden. You wave to get his attention, and he waves back with enthusiasm. “Jimin, it’s so good to see you again!” You beamed.

“Likewise, Lady Y/n.” A pleasant smile graces you, and you notice the bundle of plants he just harvested. It’s a vibrant red and orange flower which would make great color dyes. “What brings you and your companions here? Not another inspection, I hope.” He laughs.

“You called?” Hoseok pokes his head out from the open window. His face is covered in black streaks and sweat, but there’s only positivity radiating from him. “Oh! Lady Y/n!” He scrambles back inside and bursts through the front door.

“Jimin, Hoseok,” You nod to them and gesture to the others,” These are my new friends, Yoongi, Taehyung, and Namjoon.”

Yoongi isn’t making eye contact, but you can see a blush that’s crept up onto his cheeks. Taehyung’s cheeks are also tinted a red hue, but he’s grinning from ear to ear. “A pleasure to meet you two,” he breathes out.

You chuckle to yourself when your eyes catch Namjoon’s. He’s looking at you with the same foolish face you find attractive, so you tear your gaze away. “I remembered from our last run in that you sell Wild Ashrier and Edreet, correct?”

“You aren’t going to confiscate those, are you?” Hoseok gives you a questionable glance, but you know he’s only joking. “It’s a little out of season, but I take good care of my babies so they’re good all year ‘round.”

“...could I be his baby?” Yoongi mutters. No one else seems to have heard it, but you sure did since you’re standing right next to him. You stifle your laughter when you see how shy he’s become.

“Yes, Yoongi here,” You nudge him a little closer into the group, surprised at the lack of witty remarks. “--he’s a sorcerer. We’re trying to gather ingredients to work a spell.”

Jimin glances at Hoseok,” but those ingredients only do spells that are..” He looks at you. “You’re gonna want us for more than just plants, y/n.”

You look at him, confusion written across your face. “What for?”

“That’s something we’d like to know.” Hoseok replies. He motions for all of you to come inside the hut, which surprisingly, was very spacious on the inside.

After seeking consent from your peers, you relay the events of yesterday. “So you’re telling me, King Kim isn’t the real king? And that Namjoon and Taehyung are actually royalty, but they’ve been kicked out of the castle?” Hoseok is absolutely reeling from shock.

“--and the spell that you’re working, do you know what’ll happen afterwards? Magic like that always comes with a price, you know.” Jimin says.

“We haven’t uh, decoded it that far yet,” Taehyung adds in sheepishly. “we planned to after we met with you today, though.”

“The sun is starting to set, we should probably head back.” Namjoon says as he looks out the window. Indeed, the sun was starting to set, and it’d be much harder to travel during the night time.

“We’ll pack our things and gather the ingredients,” Hoseok stand up from his seat. “Is there a place that we can stay?”

“My place is too small for all of us..” Yoongi sighs.

“Yeah, and I don’t think I can bring all of you to the castle,” You chuckle lightly.

“If we make a stop for Yoongi and Taehyung to pack, we can stay at my place?” Namjoon offers to the team, and it settles the stirring question. Everyone agrees and in a short amount of time, you are all back in Namjoon’s humble abode.

────── ☽. ✧₊∘ ──────

Taglist (is open!):

@namjoonies-dimple

@ahgassok

@sugalarity

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afictionaladventure16 · 5 years

Note

I'm new to your blog, and I love your writing! It's super beautiful and buckyxteen! Reader always makes me smile! That's why I wanted to ask for numbers 89 and 85 with bucky where the reader has a nightmare. Maybe them sleeping together makes bucky's nightmares go away too? I'll kill for some fluffy parent bucky right now. 💜

You And I’ll Be Safe And Sound (Bucky Barnes x Teen!Fem!Reader) *PLATONIC*

A/N: Hey, Hon! Thank you for the kind words! I highly appreciate it! It always makes my day hearing such words from my readers! Anyhoo, I hope you enjoy this fic! I tried to make it as fluffy as possible!

Song title: Safe and Sound by Taylor Swift

Avengers Masterlist

Warnings: mentions of nightmares, character death

Word Count: 1,064

“Bucky!” He heard the yells as he ran through the endless hallway, taking turns every time he heard the yells. He was running as fast as he can, “Help us!” he could feel the weight of the world on his shoulders. He knew whose voices were yelling. It was the two he cared for the most.

“Bucky, please!” Your voice was singled out from Steve. It caused Bucky to stop running, looking around confused by only hearing your voice.

“Y/N?” Bucky yelled in a shaky voice. He turned the corner once more, he let out a small gasp when he saw you tied up to a chair badly beaten. “Y/N!” He exclaimed as he ran over to you, “who did this?” He asked as he broke the restraints.

“You’re too late,” you whispered as Bucky held you in his arms.

“W-what?” From the distance, he could hear an ear piercing scream, “Y/N, what’s going on?”

“You’re too late,” you repeated. Out of nowhere, a wound appeared in your chest, blood began spreading.

Bucky panicked as he applied pressure to your wound, “stay with me, Doll!” He looked around, “Steve!?”

“You’re too late,” you said softly once more before your eyes slowly closed.

“Y/N!” Bucky yelled.

Bucky woke up to the sounds of a piercing scream, his breathing was heavy as he looked around his room, wondering if the scream came from him or if he really heard it from outside of his room. He noticed his tank top was damp from his own sweat, he sighed to himself. The piercing scream filled his ears once more, Bucky didn’t hesitate this time to jump out of bed and run out of his room. He ran down the hall and quickly opened your door. You were moving vigorously around your bed, your chest moved up and down as your breathing was labored. Bucky quickly made his way over to your bed, gently sitting down beside you as he pulled you towards him. One of your arms almost hitting him in the face in the process but Bucky didn’t care. He gently stroked your hair, he knew better than to startle you awake, mostly because he’s received a few too many black eyes during the process.

“Shhh,” he whispered as he continued to stroke your hair, “I’m here, doll,” he said softly, hoping you could hear him. It seemed to work, you breathing became more even and you weren’t moving as much. Bucky placed a soft kiss on the top of your head. He hated seeing you get nightmares, he knew the cause of them and hated that he wasn’t there to protect you. Biologically you weren’t his kid, but to Bucky, DNA didn’t mean anything. He introduced you as his daughter, he signed all the guardian papers for school, he was the one being called to the principal’s office when you got in trouble, he took you to your doctor’s appointments, he did everything a parent did.

Your eyes slowly fluttered open, “Bucky?” you asked in a groggy voice.

“Hey, doll,” he said softly, “you okay?” Your eyes welled up with tears as you remembered the nightmare you were having, you buried your head into Bucky’s chest, “okay, okay, alright,” he said softly as he felt your breathing become uneven due to your crying. He rubbed your back in a comforting way, “it’s okay, it’s okay, you’re safe now.” Bucky stayed there until you calmed down, his presence helped you relax. The constant reassuring that you were okay, helped you feel better about the nightmare you just endured.

You sniffled, as you felt Bucky shift, you feared that he was going to leave and that you would fall back asleep and have that same nightmare again, “can I sleep with you?” You asked hesitantly.

Bucky let out a soft chuckle, “aren’t you a little too old for that?”

“I had a nightmare,” you reminded him.

Bucky honestly was afraid to go back to sleep, so he didn’t mind watching you sleep if meant that at least one of you got a good nights rest. “Alright, come on,” he said as he got off the bed. You jumped out of the bed and followed Bucky out of your room. You walked past him and entered his room, quickly jumping on the bed. You actually slept in his bed whenever you needed a nap, it felt more comfortable than yours. That and the others didn’t know that you took your naps in Bucky’s room so whenever they went to your room to bother you, you weren’t there. It kind of gave you an advantage. “Scoot,” Bucky said as he gestured with his hands for you to scoot over more.

Bucky got into the bed, turning the lamp off in the process. “Bucky?”

“Hmm?”

“Am I a monster?”

He sighed, he wondered what your nightmare was about but he had a general idea on what went on. You had always been insecure about your powers, you felt guilt using them at times, the things Hydra made you do with them, it haunted you. “No,” Bucky said softly as he pulled you into an embrace, your head relaxed into his chest, “you’re not a monster, don’t ever think that you are.”

You sighed, you slowly closed your eyes. It was hard for you to believe that you weren’t a monster. The constant nightmares of the damage you had done while under Hydra’s control always haunted you, always reminded you of where you started. You were scared to fall asleep, but somehow, you did. You slowly drifted off into a gentle slumber and for once, nothing was haunting your dreams.

Bucky watched as you slowly drifted off into sleep, he smiled to himself, “fiica mea,” my daughter. He softly placed a kiss on top of your head and somehow, Bucky found himself slowly falling asleep. He did fight the sleepiness for a few minutes but it was a fight he wouldn’t win.

When Bucky woke up the next morning, he found you on the other side of the bed, wrapped like a burrito, is how you described the way you slept. He smiled to himself, not only because of you but because he had finally slept without a nightmare. He wondered if you had anything to do with it, but decided to just wave it off because right now he had to go through the torture of getting you up for school.

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Permanent Taglist: @otomefan @dejaazaro @culturebay @kpopishilarious @fireproof-heaven @iloveyouthreethousand-o6 @weappreciatepower @whereyoustand @white-wolf-buckaroo @spider-woman22 @coffee-habit @supernaturallover2002 @barnes-parker @therealmrshale @myinternetissoslow @myhippiehopes @celyndavies @xzowiex @ximaginx @wooshytooshy @ellaorelizabeth @rororo06 @chloe-geoghegan1 @hdthdthdt @sophie-barnes26 @thamuddagirl @scarletmeii @unapologeticallymimi @glitterquadricorn @lady-of-lies @cassmoreiraxo @just4muggles @mellorine-paprika @agirlruinedbybands @yougottalovefandoms @avngrsinitiative @lizlil

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mymanskabu · 4 years

Text

Kabu One-Shot:

falling

Anonie Requested: ❝Why hello there~ I love your blog it is amazing and perfect and if it's okay, may I ask a super special awesome request? Oh pretty please (-^.^-) (I think most of us anons all love Kabu and think hes MEGA hawt.) Anyhoo~ How would Kabu feel about a shy female trainer that totally respects him, fangirls about him, practically knows his gym leader career story and has a massive crush on him? Thankies~ ♡❞

Another Anonie Requested: ❝Hiiii~ I absolutely love your blog♡ You capture Kabu perfectly. If it's okay to ask, how would Kabu react to hearing the female reader has a massive crush on him from Nessa and Milo and that she's coming by later to challenge him? She is a huge fangirl yet super shy and a little clumsy. Thank you~ ^.^❞

- I hope you don't mind anonies but these two requests were quite similar so I combined them here.

- I went on a different route with this than I think you guys wanted and I'm really sorry about that. Totally understand if you want me to write another one.

- The original draft of this is a lot fluffier but it got slightly angsty somewhere. It is a bit sensitive but I don't think it's quite enough to tag it as such. Do tell me if any of you feel differently. ♡

- I had loads of fun writing this though! That's why it's like 2.5k words dndns there is a surprise in this one-shot that I usually don't like doing but for some reason just felt like it I guess.

- I hope you guys enjoy!

- Gosh I was editing at 12AM and I meant to post it then but I fell asleep with the phone in my hand uuuugggghhhhsgshs AHH! I'm kinda mad at myself, but aight whatever lmao.

You were making breakfast while you listened to the commentator tell you what happened in the battles. This one piqued your interest when they announced Kabu as a challenger, someone you admired ever since you first saw him on the telly. Your admiration grew when you had gotten the opportunity to battle him, it was your first time in his presence. You had walked carefully to where you needed to wait, you thought he was taking longer since the last two Gym Leaders were already in the middle of the Stadium when you got there, you expected it to be the same process. You heard footsteps behind you as you waited and curiosity made you turn your head to see who was approaching.

