#Very funny he’d use the intrusive thoughts argument

[radqueer-repellant]

“We’re not ableist”

Mocks someone for not understanding a word with half of the letters removed.

#Very funny he’d use the intrusive thoughts argument #One I have OCD. That argument doesn’t work on me (nor does twisting the narrative using the topic of su!c!de) #Two there is a testimony right now of a former ‘’transnazi’’ who was manipulated by RQs because of their intrusive thoughts #Weird!

[lilacmeadows]

Made For You pt.1

Okay so this is gonna be a series. My FIRST series. So go easy on me pretty please. I’ve never written smut, and I know nobody wants badly written smut. So we’ll see about that. But this one is definitely gonna be more of a slow burn. Maybe 4 chapters? Yeah. I like that. 4 chapters. I’ve just been thinking about this idea for a while and I wanna get into writing. I hope someone likes this.

BUCKY X READER

Summary: Hydra had just finished training you to be the Winter Soldier’s perfect mate when the Avengers saved him. But what’s going to happen to you now that Hydra has deleted your old life and left you with nothing but a soldier that needs to learn to love himself before he can love someone else.

Part 1    Part 2    Part 3 (coming soon)

WARNINGS: explicit sexual content, explicit language, eventual dom/sub dynamics, mentions of captivity and kidnapping. violence- guns, mutual pining, eventual smut, fluff, angst if you squint (must be 18+)

WORD COUNT: 2k 

PART ONE

She’s so used to quiet in her quaint bedroom. The faint whirring of the air conditioner, sounds of footsteps and machinery being rolled outside her door, the music they would play for her when she was extra good that week.

So when she was awoken to gunshots and yelling, y/n was anxious and didn’t know what to do. She backed into the corner of the room furthest from the door and shut her eyes. Hopefully, if she stayed quiet and unseen, things would resolve itself, and she wouldn’t see any violence come her way.

Luckily for her, after what felt like hours later, the sounds quieted down. The gunshots were less frequent and finally came to a stop. She waited for a few moments before sitting on her bed with intentions of continuing her knitting. She wasn’t allowed many activities, but this was one luxury the Men didn’t mind since she hadn’t had any violent outbursts in a long time. She hated being shocked, and she liked knitting.

But the quiet didn’t last long. Minutes later, she could hear footsteps approaching her room. Too late to go back into her corner without being heard through the ‘doggie door’ the Men used to pass her food twice a day, she sat still and slowed her breathing.

‘Anything on that floor?’ She heard one male voice say from further away.

‘Not yet. Mostly supply closets on this floor, but I’ll check them all.’ Said a voice from much closer. He couldn’t have been more than 10 feet away from her door. She could tell they were American like her because they didn’t have the funny accents the Men all had. Gripping her plastic knitting needles tightly in one hand she braced herself for the intrusion.

Her door cracked open a little, then quickly opened all the way.

“Cap, you need to see this.” The man called over his shoulder. “Are you alright ma’am?”

“Yes. I’m fine, sir.” Her small voice replied, a little rough from lack of use, but still remarkably sweet.

“Who are you? Do you know where you are?” He approached her slowly, taking in her meager appearance, but also watching out for the pointy sticks she has a death grip on.

“My name is y/n. I’m in my room.” She replied. Starting to feel very uneasy by this stranger, but also not thinking that he would hurt him. She had been here for so long, it was strange seeing a tall, black man enter her bedroom. Only trainers and watchers were allowed to enter her bedroom.

“What is it?” Another, taller man asked, but his question was soon answered when his eyes landed on the girl sitting on her bed with her tucked gently under her. He immediately noticed her lack of decent clothing, and it caused a blush to creep up his neck.

“We have a girl here, possibly a hostage, maybe an experiment. She doesn’t look like she particularly wants to be rescued.” The first man said to the other, who’s slowly entering the room while trying not to stare at her thin, flimsy, cotton dress.

“Hi, I’m Steve, this is Sam. Do you know where you’re from?” The blonde man said to her while crouching down to be at her eye level. She nodded her head yes. “Well we’re the good guys. We’re here to save you. Do you want to come with us so we can take you home?”

She had to contemplate for a minute. It had been so long since she got here that she couldn’t imagine what it would be like to leave. These men looked sincere, but she knew if she left and was caught, she’d be punished terribly. But if the gunshots meant anything, there would be nobody to punish her. Which means she can’t stay regardless because there would be nobody to take care of her either.

“Did you kill my watchers?” She looked at the blond man after a few quiet seconds. Steve and Sam made eye contact and had a whole argument in silence before Sam spoke up.

‘Yes, we did. But they were bad men. They were keeping you here. But you’re free now. You just gotta follow us, and we’ll get you out of here.’ Sam said, gently. Not wanting her to think they’re cold blooded murderers, but also trying to rush this meeting along so they can board the quinjet, where the rest of the team was waiting.

Steve held one of his hands out to her, which she hesitantly took- knitting needles and purple ball of yarn in her other hand. She thought about grabbing her sweaters, but they weren’t kept in her room. Quite frankly, she had no idea where they were. The Men didn’t allow her to keep the things she learned to knit in her room. But they would give her back a sweater during the cold months. So she just followed the two men awkwardly. Them taking large, hard steps towards parts of the building she had never seen, and her dainty footsteps lagging behind. The trainers taught her to walk with a ladylike gait, on the balls of her feet with barely any pressure to her heels.

After many hallways and stairwells, they found themselves outside the building. The quinjet was parked close by, and y/n’s eyes almost jumped out of her head. Of course she had never seen anything like that before. The men led her onto the loading area which closed behind them.

“Take a break for sightseeing?” Said one man from the front of the jet. They couldn’t see her because of her small stature behind the two men.

“Actually, we found someone. Her name is y/n. She was in one of the rooms, top floor.” Steve said to the man, while fishing you out from behind his back.