"Mister Kabu!" You stammered. "Its nice to meet you, er, sir!" One could barely notice that your hand was trembling as you offered it to the older man. Kabu has had a lot of nervous challengers, many of them consumed by their worries and it impacts their battling. This is something he acknowledged straight away as he took your hand and gave it a firm shake.

"Don't be nervous, kiddo. Do your best for yourself and for your Pokemon. They'll be grateful whether you win or lose." You smiled warily, but you tried to give a firm nod to show that you were determined to do as he said. He was going to let you go once you started walking forward, however, his hold on you tightened while his other hand quickly found your shoulder to save you from falling.

"I'm sorry," You murmured, keeping your eyes on the crowd in front of you to avoid his. "Only I would trip on air at a time like this." Once you were standing upright, his grip was gentle as he continued holding your fingers.

"Let me escort you," He requested. "There seems to be a high probability that you'll find a way to trip again." He recalls the few times he has seen you near the Stadium almost falling or crashing into something.

"Thank you," Your reply was barely audible, and to your heart's distress, he gave your hand a comforting squeeze.

Your nerves were still causing you to second-guess yourself and even though you truly did try to clear your mind, the end result was your loss against Kabu. He escorted you back to the dressing room as well, telling you to not give up and come back after training yourself to where you want you and your Pokemon to be. You weren't completely discouraged, you could see where you went wrong in your battle.

You flipped Kabu's league card between your fingers wondering how you could grow as a trainer. One thing you didn't want him to see you as was "kiddo" and to do that you felt like you had to carry yourself with more confidence or at least try to. You placed the card back where you also had his rare League Card given to you by Nessa as a gift.

You'd become close to the first two Gym Leaders, especially Milo. He's such a nice and open person, you find yourself talking about anything almost entirely unfiltered. Milo still remembers when he asked if you were Kabu's fan considering how you talked about him, he still doesn't know if it was a mistake. You knew he was invited from Hoenn, you knew that Kabu is one of the few people that can say he nearly defeated the Champ, and you had a good grasp on his battle style. Needless to say, the last thing he expected was to see you come back defeated.

"What happened?" Milo questioned, guiding you to where his Wooloo were. He knew you liked to play with them or care for them when you felt down or needed to think. You inhaled through your nose and exhaled through your mouth one long breath, struggling to think of an answer for him. You knelt down by a Wooloo and started moving your hand over its thick, fluffy coat. It's so soft, it has always comforted you to do that, and Milo never forgot that about you since he first found out.

"I've gotta train harder I s'pose." You felt all of your worries rush into your head; doubts, fears, and guilt. Doubting your skills as a trainer, fearing you'll never grow as a person, feeling guilty that your Pokemon trusted you and you failed them as far as you're concerned. "Am I a good person?" You ask in what sounded like a whisper. "Do you think my Pokemon will still trust my decisions?"

"You are an amazin' person, (Name)." He pulled you up so that you could walk with him surrounded by happily prancing Wooloo. "And you're Pokemon are not goin' to stop relying on you after only one defeat. They probably know that you did you're best because I know you did. You always do." You sniffled, but he didn't see any tears streaming down your face or even a sign that you were going to cry. You appeared to be relieved and much happier than you were sad.

"I really like you, Milo. You're a good friend." Making you feel better always made him smile. "Thank you," You said. Yet, there was always something bittersweet in knowing that he was helping you, comforting you, and giving you advice, all of that for you to be with someone else.

Saying you worked hard was an understatement, one could say you put blood, sweat, and tears into your battling strategies and your Pokemon training. Your team was as motivated as you were to get stronger and that's exactly what you did. You adopted many parts of Kabu's fire type battling style and managed to apply it to your diverse team. This continued for hours until you'd get tired and rest up in Motostoke or at Milo's when he assisted in your training. You passed by Kabu's Stadium at times in the morning, never failing to trip on the same old misplaced stone on the ground there. Then getting distracted when Kabu happens to be there and waves at you, causing you to be at risk for bumping into anything within your vicinity.

Kabu found your mannerisms endearing, if he was near enough to you when you walked by then he would wave at you, fully knowing you'll forget the world around you and trip on your own two feet. He does this while also knowing that he'll be there to catch you. At first it was a polite thing, you were bound to fall and he didn't want that to happen, but it later became him wanting to hold you. He was in love with your habits, your expressions, your reactions, the blush on your face, your nervous laughter, and your presence. In spite of his emotions, he did not want to act upon them. He wanted to only be in love with you for a longer time and he wanted to make sure he truly felt strongly for you because he didn't want to be in a relationship that he saw wouldn't last long. He was also worried about the fact that you were a fan, meaning you liked him though not in the way he's feeling. Even if you did, what if you were confusing that emotion for admiration? There were too many things that could go wrong and he didn't want to hurt you nor himself.

You have had similar thoughts. Unknowingly, you and Kabu were both terrified of hurting the other. You considered that perhaps your crush was on his face, nothing but a phase, a fan thing that would come and go. You only knew the Kabu that was shown by interviewers and articles, you didn't know much about him as a person, and you weren't sure if you were liking him for the right reasons. One thing you knew you would regret is never exploring what you felt and what could have been. There's really no way around pain, no matter what you did, even in a relationship, it happens and what people are expected to do is take it as a lesson from life. You wanted to be in love with him longer, you wanted to get to know him, you wanted to be sure that you knew you wanted to be with him, know if you two were compatible.

Kabu was having a practice match with Milo, who appeared surprisingly irritated. He knows that Milo is very patient, it's almost beyond him to get truly mad about anything. It's a difficult thing to annoy or anger the Turrfield Gym Leader. Kabu didn't press for details, but he knew Milo was battling to take away some sort of stress. Another rare thing since he usually does some sort of outdoor activity. Again, Kabu didn't ask for what happened, he was alright knowing that he was going to be helping Milo in some way, that was enough.

It was somewhere mid-battle when Milo had more Pokemon than him not fainted that the freckled young man said, "You know, if you lose to the grass type Gym Leader then (Name) might stop crushin' on you!"

"Wait a moment. Pardon?" He thought he heard that entire sentence wrong. He blinked a few times before he realized he actually heard that right. "She has a... oh." He found himself unable to say the rest of what he was thinking. Milo stared at the older man, who looked both pleased and shocked by what he told him. Milo wanted to know just how far away from your heart he was compared to Kabu, who's name you held close despite everything Milo has done in an attempt to catch even the slightest bit of your attention.

"(Name)'s comin' round soon to battle you," His usual smile and positive demeanor wavered as he spoke. "I would be careful if I were you, she's been workin' real hard to win." Milo never finished the match, he ended up walking back to Turrfield, knowing he wanted to be happy for you since he knows exactly what he saw in Kabu's expression.

Kabu went as he usually did, battling trainers that challenged him around this time, training with the water types, and making sure his team was at their best. A new thought that kept crossing his mind was whether or not he wanted to act upon what he knew. He had all these fears, but all of them could be proven wrong if he only asks you to let him be in love with you, take you to places you both might like, and if it works out, hopefully place the foundation of a long-lasting relationship where he won't be waking up alone in the mornings.

It all felt the same when you stood once more in the hall, this time knowing Kabu would stand next to you.

"As time passed, the probability of you falling most likely increased," You heard his voice beside you. After he got a short bashful laugh out of you, Kabu offered his hand. "Will you let me escort you once again?"

"Thank you," You said. You still struggled to get it any higher than a whisper, but he heard it clearly today. It was still soft-spoken, however, it had a sense of self-assurance that meant you found some confidence. "I hope you know, this time I'll be getting that badge."

"We'll see, have you gotten any stronger?" He teased. His question made you eager to show him exactly how much you and your team have grown. You were definitely going to defeat him this time.

It was a hard fought battle by the both of you. It was one of the most tense and passionate battles that the Motostoke Stadium has had in a while. Every single person was on the edge of their seats wondering which Pokemon would faint. One barely dodging an attack, one getting hit directly yet surviving, this is where you and Kabu were the most similar. You both, along with your teams, were resilient, your Pokemon were ready to use all the energy they could to give their respective trainers the win. You and Kabu were on one Pokemon each, his Gigantamax was gone, your partner was clearly tired. In the end, the crowd burst into shouts and cheers as you ran towards your Pokemon with a big grin on your face, ecstatic that you had won.

"Good job, buddy. You rest up now," You said as you called your Pokemon back into its Pokeball. You held it close to your chest for a moment then jogged towards Kabu who was expecting the moment you fell over and he ended up holding your forearms, just before your elbows. You wanted to ask him then and there yet the words wouldn't go past being something you imagine.

"I'm glad I got to battle you today, great job. You bested my team. I shall give you the badge as proof that you've defeated me," He spoke formally. You felt the cold metal placed against your palm and you clutched in your hand.

"Thank you, truly, Kabu." You were pleasantly surprised by the smile on his face. You had a hard time making eye-contact with most people, nevertheless you still attempt to look at them.

"If you continue to trip near me..." He noticed that you weren't staring at his eyes, yours were either oddly on his chin or on his lips. This flustered him ever so slightly and he cleared his throat to continue talking, "I may start to assume you're falling for me."

"Well, I think your assumption would be correct." You shyly waved at the crowd with one hand while Kabu held the other one to take you back to the changing room. Your face flushed knowing that how you felt was now out in the open. "Would it be too much to ask for you to consider a date?" He stopped in the waiting room, at a loss for words that you had actually asked him. His silence caused you to tilt your head down, absolutely embarrassed that you tried.

"You don't have to," You stuttered, your voice went back to it's much less confident murmur. "I suppose you think I've lost my plot, I'm sorry I asked!"

"You haven't lost anything," He quickly defused your thoughts and worries. "Please do not apologize for merely stating how you feel." He slowly nodded when he noticed your eyes flickered to him then the exit. "Allow me to consider it. I'm not quite sure of my own emotions, though I think I feel the same."

"Alright," You replied quietly. "Consider it then, but I—" You bit your lip, feeling it quiver between your teeth. You calmed yourself after a sharp exhale. "Don't keep me waiting, this type of waiting hurts... a lot."

"You know those are never my intentions, (Name)." He places his hand on your head affectionately. "I care about you more than you will ever know."

"I trust you," You told him slowly. Your gaze met his this time, both trying to express honesty. With that, you left with uncertainty looming over your heart as you made your way to a place where your shaking hands would find comfort on soft Wooloo.

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isuzukuretsuki · 5 years

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Ikemen Revolution - Fenrir’s Route

Aaaand here’s one for Fenrir’s route!

My main comments are: FUCK those avatar challenges. It took me five thousand years to finish this damn route because I was stuck grinding for Lin for five thousand years because according to cybird, I can’t get the good ending w ma man unless I look cute smh.

The night that Alice lands in Cradle, she pretty much goes out to the garden to sob her eyes out because of the stress of being killed (oh honey don’t worry this game doesn’t have any bad ends. If you were in a game like Amnesia then I’d start crying LMAO). Fenrir happens to see her and wipes her tears away (*๓´╰╯`๓). He decides to spend the month with Alice to make her have as much fun as possible, and makes her promise that so there will be no regrets, the two will not fall in love.

But we all know that’s not gonna happen.

I guess because the boys finally learned from Lancelot’s route to never send a nameless faceless nobody with Alice, Ray assigns Fenrir as her personal bodyguard.

Fenrir takes it upon himself to be Alice’s personal tour guide, so they go on a date around the Central Quarter eating all kinds of sweets like a bunch of dorks D’AWW. Of course the red army are full of party poopers who crashes their alone time.

@Red army boys, I LOVE YOU ALL BUT YOUR SOLDIERS NEEDA CHILL. Like my grievances from Lancelot’s route carry over in twofold because the nameless red soldiers are once again, STILL a bunch of blood thirsty hooligans who are clearly letting “may glory flow crimson through our veins” slogan get to their heads WAYY too much.

(☪̤̆_̆ ☪̤̆) THAT’S SO SPECIFIC LMAO.

But anyhoo I guess having a body guard with actual plot armor was really beneficial because Fenrir drives off all of the Red soldiers! And as it turns out, they were sent by Edgar (but of course why am I not surprised smh).

They return home and a few black army soldiers comes out shitting their pants because apparently there’s a ghost, and when Fenrir hears that HE shits his pants.

Luka has his priorities straight.

Fenrir pussyfoots outside the army headquarters for a few minutes because GHOST but then big bear Sirius comes out RURL pissed because everyone keeps making a ruckus.

WHY DO I FIND THIS SO FUCKING FUNNY. LIKE IT’S PICTURE PERFECT. I CAN IMAGINE HIM DOING THIS IN MY HEAD FRAME BY FRAME.

So the ghost was actually a magic cult goon creeping around like a lech looking for women's’ underwear, whom Seth covered for. I had zero interest in Seth before but I do find it interesting that more hints about Seth’s connection to the magic cult goons are being dropped, and if anything it makes me want to play his route now.

I’d love to be your friend!!! But unfortunately Fenrir is a giant stick in the mud and won’t let me! But never fear because your route is coming out soon so soon I’ll be more than just your friend LOL!

Fenrir gets news that some of their soldiers got cornered on the Red Bridge. Well what do you know, turns out the nameless red soldiers are still mad that they busted a nut in anticipation for nothing because they didn’t get to skewer any soldiers in Lancelot’s route, so now they’re taking out their pent up frustration here.

Luka hears the news as well and rushes to the red bridge just in time to see Jonah and the rest of the red soldiers man handling the black army soldiers (wtf Jonah I expected better of you). Luka goes from simmering with rage to boiling with rage and charges at the red soldiers. Obviously the red soldiers don’t care (or... they just can’t comprehend) that Luka is their superior’s freaking brother because all they can think about is reaping the reward for unnecessary stabbing and so they go into Ultimate Shish Kabobing Mode and decide to kill Luka.

Jesus christ... these fucking red soldiers. I am so sorry but I think the only people in this clown of an army that has any shred of honor or self control are the red army love interests LOL.

Anyway Fenrir drags Luka’s delirious bloody corpse back to the black army and the scene ain’t pretty. But it’s okay because we all know that this game doesn’t have the balls to actually kill anyone so it’s not like there’s any need to be worried.

See even Alice acknowledges it lol. This game’s too soft (not that that’s necessarily a bad thing... if I want angst I’ll just read fanfiction ¯\_(ツ)_/¯)

Apparently the one who actually made swiss cheese of Luka was Jonah. At first I was just SO CONFUSION?? JONAH WOULD NEVER DO THAT! until this bomb dropped and my only reaction was honestly just “...yikes”.

CRIES @ MY HEART

Jonah sneaks into Black Territory unarmed and Fenrir decides to arrange for him to see Luka like a the great wingbro he is. Alice’s left awkwardly keeping Jonah company but the ice quickly breaks and they end up spending the day talking about Luka ♡(.◜ω◝.)♡.

Fenrir successfully sneaks Jonah into Luka’s room but the two end up just having a screaming match and Luka boots Jonah out of his room. Understandable, considering how all the red soldiers are like little kids that you needa put those backpack straps on because who knows what the fuck they’ll do if left to their own devices.

me whenever I have any kind of guests over.

eat my ass @ Sirius

When it’s decided that the Black and Red army are gonna go to war for realsies, Alice requests to go onto the battle field with Fenrir so she can repel magic. Sirius freaks out going all like “ojou-chan, you mustn’t! It’s not a walk in the park!!” but Alice ain’t having any of that and essentially tells Sirius to eat her ass. Fenrir being the amazing bro he is sticks up for Alice and asks Ray if he can take her with him, swearing he’ll protect her. Ray’s like sigh fine. This scene was honestly my favourite because I loved how much confidence Fenrir had in Alice and how he respected her desire to help. Unlike a certain someone ੧| ‾́ェ ‾́ |੭ (totally not throwing shade at Sirius LMAO).

CRIES SOME MORE THAT’S SUCH A CUTE NICKNAME.

I could have asked the exact same thing of you Sirius.

The rest of the Black Army can clearly see sparks flying between Fenrir and Alice but unfortunately, Fenrir has to join Sirius in the emotional constipation of “what is this feeling in my chest?! Definitely not love!” Granted Fenrir has an excuse because of the promise he made her, but it’s still frustrating nonetheless.

oh my god can you shut up about this dumbass slogan for one minute.

Ngl despite the heart warming moment of resolve when Fenrir decides to take Alice into battle, it’s pretty damn hard to take the war seriously because it feels like a bunch of 14 year old teenagers doing a play-war considering of how almost comedic it is. Again, I’m not saying that this game needs to be an angst fest where everyone dies, but for a story about two armies on the brink of war, it does a pretty bad job at building any real tension or showing this war as a source of any real conflict with any real stakes or any real consequences.

I totally *do not* dislike that nickname 👀

We cut back to the red army who are all quite frazzled because they all had that “oh fuck” moment when they realized that they’re getting their asses whooped by the black army. Lancelot decides to stay his hand, whereas Jonah rages at Edgar’s incompetence but Edgar’s ultimately like “¯\_(ツ)_/¯ King’s orders”.

Alice you’re doing amazing, sweetie.

Alice continues to fight with Fenrir on the front lines but she realizes that she really loves him and she doesn’t want to go home anymore! UNFORTUNATELY FOR HER, our lovely gentleman Fenrir “this feeling in my chest is totally love but I WON’T ADMIT IT!” Godspeed repeatedly dodges her attempts at confessing (¬_¬). GOOD SIR I KNOW WHAT YOU’RE DOING. You’re just trying to put off having a heart to heart about your feelings until the full moon so you can boot Alice back to her world without ever having to talk about it (ლಠ益ಠ)ლ.

Alice tries once again for the nth time to confess her feelings to Fenrir but this time they’re interrupted by the magic cult goons who are hell bent on capturing Alice. This plays out exactly as you’d predict and the two get cornered at a cliff LOL. Alice gets blown off the cliff and Fenrir jumps after her to save her.

This, my friends, is what we call: plot armor.

They miraculously (and conveniently) survive their fall and end up in the castle ruins in the forbidden forest. I guess being lost in an abandoned forest with a totally not haunted castle next to them sets the mood for sexy time because they end up making out like their life depends on it. Conveniently, without actually saying they love each other ლ(ಠ_ಠლ).

GUYS... THE DRIVER IS LITERALLY RIGHT THERE.... GUYS....

They make it back to Black Territory in one piece with the help of Loki and Harr and Ray loses his shit because he thought they died T T T. Fenrir is sent back to the front lines and Alice is totally ready to go back and kick some ass but I guess all the fire and confidence in this power couple completely deflated because Fenrir becomes Sirius 2.0 and refuses to take Alice SMH.

Alice finds Fenrir boarding a carriage to leave, and she stops him and tries to tell him that she loves him. Fenrir responds by pulling Alice into the carriage with him and at this point I was HYPED because “is he actually gonna take her with him?!?!” but my hopes are quickly dashed when he shoves her into the carriage, initiates round 2 of INTENSE MAKE OUT SESSION LIKE YOUR LIFE DEPENDS ON IT..... then throws Alice’s sad ass back out of the carriage and leaves her behind once he’s finished (┛ಠДಠ)┛彡┻━┻.

UGH! FENRIR! JUST--- AGHHHHHHH.

YOU CAN SAY THAT AGAIN. Like yea sex is great, but have you ever heard of proper verbal communication??

(I also find it funny how the driver was just sitting there the entire time they were making out doing a big boi sweat).

me with group assignments in school.

Fenrir comes back on the night of the full moon and Alice for the 100TH DAMN TIME IN THIS ROUTE, tries to tell him that she doesn’t want to go home, but Fenrir, again, dashes her hopes and tells her she has to go back he won’t be able to protect her all the time. Which we all know is bullshit, but nevertheless Alice decides to listen to him.

Ha ha ha you are so full of shit.

And so Alice once again goes to the gates of hell garden portal which I officially dub as “The Hole Where Bad Things Happen” or more accurately, “The Hole That No Player Ever Wants To See”.

Anyhoo Alice leaps back home and spends about a month moping in London until one day a black army soldier comes to London and begs Alice to go back with him because Fenrir’s in danger! Alice, having literally zero self preservation because I guess her time on the battle field taught her jack shit, blindly follows this fellow back to Cradle and the moment she arrives, the guy reveals himself to be a magic cult goon and so she’s kidnapped and taken to Amon’s sex dungeon.

Look. I’m not gonna accuse Alice of “dumb mc syndrome” and I don’t necessarily blame her for falling for it but at the same time, COME ON. THIS IS THE DUMBEST PLOT POINT EVER. Of all the possible reasons she comes back to Cradle, THIS IS THE ONLY THING THEY COULD THINK OF? What makes it so aggravating is that it’s stated multiple times that any person from Reason can repel magic, so if that’s the case, the cult goons could have just kidnapped any random off the street instead of wasting time and energy looking for Alice. And if they could conveniently stroll into the land of Reason, why didn’t they do that ages ago?!

You know that writing rule “make your villains smarter, not your protagonists dumber”, or something like that? Well in this case, everyone is dumb!

Anyway during the month Alice was gone, Lancelot finally decides to stop going radio silent and consults the Black Army about Amon and his weed stash. This felt really convenient and almost inconsistent with Lancelot’s character because in the other routes he was hell bent on not talking unless 100% cornered, but in Fenrir’s route he spills the beans like it’s no big deal.

Fenrir hears the news of Alice being kidnapped by Amon and the Black army pretty much storms into the Magic Tower and fishes Alice out. Amon finally reveals himself but honestly he doesn’t put up much of a fight because Fenrir shoots him with one of those hiccuping guns and that’s enough to deflate all of Amon’s fighting spirit lmao so he gets arrested in the end. Talk about anti climatic as hell. This entire thing just felt really stupid because if all they had to do with storm the damn tower, they should have done so ages ago.

Admittedly I do like the resolution to this whole fiasco. Fenrir is totally ready to get down and dirty, but before that Fenrir and Alice actually, finally, and at long last, properly talk about their feelings and sort out their relationship mess.

Dramatic End:

Alice officially joins the Black Army, and they hold her enrollment ceremony. Hosting it is usually Ray’s job since he’s king but since Alice is his best friend’s babe, he decides to let Fenrir take over. Unfortunately, Fenrir can’t keep his excitement in check and ends up picking Alice up and spinning her around in joy ╭(๑ ॔ㅂ ਂ ॓)و ̑̑. THIS WAS SO CUTE I LOVE THIS ENDING.

-----

Honestly I have a lot of mixed feelings about this route. There’s the good, the bad, and the ugly, but since I don’t wanna end this post on a salty note so I’ll just start with the ugly and work my way up.