She was met with eyes. Many pairs of eyes. All looking directly at her. Not used to all the attention, she looked down at her feet, which were bare as usual and slightly irritated from walking on various terrains. Her toes painted baby pink. Another luxury the Men allowed her. Some watchers were nicer than others. The shorter, fat one that came every other night would bring her a light, barely noticeable, polish that she was only allowed to put on her toes.

Being there wasn’t so terrible. She was 10 when they took her in 2006. She had a mom and older brother, and they lived in a town in Georgia. She often wonders what happened to them that morning when the Men put a rag over her face, and she woke up on a bed in the room that would become her new bedroom.

She didn’t leave the room often. There was a small bathroom across the hall from her room. The watcher would be standing guard outside her door, and she would let him know she would like to use the bathroom or bathe. He would have to stand in the room with her while she bathed, but after a while, they were kind enough to face the wall. She fought for a long time. Refusing to eat the food (which wasn’t terrible), screaming and crying, she even plotted the occasional failed attack. But then they started the shock therapy, and she learned. Being in that chair was brutal. Rewiring her brain into submission. Submission to the Men so they could train her. She had to be ready for the Soldat when he needed her. Why her? She didn’t ask and they didn’t tell her. She learned very quickly that she was only allowed to speak when spoken to.

Make the Soldat happy. That was her mission. She had been told that phrase so many times that she heard it in her sleep. She had never seen or met him, but she was being trained to be his. A possession he could have control over during the brief times he was unfrozen. She was to listen to him, obey, sleep with him, and just make him happy because the mind controlling words were having less and less of an effect, and the Men were afraid he would lash out and massacre them all.

But it doesn’t seem like she’ll be fulfilling her life goal after all because now she’s in the air with a group of people looking at her like she has two heads. A woman with pretty red hair, a man with a large bow, and a man with nice glasses towards the front of the jet, were on one side. On the other was a blond man with very long hair, standing up to talk to a man in a purple shirt, and a man sitting by himself with long brown hair. All of their stares were pointed at her, but his seemed to go through her. Like he had x-ray vision and could read her mind.

“Y/n, you can have a seat right there.” Sam said, pointing to an empty seat next to the redhead who only squinted at her. “That’s Natasha. She’s nicer than she looks.”

“No, I’m not.” She said, making eye contact with y/n. “But we’re glad to have you aboard.” Natasha finished, the slightest smile forming at the girl.

“Um... Cap, where are her clothes?” The man from before asked Steve.

“I don’t know. This is what she was wearing, and I didn’t see a wardrobe anywhere, Tony.” Steve sighed, obviously exasperated by even the thought of a conversation with Tony.

Tony looked at the girl expectantly. Was he waiting for her to chime in? Because he’d be waiting a long time. She was trained very well. Talking out of turn was one of the first rules she learned.

“Sweetheart, are you alright? Do you want something to cover up? We have blankets. What about water? You thirsty? Does she even understand a word I’m saying?” Tony’s last question was aimed at the men she entered with.

“I understand. I’m sorry. I’m alright, sir.” And if the team was trying to keep their staring inconspicuous at first, they completely abandoned that when she spoke. Her voice was so small and smooth. Just a little weak from not talking much.

“How about we get you a blanket anyway so I can be a little more comfortable” He nodded towards Sam who left the room and returned with a large blanket. She hadn’t realized how cold she was or that her nipples were pointing through her thin dress. Or that the cotton dress was really just a white slip that was damn near see through.

Maybe the grumpy looking man on the other side of the jet does have x-ray vision.

“Thank you, sir.” Everyone had to be called Sir. She hadn’t been around any women, but she was pretty sure if they looked as serious as the one next to her, she’d call them Ma’am.

“Tony is fine.” He smiled at her.

“Hey. I’m Clint, by the way.” The man on Natasha’s other side said, turning his body to address her. “So, umm... What were you doing up there? Are you working for Hydra?” Other members of the team groaned and scolded him for being so blunt, even though they were secretly happy he asked because they also wanted to know.

“I was knitting.” She said simply. She was going to leave it at that, but she could see the way Clint’s eyebrows almost touched his hairline at her short reply. So she continued with the mantra she was raised with. “My purpose is to make the Soldat happy. He is my mission.”

She had never seen a room of people’s heads turn so fast. Eyes darting from her to the brooding man on the other side of the jet. He squinted his eyes, looking equally as confused.

She hadn’t realized that her mission was right in front of her.

part 2

#bucky #bucky x reader #bucky barnes smut #bucky barnes #james buchanan bucky barnes #the avengers #steve rodgers smut #thor smut #bucky imagine #bucky fanfic #bucky x y/n #bucky fluff #chubby!bucky #winter solider x reader #winter soldier smut

[shyficwriter]

Temporary Home: Chapter 9

Guardians of the Galaxy fanfic | Reader x Guardians (With Yondu and Kraglin!)

Summary: Yondu finally confronts Reader about the late night escapes, and invites himself to tag along, to Reader's dismay.

Previous Chapter here | Next Chapter Here Or click here to: Start From Beginning

Author’s Note: Just Reader and Yondu this chapter.

Word Count: 3,953

You jumped right out of your skin but somehow managed not to cry out, whipping around to see Yondu's silhouette standing in the doorway to the kitchen. It was a bit of a terrifying sight if you were to be honest. You'd hate to see it in a dark alley.

"What the fuck!" you whisper-yelled. "Don't do that! You trying to give me a heart attack!?"

"Don't change the subject. Where ya sneakin' off to?" Yondu had intended to use the voice he used when trying to intimidate an opponent, the one he uses when trying to get the message across that he's not going to take any shit, so ya better just cough up what he wants to know. However, it came out sounding a bit more like the tone he used to scold Peter with when he'd get caught sneaking girls on the ship after curfew.

You did your best to look unfazed and close the door. "First off, it's my house. I'm not sneaking, I'm just going. And what are you doing sneaking up on me?"