The Ugly: The route starts losing momentum their promise of not falling in love morphs into the source for Fenrir’s self cockblock fest for the rest of the route and him repeatedly rebuffing Alice’s attempts to tell him she wants to stay in Cradle became unbearable frustrating. Playing Sakuya’s route in Norn9 alongside Fenrir’s route did not help at all because his route also had a “promise of not falling in love” premise and had the exact same problems as Fenrir’s route so honestly my frustration was just doubled at this point.

The Bad: The plot is balls off the rail in the second half if it isn’t obvious enough from my complaints earlier. The Hole That No Player Ever Wants to See making a reappearance in Fenrir’s route kills a lot of the build up between Alice and Fenrir and there was honestly no point of having Alice go back to London. The circumstances that lead her to returning were so stupid it had me head banging against the wall.

The Good: I think Fenrir and Alice have a very strong “friends to lovers” romance going on and it was honestly really sweet and wholesome. I loved how their friendship and subsequent romance builds them both up and makes them better people-- they’re both stronger together, they’re equals, they’re partners. You really get a sense of camaraderie between the two and their relationship is founded on mutual respect, understanding, trust, and confidence in each other which I’m 100% on board with. Fenrir taking Alice onto the battle field with him is a testament of the rock solid trust between them. They have a very strong partner in crime vibe that I love!

I adore how Fenrir refers to Alice as his “best friend” or his “best buddy” and it was just so cute, it made my heart swell because I’m a firm believer that your s/o SHOULD be your best friend.

Overall imo, Fenrir’s route is about on par with Lancelot’s, though it has higher highs and lower lows than Lancelot’s route did.

Anyway, I’m making my way through Edgar’s route currently (♥ω♥*).

#ikemen revolution #fenrir godspeed #ellie plays ikerev terribly

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alien-at-the-dinner-table · 5 years

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The Eyebrow

I recently quit my job. For most of you, this sounds like a fairly normal thing. I mean, if you’ve ever had more than one job, there are only two ways to not be doing the first one: quitting or being fired. Of course there is the secret third option of faking your death and traveling to the cayman islands, but a prerequisite in “evil mastermind” is required there. For me, this was one of the hardest things I have ever done. When I gave my two weeks notice I thought I was going to die. I was sweating like a cornered nun, and at one point I forgot to breath and quickly ran out of air. The truth behind the unreasonable terror, the reason I nearly blacked out when telling an airpod adorned millennial I was done? I have an anxiety disorder. Shocking I know! Who would have guessed right? Until a few years ago, I certainly didn’t. I always thought that everyone hated their birthdays, dreading every single sleepover or dinner. I thought everyone would cry for months as they went to bed at the prospect of getting a shot. To be specific, I have a generalized anxiety disorder, with a very high probability that I also have obsessive compulsive disorder as well. I only got diagnosed with anxiety this last January, but only out of necessity. For those unaware of what it is like, you probably have some ridiculous caricature of what mental illness looks like. To be fair, I do things that are quite silly or odd, but that is more of a me thing than anything else. When approaching a teacher for a question, you will probably see me leaning back as I walk, looking extremely uncomfortable like a cartoon thief about to be caught. But mostly the things my anxiety and OCD make me do are quiet. I used to get up in the middle of the night to re-count my pages for my running start classes. I sometimes get an eyebrow twitch. That happened mostly when I developed a crush on a classmate last year. Because God forbid I act cool one time. Upon seeing him enter class I would have to hold it down lest it fly right off my face. It was real bad when he wore a suit to school. My poor, emotionally unstable brain couldn’t handle all that class. I stared at the table and was unable to think of any coherent thought other than “i like bird” for a good 15 minutes. I plan everything out by time, including my job. I have that down to a tee. If you asked me what I would be doing at 8:24 I would be able to tell you. I do garbage at 8:30, so I would be restocking the coolers out front or the back coolers. I save the restocking of the condiments for after 9:30 because that is after when I clean the bathrooms. I have so much free time because I have every single task assigned a time. I did that on my own, I was given only vague guidelines when training for the job. So I figured everything out on my own. And my old boss loved it, in fact he hired me because of it. In my interview he asked if I was the little girl who would always come in and color code the mentos by the register. I had been doing that since I was 10.

My anxiety has gotten worse as I have gotten older, and I eventually had to go on medication. That was in January as I said earlier. In the beginning of December I was quite happy. Then one night after work, I felt a bit nervous. If I didnt fall asleep right then and there I would get only 7 hours and 34 minutes of sleep. If I slept in I would not like how little of the day I would have left, but if I got up right at the 7 hours 33 minutes (every second I am awake is ticking down!!) I would be very tired, and how productive will I be if i'm so tired?? At 2 in the morning I was still awake. In a slow burn panic attack, I calmly got up, walked to the bathroom, and promptly threw up. Funnily enough, I was super calm, thinking to myself “that was the best darn puke I’ve ever had!”. The next few days were weird, because the nausea never quite left me. I get nauseous when I am having anxiety, but I thought I was sick. So I panicked. I felt worse. I stopped eating as much. I couldnt sleep. I ate what I could because that is what I would do as a kid. I felt worse. I threw up. Repeat. After 3 weeks of this, I had lost 10 pounds and was on the verge of a break down. Then the straw that broke the sleep deprived camel's back came in the terrifying form of a P.E. bag. The start of Christmas break was two days away, and I was running on no sleep, and little to no food. I got unto the bus after a huge physics test. As soon as I sat down I dropped the bag. Cut to 3 seconds later- I cant find my bag and immediately assume I left it in the class. So in a panic I hop off the bus before it pulls out of the school and look for it. Realizing my mistake when I do not find it, I walk home. Walking in a daze I hoped that my little sister had grabbed it. I got home. I asked if she had grabbed the bag. Replying with an eloquent: “what?” my world dissolved. I then promptly broke down and began to sob big, sad tears while my poor confused father tried to comfort me. I then missed the next day, sick to my stomach, shaking, and once again in tears. That was the day that my 3rd period class won an ice cream party. It was then decided that I should see the doctor. We got in a few days later, and I needed a blood test to make sure that nothing else was at play. If anything else hadn’t proved beyond a doubt that I had anxiety, my reaction to getting my blood drawn did. Shaking like a chihuahua doing the ice bucket challenge, I fought off tears as my mom held my gray hands. Fun fact: that can happen when your body goes into such a state of panic that your blood vessels retract into your body! Fun right? Anyhoo, a few weeks later and I began my medication.

Obviously I still have issues. I double check all the locks before bed, and I eat the same foods for lunch every week at school. I turn on all the radios in the house when I’m alone because serial killers only attack when it is quiet. The time thing hasnt gone away, and honestly I’m getting a little tired of having a paranoid conspiracy theorist living in my brain. The meds helps a lot, by giving him a fidget spinner to play with so he talks less. But he loves to make me question things. Like, did I really did put my phone in my pocket 10 seconds ago? I mean, do I specifically remember it? No? Better panic an absurd amount before checking it! My mom even mentions the word ‘dentist’ and he runs around screaming clanging cymbals like a bat out of hell. The really crazy thing is that no one realises when he is doing this. Growing up no knowing what a panic attack was, I know how to ‘hide’ them really well. They still happen, and honestly hiding them feels worse because doing that makes me physically ill. Telling people is weird too. I told a friend that I was going to therapy, and the end result was me fighting off the urge to cover my face with my hands. Not because it was horribly ignorant or shocking, I could feel my eyebrow starting up. She basically asked if I really needed therapy, and suggested investing in a fuzzy blanket. The stereotypes for mental illness make it really hard to know when you have a problem. Because people can’t see it, it makes it harder to explain that no, it really is that difficult. Do I like holding an apple core in my lap for an hour? No. But getting up feels so much scarier than looking weird. Going to therapy or being on medication is not something that ‘crazy’ people do. It’s what people do. Full stop.

#mental health #anxitey #funny

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xiaoxiongmaos · 2 years

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heyy girlie i’m your stay secret santa for this year ! ✨ i lurked through your blog aha and the taste hello ?? anyhoo i just wanted to introduce myself a bit and try to get to know you a little better. just for some preliminary info i just wanted to ask for your skz bias, wrecker, favourite song/era/concept/dance/etc (you can just pick one or give me as many of your favs as you want!), and just for fun, what song got you into kpop? sorry if that’s a lot of questions 😵‍💫 but i’m super excited to spend the month getting to know you :) 🤍 -🎁

Hello, it’s really nice to meet you & I hope you’re doing well!

I’d like to apologize for taking a while to get back to you—I’ve been really busy cramming stuff for my exams… but good to hear from you!

That’s not a problem at all~ I don’t really have a specific bias but I do jump from fawning over one of the same 3 the most akskdjjf although, everyone is really talented and has a particular thing I adore about them! My bias line is: jeongin, minho, felix; and I tend to spend quite a few days admiring either of seungmin’s or hyunjin’s passion for their work/talents. As for songs… well; I don’t have just one but some of my faves are slump, mixtape: oh & b me/an era I really like would probably be yellow wood or go-saeng? I think everyone’s styling during them was pretty cool while being kept cohesive and in accordance to their individual charms, most of the songs in these two are some of my faves from their entire discography/concept-wise I’d say the latest one since I really dig the whole sound monster slayers + ghostbusters theme :D/last but not the least! It’s either the hellavator choreo, easy choreo or the ta choreo—I really like dance routines that relay a story/represent the song lyrics + it was beyond what I had expected from a group who hadn’t even debuted yet! Then there’s this really chill yet cool vibe to easy choreo that compliments the song really well so there’s that; same with ta! The moves are so energetic and go really well with the kind of hype song it is! I think it was bts’ blood, sweat & tears? Like I was a really new listener of kpop but it was the kind of song that just blew me away because of the instrumentals and vocals in it, that really made me want to look into more artists!

What are some your favourite eras, songs, choreos & lyrics + bias/es & bias wrecker/s? Ooh and what got you into kpop and stray kids? Really looking forward to talking to you as well, stay warm & safe!

#asks #anon #🎁 anon

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macgyvermedical · 6 years

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MacGyver Reboot “CD and Hoagie Foil” A Medical Review

Okay so I’m finally sitting down to review the most recent whumpy episode of the MacGyver reboot “CD and Hoagie Foil.”

While its emotional whump all around in this episode- including Mac’s dad story and Riley’s dad story and Bozer’s interrogation- the major physical whump burden is placed squarely on MacGyver’s shoulders.

If you haven’t seen the episode, this is the last stop before major spoilers.

Here goes- The story centers around a stolen canister of VX nerve “gas.” The “gas” is very deadly, and the bad guys are about to release it into the New York County water supply. Mac is able to steal it before they follow through, but in the ensuing hailstorm of bullets, the canister cracks, and Mac is immediately exposed. In an attempt to contain the spreading “gas,” Mac quickly locks himself in a small office with the leaking canister. Although the action probably saves many lives, it means Mac has to act quickly in order to save his own.

In order to buy himself time, he stabs himself in the leg with a pair of scissors to force his body to release adrenaline. Then, time bought, he builds a fan to draw the “gas” into the sewer gas disposal line, where it could be burned, degrading its effects and preventing everyone from being poisoned. “Gas” now safely out of the office, Mac stumbles out, to be assisted by Cage and Jack as Mac declares that he has only 18 hours to live unless he gets to a hospital very quickly.

Let’s start by talking about VX. I’m not going to go too far in depth about nerve agents as a whole (you can read about them here), but VX is a little different than the others, so I want to go into some detail.

VX is a real-life chemical weapon. It was first created during the Cold War, and was the prototype of the “V-Series” class of nerve agents developed specifically for use in warfare (earlier “G-Series” agents were used in chemical warfare during WWII, but they were originally developed for use as pesticides). The V-Series as a whole is largely classified, but details about the prototype VX was made public in order to provide rescue and medical personnel with a frame of reference in the case of an attack.