You were trying to turn the tables on him, but he wasn't going to bite. "It's the middle of the night and yer being awful quiet about it, ya really try'na tell me that's not sneakin'?"

"Yes." You tried to keep your tone even, but it was hard not to sound annoyed. "It'd be rude to wake up the others."

"Uh huh. Well if yer not sneakin' then why not turn on a light?"

"Don't need it. Lived here all my life. Know the place just as well in the dark."

"Right..." Yondu eyed you, sure that you'd come up with an excuse for anything else he'd throw at you. Might as well just cut to the chase. "Where ya going?"

"Out," you reply, "For a walk."

"You're going for a walk, in the middle of the night?" He could hear it more now, he sounded like he was getting ready to threaten to ground you. Not exactly the tone he was going for. He blamed it on the lack of sleep. Brain must be instinctually reverting to "Yell at Quill" mode. Stars knew he did it enough when Quill was a boy that it became second nature.

"Yes." You cross your arms over your chest, only to realize it made you look like an argumentative teen. Oh well, too late now. You kept them crossed.

"So, you suddenly just up and decided, in the middle of the night, that ya'd fancy a walk, in the dark, in the forest?"

"Yes." you reply again, realizing a second too late that he shouldn't have known where you were headed. "No- Wait I-"

Yondu chuckled. "Save it. I see everything... And I've been mighty curious to know what you've been sneaking off to do at night."

You stare at each other in the dark for some time before you break the silence. "I have the sneaking suspicion that you intend to follow me."

"You'd win that bet." Yondu said with a grin that you could barely see in the dim light.

You roll your eyes. "You'll get bored. Better off to just go back to bed."

"After you." Yondu gestured towards the hall from the doorway. You could hear a smirk in his voice.

You sigh and pinch the bridge of your nose. "I'm not leaving alone, am I?"

"Nope."

You really wanted to leave, and obviously you would prefer to do it alone, but if bringing a suspicious passenger was the only way you could do so, and likely the only way to prevent this happening again, you'd suppose once wouldn't kill you. In fact, denying could potentially only make his suspicions worse, and you didn't feel like possibly being reported to Fury over nothing if he got the wrong idea. You had been on enough jobs to know how quick a misunderstanding could go south. "Ugh. Fine. But you know curiosity killed the cat." Still, it wouldn't hurt to try and convince him to stay behind.

"Ain't a cat. Not even sure what a cat is." Yondu chuckled, fully aware that he was being irritating. He might not have exactly known what the Terran idiom meant, but he still knew it was just an idiom. Enough experience with Quill had taught him that Terrans say strange things.

You look up to the ceiling "Just hurry up."

Yondu disappeared in the hall to pull on his boots and returned a moment later pulling on his duster jacket. You had to admit his silhouette was actually even scarier with the addition of the jacket, but you didn't let it show.

You wordlessly motion him out the door and shut it behind the two of you. The walk across the yard to the tree line was awkwardly silent until about a couple meters away.

"So what ya keep coming out here for anyway?"

You answered with a question of your own. "You been spying on me?"

"Not exactly. Just happened to notice ya out the window a few times, and thought it was odd that you'd be sneaking out of yer own house."

The two of you broke the tree line, finally walking amongst the trees. "I told you I wasn't sneaking."

"Sure, sure," Yondu chuckled. "Ya didn't answer my question, girlie. What's out in this-here forest that keeps ya coming out here at night?" He kept pace with you as best he could. Your steps were sure, the ground was littered with rocks and sticks, but your gait never faltered. You clearly knew these woods well, and it was evident you knew just where you were going. You hadn't even bothered to use a light. Yondu would almost think you had night vision if he didn't already know better that Terrans didn't.

"Nothing. I just come out to enjoy the scenery. Relax a bit," you finally answer.

"Ya know, yer almost a good liar." Yondu chuckled.

"I beg your pardon!" you say, offense fully clear in your voice.

"What? Take it as a compliment," Yondu laughed, unfazed by your outburst. "But yer gonna have to do better than that to pull something over on me. I can spot a lie lightyears away." Ok so he might have been exaggerating, but you didn't need to know that. "And that there, that wasn't the truth."

You scoff. "What do you know? You don't know anything about me and you're really going to stand there and act like you do?" The nerve of him. You should have just pretended to go back to bed and then came back out later, or better yet, oiled the hinge on your bedroom door the other day when you noticed it starting to squeak. Probably what alerted Yondu to leaving.

"I know more than you think." Yondu countered, nearly tripping on a large branch.

"You don't know anything about me." You repeat. You started walking faster out of spite.

A smirk fell over his face. If you wanted to be difficult, fine. He could just have fun teasing you until you loosened up, and he had a feeling he knew just what might push your buttons.

"I know yer ticklish." He grinned, seeing how you visibly tensed.

You run a hand down your face. "You guys aren't going to let that die, are you?"

"Nope," Yondu chuckled, "it's too funny."

"It's not," you say, glad the dark was hiding the blush you could feel on your cheeks.

"I think it is," Yondu disagreed, reaching out to poke you and chuckling when you jumped and flinched each time his finger connected with your side. He grinned, mentally drawing up the theory that you didn't like to show weakness.

You swat at his hand and tell him to quit.

He laughs, but thankfully obeys, saying, "Aw, cheer up now. It ain't that embarrassin'... though I do wonder now why that Fury guy would keep an agent around that seems mighty vulnerable to torture..." He was teasing, of course. Just trying to get a rise out of you. It worked.

You throw him a look of daggers and he holds up his hands in a relenting gesture. "Don't worry, secret's safe with me, girlie," he teased, continuing to grin before nearly tripping again. He sighed, beginning to search his pockets for a light. There was no sense tripping around out here in the dark. You may apparently know this forest floor like the back of your hand, but he didn't, and he most certainly didn't feel like rolling an ankle.

He spoke up again. "I also know yer hiding something."

You freeze for just a moment and then turn to him. "No. Nice try."

He closed the meter wide distance between you. "Ya can deny all ya want, sweetheart, but I can still tell."

"Whatever." You turn and start walking again, this time at a regular pace.

"Don't give me that," Yondu said, finally finding a light in one of his inner pockets. He flipped it on and you instantly covered your eyes, which had been adjusted to the dark and very much didn't like the sudden intrusion of the bright light.

"Agh- Turn that off!" you scold.

"What for?" Yondu asked, he had also suffered slightly from the sudden brightness, but at least he could see where he was walking now.

"Well, besides the fact that you just blinded me- you'll attract bugs."

"Ah right. Yer scared of creepy-crawlies. My mistake." Yondu laughed, making a show of shutting the light off. "Wouldn't want ya to be all scared stiff like ya were earlier."

You glare at him best you could with your eyes trying to adjust back to the dark. "I'm not scared of bugs. I just don't feel like getting bitten up by a bunch of midges. The bites itch like hell."

"I dunno... ya looked pretty scared of whatever that bug was in the kitchen today." Yondu teased, but he did make a mental note that midges sounded quite unpleasant.

"That was a spider," you say, then muttering, "...and that's different."

Yondu hummed. "Seems a lil' funny that you'd put a giant one in my boy's bed then, seein' as yer so scared of 'em yerself."

You stumble over your words for a bit, before admitting that you hid the fake spider before the incident with the real one happened, adding, "-and I wasn't scared of it!"

"Sure ya weren't..." Yondu said teasingly. "Guess ya won't be bothered if I tell ya about the big one crawling on yer shoulder then." He repeated the same trick as earlier, imitating a running spider on your shoulder with his fingers and laughing when you jumped a mile and smacked at his hand.

Face flushed with embarrassment at falling for the same trick twice you say, "You're an asshole."

"Yep," came Yondu's reply. Theory confirmed: You hated showing weakness. After a few steps he spoke again. "Where we goin' anyways? Ya seem pretty sure about this path. Get the feelin' we ain't just wanderin' aimlessly."

You sigh, but relent. What could it hurt? "It's just a little further."

"It where ya go all the time?"

"No, just most of the time." you admitted. "Sometimes I do just... 'wander aimlessly.'"

"But not tonight."

You sigh again. "No. Not tonight."

After a bit you finally happen upon a small clearing. In the middle of that clearing was a large old oak tree. Its trunk was nearly two meters in diameter and had lovely patches of moss growing on it. Thick branches poked out just low enough to climb on, it was beautiful in the dim light of the night, but it was even more beautiful in daylight.

"Here," you say, "This is where I go. This is my favorite tree."

Yondu was actually stunned for a moment by the magnificence of the the tree, and that didn't happen often. "I can see why. It's certainly a purty one..."

He walked with you closer to the tree and broke off to walk to one side as if he intended to do a lap around the trunk.

"Careful," you say, not wanting him to go any further around the more shadowy part of the tree, "Ground's got a bit of a soft spot over that way. Wouldn't want you to sink in."

Yondu, who, like anyone, obviously wouldn't enjoy that happening, stopped his journey and headed back your way. Better to stay with the person who knew the land, at least when he couldn't see for himself if he was about to fall in a hole.

You approach the tree and sit at its base, gesturing an invite for Yondu to do the same if he chose. He did. You look up at the thick branches and say, "My dad used to bring us out here."

"Us?" Yondu questioned.

"My brother and me."

"Didn't know ya had a brother."

"Didn't ask."

"Would ya have said if I did? Ya don't exactly seem the most forthcoming type." Yondu laughed lightly.

You huff in response. You look back up at the branches and remember the time you and your brother would climb the old tree. sometimes even your dad would try climbing with you, even though he wasn't as agile as his children. You remembered the fun, the laughter, the three of you playing chasing games around the tree. They were some of your fondest memories of before your dad got sick. Before he couldn't take you and your brother out to the tree anymore, though of course by that time the two of you were old enough to make the trip on your own, though it never was quite the same.

You had sat in silence for a bit before Yondu asked, "So what's eatin' ya?"

"What?" you ask, pulled from your thoughts.

"I've kinda gathered ya wouldn't be comin' all the way out here in the middle of the night if everythin' was all fine and dandy, so what's got ya down, girlie?" It seemed obvious to Yondu from what he observed that this would be the case. After some thought, he realized he only caught you heading towards the forest on bad days, like when Rocket messed your kitchen or the night you fought Quill. You were here, therefore, something must be wrong.

"Nothing."

Yondu didn't buy it. "I noticed you disappeared for a long while in the middle of that movie Quill wanted to watch. It have anything to do with that?"

"I told you, I'm fine." you say bitterly. It honestly irritated you how accurate his assumptions were, but just because he was right didn't mean you had to affirm his assumptions.

Yondu sighed. "Alright then, be that way."

After a few moments Yondu breaks the silence again. "So... where are yer family? I know ya said yer daddy's passed, but what about yer mama? Or this brother ya mentioned. Where they at? Why ya out here in that big house all alone?"

You inhale. You considered not answering, but then thought it couldn't hurt much. You could talk a little since he wanted to be nosy. Not like you were going to spill your entire life story, just the sparknotes. "Well, my mom's gone. Died giving birth to me."

"Oh." Yondu was almost sorry he asked. "And yer brother?" He now assumed you were the younger sibling, but he felt it would be in bad taste to mention it. He hoped talking about him might lighten the mood.

"Gone too." you answered.

He winced. He hadn't expected to hear that you were alone alone. "How?" Yondu asked.

"I don't want to talk about it." you replied.

Yondu saw you draw your knees up and rest your chin on them. He realized he shouldn't push his luck. "Sorry to hear that."

"Why? You didn't do it," you say sarcastically. "It's life. Everyone dies eventually." You un-hug your knees and lean back against the tree. "Just how it goes. Life's a bitch and then you die alone."