VX is a thick, oily, amber liquid, specifically engineered to stick to a person and spread around (to, say, helpful friends or rescue workers) without being easily decontaminated. Due to this, it is most often absorbed through the skin, but it can also be ingested (eaten or drunk), or aerosolized and absorbed through the nasal/oral mucosa or (most dangerously) through lung passages.

VX can kill by any of these routes- requiring only about 10mg to make its way into the body to be lethal (this is the LD50. In comparison, the G-Series agent Sarin has an LD50 of 1000mg).

VX (and, really, all nerve agents) work by blocking the breakdown of acetylcholine (ACH), a neurotransmitter responsible for muscle contraction and tear, mucus, and sweat production. Too much ACH in the wrong places causes muscles to contract inappropriately- the most dangerous side effect of this is that the smooth muscle tissue in the lungs contracts, dangerously narrowing breathing passages (bronchoconstriction), while at the same time ramped up mucus production further limits the body’s access to air. Other symptoms include excessive sweating (usually locally at the site of skin contamination), excessive tear production, twitching and cramping (progressing to paralysis as muscles fatigue), pupil constriction/dim vision (the iris is a muscle), runny nose, nausea/vomiting/diarrhea, and if it hits the brain, coma and seizures.

The episode specifically mentions runny nose and the cramping til’ you die thing, which is decently accurate. If the cramping progresses to paralysis of your breathing muscles before your airway closes, you can die of cramping.

When people (and by extension the writers of this episode) talk about nerve “gas,” they’re typically referring to the liquid nerve agent being aerosolized (or that certain G-Series agents do tend to evaporate into warm environments even after they settle). Aerosolizing something makes it easier to spread in a crowded area, and is also more immediately life threatening, as breathing the agent causes the more dangerous lung-related symptoms first.

Now, in the episode, Mac stabs himself to release adrenaline. This made sense to me (the adrenaline part, not the stabbing), because given that the VX was aerosolized and he breathed it, Mac was probably suffering bronchoconstriction as an early effect (he coughs several times in the scene). Epinephrine, the pharmaceutical equivalent of (and really just another name for) adrenaline, is a bronchodilator, meaning it relaxes the smooth muscle around the lung passages, allowing more space to draw air.

The presence of extra epi in his system might actually have bought him some time (not sure stabbing himself would have given him enough to accomplish this, but it’s the scientific principle that counts...ish). NOTE: No current treatment protocol actually mentions this or any other bronchodilator, though, so there’s also a chance it’s been shown not to work irl.

Mac leaves the room and immediately leans on Cage and Jack for support, telling them VX takes about 18 hours to kill someone, and that he needs to go to a hospital. This isn’t the case (like, you could suffocate in the first 10 minutes after exposure if you got a high enough dose) but I’m pretty sure I know where they got the number from. 18 hours is the observation window for a dermal exposure- as in, it could take up to 18 hours to show symptoms if a small dose was absorbed through the skin.

So Jack and Cage might have 18 hours before they start feeling the effects, but Mac definitely needed medical attention ASAP to keep his airway open and save his life. What could accomplish this? Well, there are two commercially available nerve agent exposure kits available- the Mark 1 and the DuoDote. The Mark 1 is an older version, and contains two auto-injectors- one of atropine (a drug that blocks ACH receptors, decreasing symptoms of excess ACH), and pralidoxime (a drug that reactivates the body’s ability to break down ACH). DuoDote has both drugs in one auto-injector.

Atropine is most important for saving the person’s life in the short term, while pralidoxime significantly reduces the overall time the person is ill. It can take weeks for the body to regain the ability to break down ACH on its own, while pralidoxime can permanently reverse the effects of nerve agent poisoning in 1-3 doses. Pralidoxime must be given within a specific window after poisoning in order to be useful- for VX this is a fairly long time, about 60 hours.

I highly doubt Matty would have let her agents go on a mission without an antidote kit each, so I’m guessing they figured out how to use one very quickly in the water treatment center parking lot.

Anyhoo, the day is saved and we get a fairly lengthy scene in either a hospital in New York (which the establishing shot would suggest, unless that’s just an establishing shot of Phoenix we haven’t seen before), or the Phoenix Foundation infirmary (which the set and crack about a loyalty card would suggest), with Mac in a hospital bed.

Finally, I want to point out a nice emotional whump parallel to Classic MacGyver. During a mock interrogation in spy school, Leanna forces Bozer to relive a 911 call he made as a child. His younger brother had gotten ahold of his dad’s loaded handgun and tripped while chasing him around the yard with it. Unfortunately, the gun discharged and Bozer’s brother was killed.

This is a remix of a similar story from the Classic series (recounted during the episode “Blood Brothers”) involving MacGyver and three childhood friends who stole one of their parents’ guns and played with it in the woods. Mac ends up pushing the gun out of his friend’s hand to save a bird he was aiming at, but the gun went off on impact with the ground and injured his other friend Jesse, who later died.

In the Classic series, this event is cited as the reason Mac doesn’t touch guns or let anyone use them around him. I’m interested to see how they’ll use this information in the reboot, given that they’ve established Bozer is willing to use firearms in previous episodes, while Mac, true to his classic counterpart, is not.

[Patreon] [Ko-Fi]

#MacGyver #CD and Hoagie Foil #medical review #whump reference #writing reference #emotional whump #poisoning

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irlaimsaaralath · 6 years

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Prompt time! How about one for Cullen? He almost caves and is inches away from taking a draught of lyrium, but his LI steps in just in time to stop him, resulting in an emotional moment?

Jeebus. So. This went all kinds of places.

My Cullen tends to be a little darker than your average Cullen, especially in regards to his lyrium addiction, and it definitely shows in this. There’s some violence, but no blood, nothing remarkably graphic. Nobody dies!

It didn’t really end as I planned. I said earlier I was on ending 4 because none of the others had made me happy, and this one doesn’t exactly do it either, but I decided rather than trying to make it go where I wanted it to go, it should just go where it’s GOING to go, and ta da. There could have been more, but it’s so long already, I’ll likely follow up with a part 2.

Anyhoo. Thanks for the ask!

Screams tore at the air, left it in shreds, echoing off the stone walls long after the voice that bore it had grown silent. The smell, the smell – burning flesh, spilled entrails, blood and smoke. It choked him, so thick he could taste it. He could barely keep from retching. And, at the boundaries of the ephemeral shield that sheltered him, demons drug claws across the magic, sparks hissing, accents to the sibilant whispers of the creatures themselves. They caressed the barrier with their hands, and with their voices, his ears, his skin, the fraying edges of his mind. Always calling, always beckoning. So sweet. His prayers couldn’t drown out the allure of their promises, and he looked up. Around him, the shield began to disintegrate from the top down, fracturing and falling away like so many pieces of broken glass. Panic flooded him as he surged to his feet, ready, ready to fight…but as the demon closed in on him, each curve of her body – breast and hip – was more seductive than the last, and for a moment, just a moment, he faltered. His eyes strayed, her hunger was his, and he ached for her…wanted to taste her. Instead, the taste that rose on his tongue was that of his own blood and the ache in his belly was now a tearing as her hand twisted in his guts. Then, he screamed…

Cullen woke to the sound of his own voice, a violent herald to the day dawning pale on the horizon in shades of pink and violet. His arm was cradled protectively over his midsection, and he could still feel it, the demons fingers clawing. He was tangled in the mess of his bedding, sheets wet with sweat and wrapped around his legs. Struggling with them, it was a panic to free himself, to tear himself out of the unfamiliar grip that held him. And once free, he realized he couldn’t catch his breath, couldn’t breathe, and he staggered out of bed, half delirious and terrified. He didn’t know where he was going, but his feet stumbled toward the ladder to his office. Before he made half the journey, he toppled to his knees. The first few spasms were dry heaves, and the last contained the dregs of the whiskey that had been his lullabye the night before. With one hand braced on the worn wooden floor, he panted, ragged and shaking as he shut his eyes tight and prayed, prayed, for strength, for mercy, for deliverance.

“Maker! Are you expecting the Venatori to just lay down and die?” Cullen admonished the soldier at his side, who immediately scuttled out of the way when the Commander snatched his shield from his hand and drew his own sword. “Your shield is for cover, but you’re not supposed to cower behind the damned thing!” he seethed as he brandished the shield at the soldier across from him, circling the younger man until he found and opening and brought his sword to bear. The first clatter of metal on metal rang through the courtyard as all of the recruits took a healthy step or two back to make room for the sparring.

How many times do I have to tell them? The enemy is not going to be gentle.

Cullen inscribed a broad backhand swipe with his sword, catching the recruit off-guard and nearly ripping the sword from his grasp.

The enemy is not going to be kind.

In his frantic backpedaling under Cullen’s assault, the soldier lost his footing and nearly fell backward. He was set off-balance enough that a rounding swish of the Commander’s sword disarmed him.

The enemy is not going to have mercy.

The recruit braced the shield with both hands to fend off the onslaught of blows that drove him back as far as he could go, trapped by the empty weapon rack behind him and the Commander in front of him. Cullen brought down his sword again and again…

They have to be prepared.

It wasn’t until an iron hand clamped down on his wrist, catching it at the apex of a downward swing, arresting his strike in mid-air, that Cullen finally stopped swinging. He snarled, “Take your damned hand off of me,” as he turned, only to find Bull staring down at him with flint in his eyes and his upper lip curled back. “I said enough, Commander,” the Qunari uttered with a measured tone, obviously exercising an impressive amount of restraint as he spoke. It was the sharp edge of Bull’s voice that shook him free of his stupor, and the anger in him snapped back into his core as he turned to look at the recruit he’d been sparring with. Cullen had driven the man to one knee in the dirt, and he was still lingering behind his shield, uncertain whether or not the danger had passed. The former Templar blanched as his eyes flitted across the faces surrounding him, stung by the amount of fear he saw, pierced by the pity. As the tension in his sword arm drained out of him, Bull released him, and he abruptly sheathed his sword before throwing down the shield he’d pilfered. Flushed with exertion and shame, he scrubbed his hand through his hair, offered brief apologies to all, and was gone before Bull could get the soldier back on his feet properly.

He slammed the tower door behind him so hard that dust lifted into the air, and shafts of golden sunlight sifted through it as they fell to the stone floor beneath his feet. His hair was mussed and wet with sweat, the moisture freeing it to curl as he drug his gloved hands roughly through it. The leather tugged and pulled on the strands, and he growled as he snatched the gloves from his hands and threw them to the floor. Next was his armor, carelessly discarded in a way he would never normally condone, his mantle flung across the rungs of the ladder. He stalked to the far wall, his steps heavy and with a martial pace, and a quick turn on his heel allowed him to retrace his path to the door. In his skull, his eyes burned as if fevered, and the sting both distracted and incited his already short temper. He couldn’t stand the sight of his violently trembling hands and balled both into fists as his thoughts ran wild.

What’s wrong with you? Get a hold on yourself.

He forced himself to take a few deep breaths, though it did nothing to slow the pace of his pounding heart. It only seemed to make the erratic beat more obvious. Which, in turn, piqued his anger.

Get it together, Rutherford.

He brought his clenched fists to his temples, pressing, grinding his knuckles in until his vision swam. On his final trek across his office, he stood flush against the end of the bookcase and rested his forehead on the wood.

If Bull hadn’t stopped you, you might have killed that man.

“No.”

His blood pounded through his head, rushed in his ears, and he could feel the sweat rolling between his shoulder blades and down his spine. He was no longer certain if the voice he heard was simply his own in his head, or if he was speaking aloud in conversation with himself.