Yondu catches a crack in your voice but doesn't mention it. He frowns. "Come on now. There's more than that. Ya don't got to spend the rest of it all alone and miserable." He said this because he had to believe it himself. How close had he come to doing just that when his crew mutinied? If Kraglin hadn't still been loyal and if Rocket and Twig hadn't helped with an escape plan, he'd've been slain by the hands of the Kree- if he was lucky, or back in the slave barracks- if he wasn't. He'd never have gotten the chance to save Quill, and even if he hadn't intended to make it out alive, he couldn't deny he was grateful the ship had gotten to him and Quill just in time so that he could spend more time with his boy.

He didn't know your exact age, but he thought you looked at least a little younger than Quill. That was too young to have such a bleak outlook on life. If even he could find even a shred of happiness to cling to, then surely you could as well. He continued, "Surely ya got ya some friends- Or ya could find someone and settle down... start a family.... fill that house of yers with little ankle-biters- Hey, where ya going?"

Your breath hitched and you had stood up quickly, walking back the direction you came. "I'm heading back. You can follow or stay here. I don't really care," you say, trying to keep your voice even and not looking at him as you walked towards the edge of the clearing.

Yondu hurriedly stood to catch up with you. Sure, he could eventually find his way back without you, but he couldn't deny he'd get back much quicker with a guide that knew their way back in the dark. "What'd I say?" Yondu asked, correctly assuming he had said something wrong.

"Nothing. It's just late. Time to start heading back." You still wouldn't look at him, and he almost thought your voice sounded strange, like you were fighting not to cry or something.

Yondu followed you quietly, wondering if he should press the issue or not. He decided to not, convinced he would only make it worse. He hadn't intended to dig up any bad memories, he hadn't expected to find out you really were alone, although it was a sentiment he could empathize with. It's how he had been during the mutiny and Tazerface killed all his good men. Surrounded by people, and yet utterly alone.

He didn't know what it was exactly, but he knew he wanted to make it better. You weren't a child, but still, all he could see now was a sad little girl with no mama or daddy. No brother, no family. All alone. He thought to himself that if he had a heart it might be breaking. Or at least cracked a little.

He made another attempt at conversation, hoping to smooth things over. "So Quill says ya like to shoot arrows?"

"Um... yeah. A bit."

Did he hear a sniff? Surely not.

"Maybe ya could show me how ya Terrans do it sometime."

"Yeah, sure. Whatever." You sniffed again, and Yondu thought he saw your hand come up to your eyes as if to wipe them.

Aw hell. You were crying. Damn. He wasn't sure what, but he was sure it had to have been something he said. He cursed himself. He hated when people cried. Bad enough when someone he stole from tried whipping out the waterworks, even worse when Quill would cry when he was scared or hurt as a boy. The only thing worse than seeing someone cry, was watching as they tried desperately to hide it, but yet couldn't quite stop. 'Cause that meant they weren't trying to get anything from you, they were just genuinely in too much pain to keep it together.

He had to do something to make you stop, so he did the only thing he could think of. He whistled.

A gentle melody played from his lips and you gasped as a streak of red shot through the air. You stopped in place from the shock and before long, you could see the outlined shape of what you could only describe as a fat little troll. It was cute, and so unexpected that you couldn't help but huff out a laugh.

You finally looked at Yondu and he saw the hint of a confused smile playing over your lips. Much better.

He could see the question in your eyes and went ahead and answered without you needing to speak. "Just thought you could use some cheering up." he said. Nice to see he's still got it. That trick always worked to cheer up Quill when he was little.

"I'm fi-"

Yondu cut you off with a shrug. "Yeah. Yer fine. Got it." He whistled again to call his arrow back. "Well this was mighty entertaining, all this... nature and whatnot. Should probably get a move on so this old man can get some sleep." He exaggerated a yawn before walking forward, prompting you into motion as well, seeing as you were the guide. "I'm sure Bug and Twig would like it out here if ya ever decided ya wanted to come out here when the sun's actually out."

You hummed. "Maybe." You tried not to stare as you walked together out of the forest. Had he really just used his weapon... to draw you a picture... to cheer you up? You wanted to laugh but you bit your tongue as you remembered he had also used it to kill a spider for you earlier that day. For as rough as he portrayed himself to be, he was definitely displaying big softie energy. That thought did make you laugh.

"What?" Yondu asked, hearing your snicker from beside him.

You shook your head, now grinning. "Nothing."

"Uh huh." Yondu said, mild suspicion in his voice as he side-eyed you. Whatever. It was better than hearing you try not to cry.

After awhile you finally broke the tree line and made your ways back across the yard and to the backdoor.

You reached the door first and pulled out your key.

"Good to see ya have some sense." Yondu said. "Quill said Terrans always leave their doors unlocked."

You gave him a look as you unlocked the door. You wanted to refute that, but you knew that, at least in the rural areas where you lived, people actually did tend to do that. You settled for saying, "Well, not everyone does. But still, it'd be really irresponsible to just go and leave the door open to any stray passerby with a bunch of obvious aliens inside."

Yondu scoffed.

"What?"

"Ya Terrans thinkin' yer the only ones in the universe. Callin' anyone not from Terra 'alien.'"

You frowned. "Sorry."

Yondu grunted and waved you off. "Eh. Ya'll get there eventually. S'pose if this place wasn't as backwards as it is then we wouldn't be able to lie low here."

You tried not to be offended at that, because he was right. That was literally the reason they were able to hide here.

The two of you re-enter the house and manage to get back to your respective rooms quietly. You changed into something more comfortable to sleep in without waking Mantis and settled into bed.

Before falling asleep you thought about the clearing and your tree. About how you needed to warn Yondu not to walk too far towards the backside of said tree.

You should really find the time to install a sturdier trap door on that tunnel.