He was already in the dirt.

“I wouldn’t have killed him.”

Cullen closed his eyes, the colors around him suddenly becoming too bright, too sharp, causing the backs of his eyes to ache. He tapped his forehead against the bookcase once, twice.

Are you sure? And the way he was looking at you? Maker, he was terrified.

“Be quiet.”

He banged his head against the wood again, harder this time, hard enough to send a shard of pain across his scalp and ripples of black across his vision.

How are they supposed to trust you when you can’t control yourself? What kind of commander are you without the trust of your men?

Weak.

“Shut up.”

Pathetic.

“Stop.”

Useless.

“JUST STOP!” He roared before slamming both fists against the bookcase with every bit of strength he could summon. The wood squalled against the stone floor as it slid, books on the shelves toppled, fell over and off, and a small box with a brass latch clattered to the floor as well. He froze, staring at the diminutive reliquary, eyes possessed with both the anger of accusation and the heat of neglected desire. It appeared plain enough, that small box: unassuming wood varnished and set with brass hinges and a latch. It didn’t look dangerous. But it was. Cullen was numb when his arms fell, loose fists thumping against his thighs as he stared at it.

This pain is unnecessary.

His jaw set as he became acutely aware of the beads of sweat tickling along his scalp.

The shakes and the irrational anger.

He ground his teeth so tightly together that they squeaked.

The hallucinations and the nightmares.

Though he heard the shuffle of his boots on the stone floor, he didn’t distinctly remember having taken a step.

Just one draught. Just one, and things would be better.

He closed his eyes but for a moment, and when he opened them again, the box was in his hands. His trembling, sweaty hands. Under those hands, the delicate, tenuous thread of his resolve frayed and unraveled, and as it did, he was lost to the craving. With an excess of care, he deposited the reliquary on his desk, and it took him several clumsy attempts to work the absurdly small latch open. Instead of the vial of lyrium dust that should be there, he found a loose coil of parchment. Retrieving it and uncurling it proved to be quite the task, but when he finally held it open, stretched out flat between two fingers of each hand, he was able to read it. “I love you. Come talk to me. ~ Caitlin.” A rational mind might have realized this as a loving attempt to help. Or an effort to provide clear-headed council before an irreversible decision was made. But, his mind wasn’t his own right now, much less rational.

She doesn’t trust you.

She left that note because she expected you to fail. She only placates you, preys on your emotions to take from you what she wants.

You’re just a burden to be managed. Nothing more.

Cullen crushed the tiny slip of parchment in his hand, grinding it with his fingers as if he could turn it to dust. The darkness that whorled at the edges of his mind coalesced in the center of his chest, the withdrawal and shame sparking fury in him. When he glanced away from his desk, his chin dropped and his eyes narrowed, turning the golden amber to a hard bronze as his pupils flared. Dropping the crunched paper onto his desk with the rest of the useless kit, he turned and strode single-mindedly out of the tower. He didn’t even bother to close the door behind him.

He made no effort to conceal himself when he stepped from Solas’s rotunda into the main hall, only kept to the edges of the room in order to avoid conversation. It was easy enough as most had gathered closer to the middle, nearer the warmth of the braziers. He made eye contact with no one and kept his head down, his fists clenching and unclenching against his thighs as he made his way. Bent solely to his purpose, he didn’t even spare a look around as he opened the door to the Inquisitor’s chambers and stepped through.

She was cornered. A small audience of nobles fanned in front of her in a half-moon just outside of Josephine’s office. She had been trying to gracefully bow out of the conversation for a good half an hour, but her subtle hints were apparently too subtle. Just as she was beginning to reevaluate her tactics, the door opening immediately across the hall captured her attention. Cullen stepped out, his features pinched and angry, his hair mussed, sweat glistening on his skin. He was in his shirt sleeves, with no armor, no mantle, and he was rarely seen outside of his office without those things.

Worry pulled her brow lower as she watched him stalk along the edge of the room; normally, his eyes would be up and out, scanning the hall for any hint of a threat. Instead, they were singularly focused on his path, which led behind her throne and into her quarters. Perhaps the situation was more dire than Bull had suggested to her. “Your worship?” One of the nobles purposefully put himself in her line of sight to catch her attention, and she tried to suppress the sneer that threatened to rise on her lips. Instead, she transformed it into a graceful smile as she made her apologies, then excused herself in no uncertain terms, leaving no room for subtlety as she strode toward the rear of the hall.

Methodically, he started with the side table nearest the entrance and had worked his way across the room. Drawers and their contents were scattered across the floor, the bookshelf was mostly swept bare, all of its volumes discarded, and he sat now at her desk, having rifled through stack after stack of paper before starting in on the drawers. “Is there something I can help you find?” Caitlin’s voice suddenly rang across the room. He hadn’t heard her come in or walk up the stairs or see her out of his peripheral vision as she neared him, and the sound of her voice raised only the barest acknowledgement from him. “The lyrium dust vial,” he said abruptly, pulling the entire middle draw free of the desk and shaking the remainder of its contents into the floor between his feet. Bending, he dusted a hand through the scattering of things, but didn’t find what he was looking for.

For a moment, he rested his elbows on his knees, and the line of his back bowed with his quickened breaths as he roughed his hands through his hair to clasp at the back of his neck. He felt as if his blood were boiling him from the inside out, both in temperature and temper. “Where is it, Cait?” he asked from between his arms, his voice scathing, hard with more than a little bitter accusation. One arm fell to drape from his knee as he turned his head to gaze at her. His fist stiffly opened and closed. “I need it. I-,” he paused, bit down on his words as he shook his head and stood. “Did something else happen? I heard about the sparring ring,” she said quietly, and when his eyes turned up to her, she raised one shoulder. “Bull told me. He’s concerned about you. I am concerned about you.”

He barked out a weak peal of laughter as he stepped wide across the mess he’d left on the floor. “I don’t need his concern…or yours. I need lyrium.” Sweat had soaked through his cotton shirt, making a darker vee visible on his chest as he stalked over to her and tilted his glazed eyes down to her. There was no masking the quick wash of hurt that passed over her features, but she tucked it away as she reached out to lay a hand on his arm. “I can help you through this. You’re stronger than the lyrium.” With a growl, he swatted her hand away and took a menacing step forward, shoving his body flush against hers. “Is that really what you want to see? How strong I am?” His hand snapped out, clamping down on her upper arm as he leaned to put his face closer to hers. The muscles around her mouth tightened, pulling her lips into a taut line as she gazed unwaveringly at him.

“I’m not afraid of you, Cullen. I never have been. I never will be.” He chuckled under his breath, his hand growing tighter on her, tight enough that there would be bruises later. Other than a subtle stiffening, she seemed unphased by his grip or his desperate threats. “You realize I almost killed a man today…without even blinking. You realize that, right?” he questioned, the volume of his voice rising as he gripped her other shoulder. “I beat him into the dirt, he was on his knees,” he didn’t bother with the effort to speak in a somewhat even tone, the quickened pace of his breathing clipping his words into short bursts of sound. As he spoke, he leaned into her, and she was forced to take a step back, then another. “I might have killed him…I would have killed him, if it hadn’t been for Bull,” he gave her a small shake as if trying to rattle some sense into her, “I’d have run him through right there in the courtyard.”

Every moment he spoke was another step back until he shoved her and she was pinned against the edge of the fireplace. The impact knocked her head back against the stone, and she grunted, but only stared unfailingly into his eyes. “You wouldn’t have. You’d have stopped,” she said, her voice as calm and confident as ever it was, and her surety made his anger flare hotter. His lips pulled back from his teeth in a snarl as his hands rose to her shoulders. “You can’t know that, and you’re playing with fire. Give me the lyrium,” he ordered, the gravel in his voice raking over the words and making a threat of them as his hands rose to her neck. “I don’t have it, and I wouldn’t give it to you if I did. You told me you didn’t want this,” she pleaded with him, a reasoned appeal to the man she knew lay beneath the rage.

“The situation,” he began as his hands tightened on her throat, “has changed.” Defiant still and stubborn, she raised her chin and uttered a few hoarse words, “I’m not…afraid of you.” The last word was clipped as his thumbs pressed into her windpipe, and she wheezed until that was silenced as well. Staring at her over the knot of his hands around her neck, he couldn’t understand why she didn’t just accept that he was a danger, a menace, not to be trusted. Not without the lyrium.

Her little note made it obvious she had no faith in him. Why did she continue this charade?

The tension in his muscles had worsened the shaking of his arms, and he twisted his head to the side to try to unclench the twisted muscles in his neck.

Tighter. Make her understand.

His face was blood red, veins livid against his skin as he leaned down to put his face into hers. “Are you scared yet?” In as much as was possible, her head twitched back and forth, and she offered a single word in the bare squeak of a breath, “No.”

Tighter.

Pain throbbed sharply in his head, flashing bright against the backs of his eyes, dragging them into narrow slits. There was a different quality to this pain, different than the headache that had plagued him all day, different than the rhythmic pulse of his heartbeat in his head. It curled threads of weakness through his body, made his breath catch with the pressure that pounded behind his eyes. He felt like his skull was about to cave in. The weight of it was almost crippling, and he groaned as his head began to swim.

“Please,” he begged, but to whom or for what, he wasn’t sure. His fingers had begun to ache with their clench, and though Caitlin had brought her hands to rest on his forearms, she wasn’t fighting. Her cheeks were burning crimson, lips becoming edged in blue as they fell open soundlessly. But, her eyes never left his, and there was no anger there, no fear, only love, concern…for him, not for herself. It tore at him, at his heart, at his mind. He choked as he stared back at her, into her eyes. He…wanted to let go.

Not until she relents.

His eyes dropped from her face to his hands, and he was willing them to let go, to release her, but he couldn’t seem to make the muscles work. He hadn’t realized it, but he was holding his own breath, and it left him in a rush as he began to pant with the effort to make his body respond. The tears that had begun to collect in his eyes fell onto his cheeks as he whispered over and over and over again: Please. Please. Please. Panic, raw and pure, shot through him, and his eyes shot back to hers. Shakily, she lifted one hand from his arm and reached toward his face. Her fingertips just brushed the tears that trickled down his cheek as her eyes fluttered, tried to focus, then drifted closed. As if in response, the mark flared violently against his arm before her hand slipped limply away. “No, no, nonono…”

His breath left him as a tortured cry, and the muscles in his neck stood out as he poured everything he had left into prying his hands from her throat. Slowly at first, then all at once, his fingers unlocked, and like a rock, she fell. He caught her in one arm, just barely, and let the weakness in his legs and her added weight pull them to the floor. In desperation, he gathered her into his lap, and like a ragdoll, her head fell back over his arm. He scooped his hand beneath her head, deep into her hair as he lifted her. “Caitlin, no…Cait…Maker help me,” he hoarsely begged as his body shook with sobs, each shudder of his breath tearing out in desperation. He clutched at her face, patting her cheek as he wept over her name. In his arms, her body lurched and her eyelids fluttered.

“Please, please, Cait,” he begged, hand whispering over her face, helpless and unable to do anything but watch. After what seemed like an age, she abruptly hauled in a deep, ragged breath, coughing violently as she clung to his shirt with both hands. Joy renewed the sobs that had formerly been grief, and his entire body was a trembling mess as he clutched at her. “Maker’s Grace, Cait…I’m so sorry. Forgive me, please forgive me,” he stammered over and over the words, incapable of keeping his hands or his lips off of her face. The thought occurred to him, as she struggled to catch her wheezing breaths, that he no longer deserved to touch her. Couldn’t be trusted with her. Was wholly unworthy. The notion branded him as sure as any fire-red iron would, leaving the truth of it to echo pain through his chest long after the immediate thought had passed. He felt…abruptly empty.

“You could have stopped me. Why didn’t you stop me?” he asked, resigned to her condemnation; whatever it was, he deserved it, and it would likely not be enough to deliver the punishment truly owed him. As her breathing began to even out, she hooked a hand behind his neck and pulled him down so that she could kiss his cheeks and his lips. He didn’t resist, but he didn’t understand how or why she would…why she wasn’t already summoning the guard to have him removed to the cells. “Just…proving a point,” she said hoarsely as she leaned up to press her forehead to his. The incredulity in his voice was apparent as he scoffed, leaning away from her as he brushed the hair from her face with a trembling hand. “What point could have possibly been worth that?” She caught the hand in her hair and brought it to her cheek, rested the weight of her head in his palm, and closed her eyes, smiling faintly. “I knew you would stop. I needed you to know it, too.”

Completely aghast, he eased his shaking hand from her face and scrubbed at his chin. Why? Why was she smiling? Why would she ever trust him that much? Why had she not already driven him from her chambers? Cursed him? Called the guard to restrain him? Why? “You…shouldn’t have so much faith in me, not when your life hangs in the balance,” he said, face and eyes falling aside in shame as he gently eased her from his lap. Confusion was clear on her features as she leaned back from him, and he got to one knee, then stood. She reached up, clutched at his hand, and he turned pained, sullen eyes to her. “But, that’s when I have the most faith in you, Cullen,” and she squeezed his fingers. He had never felt so simultaneously numb and lost and in utter agony in all his life as when he looked down at her just then. She had seen him in the throes of withdrawal before, the shakes, the sweats, the fevers, and the ill tempers. But never like this. How could she have known what he would do? She didn’t. She played a dangerous game, and it was only by chance that she won. He couldn’t put her in that kind of danger again. The only answer was to go. He would speak with Cassandra in the morning.

Mutely, he shook his head at her, stiffly pulled his fingers from hers, and said, “I’m sorry, Inquisitor,” as he turned. She made a sound, something small and pained, and he could hear her scrabbling to stand as he continued to walk. He was halfway down the first set of steps before he felt her hand on his shoulder. “We can do this, Cullen,” she pleaded, her voice harried. “You are so much stronger than you give yourself credit for.” It was the touch that stopped him, but it was her words that made him turn. His expression was forlorn, though his skin was flushed, and tears hadn’t stopped gathering in his eyes since he’d come back to himself with his hands around her throat. Where he stood on the stairs made her slightly taller on the landing above him, and he tilted his eyes up to her. “I’m not, Cait. If I was, I wouldn’t have stopped just now. I’d have walked right out that door. I’d-,” his voice broke, but he was too far in his hurt now to stop. “I’d never have kissed you. Never wondered at what it would feel like. Never even allowed myself to entertain the thought of you.” His jaw stiffened as he forced himself to stare into her violet eyes, to not look away, to not cower. At his sides, his fists were clenched so hard, his short nails had begun to bite into his palm. “I’d have swallowed my feelings…just to keep you safe,” he confessed, his voice low, almost a whisper. “But I am not that strong, and yet the thought of hurting you destroys me.”

Her fingers were trembling when they fell light on his jaw, and he felt both damned and blessed by her touch, both wanting to run from it and dissolve into it. She came down a step, and her fingers slipped into his hair at the nape of his neck. He just…couldn’t look at her anymore, and his chin dropped. When her other arm slipped in over and around his shoulder, he shuddered out a breath, and she tugged him against her until his forehead rested against her clavicle. In the circle of her arms, with her cheek nestled in his hair, she began to whisper, “I have never known anyone like you, Cullen. You endure…have endured…so much, and you care so deeply.” Her hand combed through his hair, and each rake sent shivers down his spine. “You have done so much good,” and he struggled against those words, tried to pull away, but she held him, fist twisted in his shirt on the back of his shoulder, her hand holding the crown of his head. “So much good, yet you forgive yourself nothing,” she admonished softly, her voice warm in his hair. He couldn’t help his tears or his shaking or his arms as they gingerly rose to encircle her waist. “You deserve so much more than you allow yourself,” she said, pressing the words and her lips against the curve of his cheek.

The shaky breath he drew pulled her into his lungs, the scent that was distinctly hers, and he buried his face into the hollow between her shoulder and her neck. Her elbows rested on his shoulders as her hands rose to the back of his head, gently holding, petting, lavishing him with a tenderness he did not deserve. When she spoke again, her voice was soft, her breath right against his ear. “I have…never known the kind of love I have for you. The sight of you stirs warmth in my heart and in my belly. When you’re within arm’s reach,” she paused, nuzzling against his ear, “all I want is to touch you.” Unbidden, his voice parted his lips against the skin of her neck, and his arms tightened around her of their own accord. “I could understand if you…didn’t feel the same. You’ve seen…done…so much more than I have,” she said, the confidence in her voice faltering slightly. It lifted his head and pulled his eyes to hers, and he stared up at her for the first time since she’d begun to speak. A deep blush rode high on her cheeks, and her violet eyes were glistening with tears that had yet to gather. And still, she smiled at him, cradled his jaw in one hand. “…but if you do, even in the slightest, please,” she beseeched as she pressed a kiss to his forehead, then another to his cheeks, then the last to his lips, all interspersed with pleases of their own. “Please stay, now, tomorrow, for as long as you will…and let me help you through this. Let me try to be what you deserve.”

He stared at her, eyes roaming over her face, taking her in. And, he didn’t know what to make of her. With every word she spoke, he became less numb, lighter, and now his skin hummed with a vibration that made him feel almost weightless. He would never understand how she did such things. Or why she would say these things…to him. But, there was no mistaking the sincerity in her eyes, the desire in her asking, or in the reaction it provoked in him. More than lust, more than even love, her willingness…her insistence…on taking him as she found him, loving him in spite of it, did something to him. Wrapped him up, spinned him ‘round, and left him bewildered and seeking sanctuary. Sanctuary he always found in her arms. He pulled her body flush against his, holding her easily as he climbed the two steps to the landing, her toes dangling above as he wordlessly lowered his lips to hers. He knew he shouldn’t, even as he did it, he knew she would be safer if he resisted, but she had pierced the heart of him, and he was left helpless and at her mercy.

To be continued…

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regretadayagain · 6 years

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DAY 147: Like a Pussycat Tied to a Stick, an Owl in a Cage on Antibiotics

So, I went on a little bit of a rant about the Blood, Sweat & Tears song, “Spinning Wheel” yesterday.

But I honestly believe that when Barbara Eden buries her huge, unforgiving dick balls-deep into a song, SOMEBODY needs to be brutally honest about it.

And that’s me.

Anyhoo, after my useless diatribe, I realized that I’d never really dipped into the Blood, Sweat & Tears back catalog. Needless to say, it’s pretty large. I mean, not as vast as Blood, Sweat & Tears rip-off artists Chicago,

but it’s still a decent batch of albums.

And holy F, did you know that THIS MANY PEOPLE were members of Blood, Sweat & Tears?

Hold on. That’s not all of them.

Wait. Got a few more:

Oh, let me shake the bag a little bit. I hear some rolling around in there:

That’s right. Blood, Sweat & Tears are the Spinal Tap of jazz-rock.

Seriously. BS&T rivals Zappa in terms of band members over the years.

But here’s my point, I regret that I only just now discovered the score they provided for the Barbra Streisand/George Segal body horror comedy, “The Owl & The Pussycat.”

Because besides the “comedy highlights,”

the album’s pretty fucking boss. Really sparse in places & a cool ongoing melody that I’m digging on for reasons I can’t explain.

Is it the best album you’ll ever hear? No. Is it a groundbreaking album that’ll change your life? God no.

youtube

But it’s worth checking out.

After all, this is still Blood, Sweat & Tears we’re talking about here, not fucking Radiohead.

I haven’t lost ALL musical taste. Not yet anyway.

#RegretADayAgain #DAY147 #regrets #Blood Sweat & Tears #Spinning Wheel #Radiohead #Kid A #Barbra Streisand #George Segal #The Owl & The Pussycat #Zappa #Spinal Tap #jazz rock #Chicago #Barbara Eden

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spiderfan22 · 7 years

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DAY TWO HUNDRED AND THIRTY - 4/3/17

“IF YOU DRINK AND DRIVE, DON’T SMOKE (SCENES 1-3)” by DJS

I guess I’m fickle. Here’s the beginning of yet another new play.

Scene 1 – Clyde’s Bathroom.

A Tuesday afternoon.

Clyde is a white haired man in his 70s or 80s. He sits on the toilet, attempting to take a shit.

This does not come easy.

He grits his teeth and bears down and pushes.

Nothing.

He repeats the process of gritting his teeth and bearing down and pushing.

Still nothing. His face is now very red and we fear he might be on the verge of a heart attack.

He tries again. He grits his teeth and bears down and pushes.

There is the sound of a small turd plopping into the toilet water.

Clyde breathes a sigh of relief. This lasts about ten seconds.

Then he begins the process all over again.

Scene 2 – Herschel’s Car.

Herschel is a grey haired man in his 70s or 80s. He sits in his car outside Clyde’s house, waiting.

He checks his watch. He honks the horn.

A minute passes.

He honks the horn again.

He sees Clyde approaching and makes a gesture of “what took you so long?”

Clyde opens the door and gets in.

CLYDE Sorry.

HERSCHEL Mind telling me what the hold-up was?

CLYDE Do you have to ask?

HERSCHEL Oh jeez. Constipated again?

CLYDE It’s these fucking pills the guy put me on.

HERSCHEL New?

CLYDE Yeah, supposed to help lower my blood pressure. I don’t know what was wrong with the old ones, they seemed to do the trick just fine.

HERSCHEL Quack.

CLYDE Tell me about it.

HERSCHEL My guy’s got me on this new blood thinner.

CLYDE And how’s that working?

HERSCHEL Not bad.

CLYDE Well that’s good.

HERSCHEL How you been?

CLYDE You mean otherwise?

HERSCHEL Yeah.

CLYDE Gooood. You?

HERSCHEL Gooood.

CLYDE Good. What are we waiting for?

HERSCHEL Are you kidding? I’m not putting this thing in drive till you buckle that seatbelt.

With a roll of his eyes Clyde does so.

CLYDE There. Happy?

HERSCHEL Safety first, bucko.

Herschel pulls away from the curb.

Scene 3 – The Wedgwood Broiler.

Clyde and Herschel sit in a booth at a diner style restaurant. They drink martinis while studying the menu.

HERSCHEL What’s looking good, Clyde?

CLYDE I don’t know, Herschel, what’s looking good to you?

HERSCHEL I’ll probably just get my usual.

CLYDE I was thinking the same thing.

HERSCHEL God, we’re so predictable ever since we retired.

CLYDE Speak for yourself. I can still be wild.

HERSCHEL Oh yeah? Name the last unexpected thing you did.

CLYDE Easy. Skipped my wife’s funeral.

HERSCHEL Shit, yeah, I forgot about that. You sure did.

Clyde nods proudly.

The funny part was you got away with it too. Everyone thought you were just so broken up about it and distraught that you couldn’t go on. When really…

CLYDE When really I couldn’t stand the bitch.

They laugh good and hard at this.

Dried-up old cunt.

They laugh some more.

The waitress (late 40s, fading looks) arrives to take their order. The boys both perk up.

CLYDE Well hey there, toots.

WAITRESS You fellas decide yet?

CLYDE Yes, I’m gonna go with the liver and onions.

HERSCHEL And the chicken fried steak for me.