#gotg #guardians of the galaxy #yondu x reader #x reader #yondu #yondu udonta #secrets #sneaking #yondad #bonding #yaka arrow

[empire-of-wildfire]

HOLIDAY SURPRISE

A @starseternalnighttriumphant X @empire-of-wildfire CHRISTMAS MINI-FIC COLLABORATION

a/n: here’s the first part guys!! We hope you guys enjoy it! Sorry for those of you that saw this yesterday, I’m not sure why tumblr decided to post it almost 24 hours early. Send me or Hannah @starseternalnighttriumphant an ask if you’d like to be added to the tag list!

Cassian Laskaris’s personal phone buzzed in his jacket pocket, causing him to frown. Almost no one bothered him on his phone while he was at work, so he fished it out of the deep pocket and looked at the name that flashed on the screen. A sigh followed by a small smirk, he answered the call and put the phone up to his ear.

“Yes, Your Highness?”

“Funny,” Rhys answered, voice full of amusement. “I was just checking for cold feet.”

“Are you sure you meant to call me and not Feyre?” Cassian drawled.

“Hers are warm and currently playing footsie with mine.” There was a shuffle and Feyre’s tinkling laugh in the background. “I just want to make sure you’re actually coming.”

Rhys’s worry was genuine, but it still grated Cassian’s nerves. He had promised his found brother he would be there for his wedding, and Cassian was many things, but he never broke his promises to the people he loved.

“Yes, bastard brother of mine,” Cassian sighed, spinning in his office chair. “I leave in the morning. I’ll see your ugly face tomorrow.”

His door opened, a beautiful dark haired, deeply tanned skin woman walking in, her hips swinging. Emerie smirked at him, holding a folder, and he took his time dragging his eyes over her. She looked extremely good in that tight black dress and he wanted to—

“Are you still there?”

“Sorry,” Cassian muttered, leashing his dirty thoughts. Now wasn’t the time. “Yes, Rhys, I’ll be there. I have everything set up, I’ll see you around one or two p.m.”

He hung up before Rhys could say anything else, turning his womanizing smile towards Emerie. She had started at the firm less than a year ago, and Cassian knew he shouldn’t have spent most of the time fooling around with her. But she was a good distraction, and she didn’t want anything from him besides friendship with benefits. She was also the only woman that had lasted this long in the past four years since he’d left Velaris. Most women only made it a few weeks, maybe a month or two.

“Dinner tonight before I leave?” he asked as she handed him the folder containing his next high profile law case.

“My pleasure,” she purred, winking as she left.

-

Despite Rhys’s protests, Cassian had decided to rent a car and stay at one of the two hotels in Velaris. He hadn’t been home once in four years; he felt awkward even being back in his old stomping grounds without the subtle tension his presence in Rhys and Feyre’s home would bring. He didn’t fit in anymore, and though his brother would never admit it, Cassian knew it was better to keep a distance. And he knew Rhys and Feyre would be busy with wedding planning, and his intrusion in their house would probably create more stress since he was staying through Christmas until the day after New Years, their wedding on the very first day of the year. Rhys and Feyre were disgustingly romantic like that.

After checking into the hotel and letting Rhys know he was on his way, Cassian decided last minute to take the scenic route to his brother’s home. He wasn’t sure what had pushed him to do it; curiosity, maybe. He hadn’t been home in four years.

Velaris hadn’t changed much in the years since he’d been gone. Honestly it was like looking into a time capsule— everything was almost identical to how it had been when he’d blown out of town to chase his dreams. Driving through the small town, he was immediately transported back in time to his high school and college days.

Ahead on his right was the park where he’d met Feyre, Nesta, and Elain not long after the Archeron family had moved to Velaris. He still remembered that night perfectly: he’d been having a normal conversation with Azriel when Feyre walked over, her sisters in tow, and his entire world had stopped the moment his eyes fell on Nesta. She was without a doubt the most beautiful girl he’d ever seen. Dressed simply in a gray t-shirt dress and sandals, her long golden brown hair was braided around her head. Cassian remembered marveling, knowing that something so intricate had to have taken quite a bit of time. Nesta hadn’t appreciated the staring, and made sure to tell him as much as soon as she walked up to him.

He abruptly shook himself out of the memory, trying to focus on driving so he didn’t get lost in his past and the girl who still haunted his dreams even four years later. But then just a bit further down the road, there was the restaurant where he’d taken her on their first date, almost a year after he’d met her. It had taken him so long to get her to go out with him, he honestly thought she’d just agreed to get him to leave her alone. But that night he’d walked her to the door and he’d said goodnight, not wanting to push her too far. He had moved to leave when she’d grabbed him by the shirt and kissed him. Nesta was the kind of girl who knew what she wanted, even back then, and that first kiss broke and remade him all at once.

The entire drive to Rhys’s house was a lot of the same. He passed their spot, a hidden trail leading back to a small lake that he’d taken Nesta to after six months of dating, which was where they had their first time. He still sometimes got embarrassed at how awkward he’d been then. He passed the Archeron’s old house, now occupied by a different family, which was where he told her he loved her for the first time. Everywhere he turned, memories of him and Nesta haunted him like a ghost. It left him unsettled, that despite years of silence and trying to forget and move on, Nesta was still so much a part of who he was.

He was glad when he finally pulled Rhys’s driveway, able to put the memories of the past to bed and focus on the present. His excitement at being home increased exponentially as he got out of the car; he’d missed his brothers, and despite how infrequently they communicated he still loved his family fiercely.

He knocked on the door twice and within seconds it was opening. He hadn’t expected it to be the tall and lithe woman his brother had been in love with nearly a decade, but his grin was genuine as Feyre laughed in delight and all but jumped into his arms, hugging him tight. He wrapped a strong arm around her, hefting her up as he pushed further into their house. He set her down and he ruffled her hair when she looked back at him.

She batted his hand away. “I was worried I wouldn’t recognize you.”

He raised a brow. “I’m hurt. It’s only been a few years.”