CLYDE And a couple more martinis while you’re at it.

Throughout this next exchange, Clyde will proceed to blatantly ogle the waitress’s ass.

WAITRESS Is that the breakfast chicken fried steak or the dinner?

HERSCHEL Does that mean I get a potato with the dinner? Then I’ll do that.

WAITRESS Mashed or baked?

HERSCHEL Baked of course. With lots of sour cream and cheese. Oh, and bacon bits.

WAITRESS You got it. And did you want the soup or salad?

HERSCHEL I dunno. What’s the soup du jour?

WAITRESS Minestrone.

CLYDE Fucking Eye-talians. Salad for me. Extra blue cheese dressing.

HERSCHEL And I’ll go with the salad too, only Thousand Island.

WAITRESS (To Clyde) Baked potato for you as well?

CLYDE Yeah, same.

WAITRESS (Taking their menus) OK, gentlemen. I’ll have those salads up in just a minute.

She exits.

CLYDE (Calling after her) And don’t forget those martinis!

God, did you see that ass.

HERSCHEL How long have we been coming here? Of course I saw that ass. I been studying it for years.

CLYDE She ain’t as skinny as she used to be, but the fat seems to have gone to her butt which is all right by me. What is it the kids say? More cushion for the pushin’.

Dammit, Herschel, I gotta get laid.

HERSCHEL You know who always had a nice plump ass?

CLYDE Who?

HERSCHEL My sister-in-law Cheryl.

CLYDE Oh yeah I remember her.

HERSCHEL But do you remember her ass?

CLYDE How can I not? The most interesting thing about her.

HERSCHEL I remember back in… oh it must have been right after Leslie and I first started dating, her family had a cabin up at Twin Lakes. Now we had just started dating and her parents wouldn’t let me stay in the cabin with them because they were afraid we’d get up to some hanky-panky, but I could pitch a tent just outside. So that’s what I did. And it was after a long day of fishing – some of the best fishing of my life now that I think of it – that I’m in my pup tent, considering rubbing one out, when I hear the door of the cabin creak open, and footsteps, and for a second I get my hopes up that Leslie snuck out and is gonna finally let me shuck her clam, if you know what I mean.

Clyde’s chuckle indicates he does.

At the same time, the waitress returns with their salads and a second round of martinis. Both the old men nod their appreciation. Waitress exits.

CLYDE (Sipping his martini) Go on.

HERSCHEL But the footsteps, they go right past the tent not stopping. So now I’m wondering who the heck is it. So I unzip my thing –

CLYDE Your thing?

HERSCHEL My tent, you old perv. I unzip my tent and sorta peek out, and damned if it’s not Cheryl. She’s walking down towards the water, down to the lake. And get this, all she’s got on is her bathrobe.

CLYDE He-he.

HERSCHEL So Cheryl, she gets down to the water’s edge. Or no, wait, they had a little dock. She walks out to the end of the dock and stands there for a minute. And it’s kind of this beautiful scene. The moon all full in the sky shining off the lake. Thousands of stars.

CLYDE Pretty.

HERSCHEL Yeah.

They sit in silent reverie about this for a moment.

Anyhoo, then she drops the robe. And I’m telling you, kid, there she is. Her goddamn birthday suit, naked as the day she was born. Now Cheryl must have been, I dunno, 15- 16 years old at this time. Perfect. And that ass. My view is mostly from behind and it’s dark, the moon’s got her sort of silhouetted, you know, but I can see enough where I can still picture it. Full and round, and pert.

Well I pulled it out and jacked it right there. Let fly, just as fast as I could.

Clyde appears to be lost in a trance, imagining the moment. He licks his upper lip, then comes back to reality.

CLYDE So was she skinny dipping or something?

HERSCHEL Eventually, yeah, she jumped in.

CLYDE And you didn’t think about just walking right down there to the lake and join her?

HERSCHEL Well sure, I considered it…

CLYDE What stopped ya? I mean how come you never tried nothing with her?

HERSCHEL Are you nuts? Leslie would’ve found out. And it would’ve been Cheryl who told her. Those two were peas in a pod, talked every day on the phone, never a secret between ‘em. That’s why it gives me sort of a perverse thrill knowing that once or twice at least over the course of our marriage Leslie would’ve had to bring up our sex life to her. Which means Cheryl, whether she wanted to or not, would have learned certain details of my anatomy. And I don’t care if you’re Mother Fucking Theresa, nobody cannot picture a cock when it’s described to them. It’s like when someone says “elephant” you automatically picture an elephant.

CLYDE Hell, I just did.

But then I just pictured your cock too.

You think it would be weird, but Clyde smiles nostalgically

Shoot, Herschel, it almost brings a tear to my eye. You were always the best equipped of us young bucks. And none too shy about showing it off either.

HERSCHEL No shame. I’d pull that thing out the drop of the hat, you just dare me.

CLYDE Won many a pissing contest back in the day. Oh, then there was that time Bob had the bright idea to bring along a ruler –

HERSCHEL - that’s right, to get all of our “official measurements”.

CLYDE Not that we needed convincing who was King Cock amongst the three of us.

HERSCHEL You know that’s something I could never figure out?

CLYDE What?

HERSCHEL Well, why Bob was so dead-set on making a bet out of it?

CLYDE Oh yeah he did. I don’t… I don’t recall what the wager was but –

HERSCHEL Oh I do.

CLYDE You do?

HERSCHEL Yeah, remember?

Clyde shakes his head

Well there we are standing around all with our dicks out, dicks in our hands, middle of the woods…

CLYDE Right, right

HERSCHEL …and whoever came out with the short end of stick you might say…

CLYDE He-he, yeah

HERSCHEL Took home the bronze you might say of the three us…

Had to lick the sweat off the other two guys’ balls.

It takes Clyde a second thinking about it, remembering. Then:

CLYDE OH YEAH. SHIT YEAH, NOW I REMEMBER. HA!

HERSCHEL Huh, yeah

CLYDE Ha, ha! Poor son of a bitch…

HERSCHEL Poor Bob, yeah…

CLYDE Yeah now I can see it. Especially the look on Bob’s face, you remember?

HERSCHEL Oh he was so pissed. Tried to back out of it.

CLYDE Tried to yeah…

HERSCHEL And I was almost gonna let him, feeling bad for him – but you…

CLYDE What, me?

HERSCHEL Yeah, you. You said “A bet’s a bet” and “So get down on your knees, Bobby-boy.” And God that must’ve tasted…

CLYDE Well it was the middle of the summer wasn’t it?

HERSCHEL July-August yeah…

CLYDE Holy shit. Yeah. Ugh.

HERSCHEL Then he wanted to stop after just doing me.

CLYDE That’s right, that’s… yes –

HERSCHEL But you said “A bet’s a bet. And I’m feeling sticky myself.” Or something to that nature.

CLYDE I said that?

HERSCHEL Oh, you were a real prick about it, the whole thing.

CLYDE Well, a bet is a bet.

HERSCHEL Damn right.

CLYDE Same rules apply as in Vegas, you lose there’s no asking for your money back.

I think he threw up if I remember correctly. Bob – didn’t he?

HERSCHEL Yeah, probably.

The waitress returns. She takes their salad plates. Clyde continues to check her out.

WAITRESS Main’s should be up in a couple minutes. Anything more from the bar?

HERSCHEL Two’s my limit.

CLYDE And I’m driving.

WAITRESS How responsible.

CLYDE Oh you know us. Just a coupla old farts.

She exits. Clyde stares at her ass as she walks away, leaning out of the booth and almost falling over to do so.

Okay, that’s it. I gotta get me laid.

HERSCHEL What do you mean?

CLYDE I mean if I don’t get my dick what and soon it’s all over. I’m talking about today. This afternoon.

HERSCHEL Well how you gonna do that? You’re a goddamn widower, Clyde.

CLYDE Easy. I been thinking about it and I’m just gonna rent me one of those hookers over on Aurora Avenue.

HERSCHEL Are you serious??

CLYDE Yeah and I think you should join me. We can go in on one together.

HERSCHEL What about Leslie?

CLYDE Well Herschel let’s think about that. When’s the last time your sweet little wife bothered to take out her dentures and suck your dick?

HERSCHEL I don’t know…

CLYDE What about the last time you popped her?

HERSCHEL Well I’m not… I mean ever since she had the stroke it’s been…

CLYDE Look, you can come up with bullshit excuses all day. Either you’re fed up and horny and wanna stick it in something or I don’t know what. You’re good as dead I guess. Call the morgue.

He leans in across the table to Herschel.

Now what’s it gonna be, huh Hersch? We go in on the girl, who knows, maybe we can even get a deal.

Herschel think about it.

HERSCHEL Well who’d get to go first?

CLYDE Who gets first crack at her? I don’t know. We can flip a coin. Besides, sloppy seconds aren’t so bad. I mean she’ll probably make us wear condoms anyway, right?

HERSCHEL right...

CLYDE So are you in or what? Or am I dropping you off at the house?

Herschel weighs the matter for another few seconds. Then he looks at Clyde and grins.

HERSCHEL I’ll do it.

Clyde beams.

CLYDE Way to go, Herschel my man!

They high five across the table. It’s a weak high five because they’re so old.

So after we eat we’ll just head on over to Aurora and see how the pickens are. Do you know, are we supposed to get the motel room first or what?

HERSCHEL Better book the room first so we have someplace to bring her back to –

CLYDE Avoid that whole clusterfuck of going into the lobby – yeah, you’re right.

Hey, what kind of girl you thinking?

HERSCHEL Oh I’m not too particular, blonde, brunette.

CLYDE Hey, you think we can find one maybe looks like your sister in law Cheryl did?

HERSCHEL You mean when she was young?

CLYDE Yeah. Young, pert, nice ass.

HERSCHEL We can certainly try.

CLYDE God I’m getting horny just thinking about it.

HERSCHEL You know what, me too.

CLYDE Gonna get us a real pro. A gen-u-wine hooker right off the streets.

HERSCHEL Except I don’t think they like being called hookers anymore.

CLYDE What do you mean?

HERSCHEL Well, I was reading in the newspaper all about the plight of the sex worker. I think they like to be called “sex workers” now.

CLYDE Hmn.

Well it is there job.

Herschel raises his glass.

HERSCHEL Cheers, Clyde old boy! To a great idea and the start of a great new adventure!

CLYDE And finally draining our balls!

They clink glasses. Drink. Clyde sits pondering something a moment.

You know what I was just thinking?

HERSCHEL No, what?

CLYDE I was thinking what if we called Bob, got him in on this deal too.

HERSCHEL You think he’d do it?

CLYDE Are you crazy – back in the day, as horny as Bob used to get? Hell, just smelling a girl’s perfume would be enough to give him a stiffy. I know he’d be interested.

HERSCHEL Well alright.

A caveat.

But Bob goes in last.

CLYDE Sure as shit right he does.

Clyde gets out his cell phone. It’s an old flip phone.

Just call him now…

HERSCHEL What do you if May answers?

CLYDE Easy. I’ll just tell her we want to know if Bob wants to join us out on the driving range. Hit a few balls.

HERSCHEL He better make sure to bring his clubs then to be convincing.

Clyde winks and gives a thumbs up. Then the line picks up.

CLYDE (Into phone) Hello? May? It’s Clyde.

Yeah and how are you doing?

Good, that’s good. Hey, is Bob there?

Well I’m just sitting here with Herschel and –

Yes, ma’am. We just want to know if he can come out and play.

The two old men share a wicked smile.

#if you drink and drive #don't smoke #new play #dirty old men #wedgwood broiler #martinis #reminiscing

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