Feyre rolled her eyes and turned towards the staircase. “Rhys, my favorite brother is here!”

Cassian laughed as Rhys came down the stairs, shaking his head. “Gone four years and you’re already trying to steal my fiancée, brother.”

The two hugged firmly, and Cassian tried to ignore the tightness in his throat. He remembered the last time he’d seen Rhys in person. It had been a year after he left, and his brother had all but begged him to come home. But Cassian had been so entrenched in his work, climbing up the ladder at the law office he’d joined, and he’d refused. It had led to a huge argument, and though it had long since been resolved, Cassian still thought about it almost everyday.

“It’s good to see you,” Rhys told him, clapping him on the shoulder. “I hope you’re ready for some wedding planning because we have about five more seconds before Feyre darling sends you out on a task.”

Feyre’s slim hand smacked Rhys’s arm. “I was going to ease him into it.”

Cassian huffed a laugh, meeting his future sister-in-law’s eyes. “Tell me what you need.”

Feyre rattled off that she needed him to pick up all the stationary waiting at the printing shop, place cards and thank you notes and custom signs to scatter around the wedding venue. She gave him the receipt and told him where it was, even though it was unnecessary. It seemed that nothing had changed in this small town, and that included the local printing shop. He was willing to bet it was still owned by the same old woman that had printed their graduation announcements so many years ago.

The shop was near the town center, and he parked on the side of the road next to the library. He got out and looked at the towering structure, knowing that it used to be the town hall hundreds of years ago when Velaris used to only have a few hundred people. Now it was the library, and his mind drifted back to spending summers there, doing book reports on books he never actually read. He remembered finding Nesta there the next week after he’d met her and her sisters, nestled in a quiet corner with a book in her hands.

He’d been surprised; he’d only known her for a week but she had struck him as the reading type. He remembered he had come up to her to talk to her and she’d hid the book behind her back, a light blush staining her cheeks, taking his breath away which he had tried to hide with a laugh. He’d managed to grab the book from her hands and saw that it was one of the smutty romances that were in the adult section that he and his brothers had snickered at as young teens.

A slight smile turned his lips up as he remembered how embarrassed and angry she’d been, and how she’d gotten him back by “accidentally” spilling her drink all over his pants during lunch. He’d been mocked for weeks.

He blinked, pulling himself out of the memory, shaking his head slightly. Gods, he was going to go insane if he stayed in this town longer than he had to. It was bad enough he was here for over a week. He’d have to stay holed up in his hotel room as much as possible if he wanted to escape wave after wave of memories and nostalgia that seemed to crash into him without any warning.

Cassian headed down the street and grabbed all the wedding stationary from the printing shop. Sure enough, it was that same old lady. And she’d been delighted that he was back in town, patting his cheeks and telling him to come by before he left. He’d given her his charming grin, but he’d left feeling… off.

The drive back to Rhys and Feyre’s house was a blur, trying not to let his mind wander as he pulled into the driveway. Hefting the large paper bags that held everything Feyre had ordered, he walked up the steps and reached for the doorknob with his free hand.

The door opened before his fingers even brushed the cool metal, a figure he’d almost mistaken as Feyre standing in the doorway. She was dressed in dark blue scrubs, her golden brown hair braided in that all too familiar crown around her head. Her smooth, flawless face froze in an expression of pure shock, her full lips falling open as she stared at him.

He knew his own mouth was hanging open, his heart in his throat as he met the steel blue gaze of the woman he had known better than he’d known himself. A woman he’d loved fiercely for almost seven years, a face that haunted his dreams even when he tried so hard to forget her.

He hadn’t seen her, handn’t heard from her, hadn’t even heard her voice in four years but Nesta Archeron’s silky tone still managed to raise goosebumps along his skin as she blurted out, “What the fuck are you doing here?”

-

@werewolffprince

@schmlip-scribble

@justgiu12

@westofmoon

@legallyhermione

@love-is-a-contradiction

@shyvioletcat

@oversizedbats

@superspiritfestival

@ladywitchling

@highqueenofelfhame

@disgreisful

@empress-ofbloodshed

@lovemollywho

@rocky99

#holiday surprise #holiday surprise 1 #hs1 #nessian #starseternalnighttriumphant x empire of wildfire

[themurphyzone]

PatB Oneshot: Crystal Clear

AN: Part of an art trade with @plutonis in honor of her upcoming wedding. She tasked me with writing an introspective piece for a Brinky wedding. The art piece I requested is for the next chapter of Nova, so you’ll see the finished product there. 

Prompt given by Pluto: I was wondering if you could do a little fic in which Brain is walking down the aisle on his wedding day, and we hear the thoughts going on in his head. What is he thinking? How is he feeling?

AO3 Link

If Brain had his way, he would’ve taped himself to the table leg with extra strong industrial strength duct tape and remained there for the rest of his life.

But Romy wouldn’t let him attach himself to said table leg, and Wakko already ate the duct tape to prevent him from getting it. All other binding materials, including the shoe strings and gluesticks, had been placed on a shelf mockingly out of his reach.

And since he was already in his wedding dress, he couldn’t even climb the shelf to retrieve the necessary materials.

“Dad, you’re killing the glarb,” Romy complained as he pried Brain from the table leg.

“Unhand me at once or so help me, Roman Numeral One!” Brain shouted, trying to break free from Romy’s grip, but it seemed their son had inherited Pinky’s unusual strength.

Wakko wasn’t any help either. He just watched the spectacle from his perch on the dresser, chomping on a platter of garlic prawns swiped from the catering company. Thankfully, Brain had the foresight to order plenty of garlic prawns for their celebratory dinner.

As soon as Romy’s grip loosened, Brain broke free and reattached himself to the table leg.

Funny, how he wanted this for so long. Yearned for it. And when the time came, even after all the progress he’d made, he was still afraid for reasons he didn’t understand.

It was illogical, he knew. He trusted Pinky more than anyone else, even himself.

But even that wasn’t enough to get him moving again.

“Guess someone’s gotta tell Ma you’re not coming,” Romy sighed.

Brain’s fingers dug into the wooden grooves.

“He’s definitely gonna cry. Probably gonna curl up on the couch and watch daytime soap operas with buckets of triple fudge ice cream or something,” Romy continued.

Sweet, innocent Pinky being heartbroken at his own wedding. Running off and doing who-knows-what, because he could be very unpredictable when he was truly distraught. His simple mind eroding away because of the unhealthy combination of trashy soap operas and ice cream diet.

Brain’s heart clenched uncomfortably at that mental image. With great reluctance, Brain let go of the table leg and marched over to the mirror to smooth out the wrinkles in his wedding dress to keep his hands occupied as he quelled that troublesome idea.  

“You’re gonna tell him that Brain’s in here, right?” Wakko asked.

“Sure,” Romy replied.

Wait...everyone knew of his intentions to see this wedding through to the end. And he'd never let the hard work and efforts of their wedding plans go to waste.

It was just a ploy.

Brain took a deep breath. To lose his temper before the ceremony would surely spell catastrophe. He wanted to keep this an emotionally satisfying occasion, for Pinky’s sake.

“Romy, I won’t deny that your tactic was effective. But you will refrain from using my fondness for Pinky against me in the future,” Brain said.

Perhaps Roman Numeral One took after him more than he thought. It was impressive and aggravating at the same time.

"Sorry, Dad." Romy's head dropped as he handed the bouquet to Brain.

Like with Pinky, Brain just didn't have it in him to remain angry once an apology was issued. He transferred the bouquet to one hand and lifted Romy's chin from its downcast position.

"Look alive, Romy. This is a celebration," Brain ordered as he turned back to the mirror. "And Wakko, you're not touching our wedding rings with prawn-stained hands."

Wakko pulled out a kitchen sink from his hammerspace and started washing his hands without removing his gloves. With the soft hum of Happy Birthday in the background, Brain turned back to the mirror and examined himself one more time. They didn’t have long before the ceremony began.

His dress towed the line between simple and extravagant. Ruffles in the right places, but not so many that it would hinder movement. A small hole had been cut to fit his tail, carefully sized so that it was easy to thread the stiff appendage through. His sleeves cut off at the elbow, white fabric giving way to a delicate flower pattern, lending an elegant and dignified quality to the outfit.

It hadn’t been easy obtaining this dress. He’d lost track of how many toy aisles Pinky had dragged him down, and he didn’t want his outfit to come from the toy section of Walmart. Pinky had eventually called Dot for help, and with her connections, she arranged for a fashion designer who specialized in making clothes for dolls to help them out.

And while they eventually put the issue of clothes behind them, they had a fair number of arguments when Brain found a reason to reject all the dresses Pinky suggested. Especially with that gaudy puffed sleeve dress Pinky loved but Brain hated.

“I realize we must’ve been insufferable for the past few months,” Brain said. Planning for a wedding wasn’t anything like planning for world domination, as he learned the hard way. But it was Pinky’s wedding as much as it was his, and after one vehement disagreement, Brain had realized he was pushing out Pinky’s contributions to impose his own.

It wasn’t easy, but he did try to turn over some aspects to Pinky, just to see how he did with them. And Brain didn’t regret that choice, because the results were absolutely wonderful.

“Yeah, you and Ma were ruining my vibes,” Romy gave a lazy smile as Brain nudged him in retaliation.

Romy had said something similar when he’d first run away from home, but mischief had long replaced the anger. Though Brain still didn’t think ventriloquism was a lucrative career, he’d made his peace with Romy’s lifestyle while repairing their relationship. And Romy wasn’t the only one who derived happiness from working with dummies.

“Regardless, we’re grateful that you came,” Brain said.

“Wouldn’t miss it,” Romy shrugged. “Better save your sap for the ceremony though.”

“I’m not being sappy,” Brain muttered out of principle rather than true irritation.

It was 2:55 pm. Five minutes until the ceremony began. He was running out of time.

He quickly fixed his leaf crown and attached veil so that it was less crooked. In years past, he never would’ve been satisfied until a golden crown with embedded jewels rested atop his head. But now he found the leaf crown was worth so much more than gold.

Then he made sure the transparent veil covered his face. The thin fabric didn’t hinder his vision, but he felt like he was looking through a lens.

Everyone would be watching him. He wanted that thin wall of privacy between himself and the onlookers. Seeing outside, but concealing his feelings within.

He didn’t have to. He knew he didn’t. But old habits die hard, it seemed.

The clock chimed three. It was time.  

What could go wrong?

“Don’t worry!” Wakko exclaimed as he picked up the purple velvet cushion with their wedding rings. “I didn’t mistake these for tiny Ring Pops this time!”

Brain was a fool. A sentimental, lovestruck, starcrossed, and twitterpated fool.

Wakko brought up the lead as they marched through the twisting hallways of the enormous property they’d rented for their Hawaiian wedding. Surprisingly, coming up with a location for their wedding hadn’t been difficult. After a stressful day of making other arrangements, they’d chosen a scenic, relaxing travel documentary to unwind.

As soon as the documentary showed a beautiful Hawaiian beach at sunset, they both agreed on making Hawaii the destination of choice for both wedding and honeymoon. Brain gripped the flower bouquet tightly, careful not to crush the petals between his fingers. Romy’s hand was on his elbow, light enough to not be intrusive but quick to react so Brain didn’t run into a wall.

He’d assigned Pinky to the task of flower selection, and Pinky had researched the meaning of flowers extensively with an unusual amount of focus. If Pinky had his way, he would’ve gathered one specimen of every flower in the world and brought them to the wedding, though Brain eventually convinced him to narrow his list down to a single digit range.

Brain was only familiar with the rose as a symbol of love, and he recalled the meaning of only two other flowers within their wedding. The rest were completely lost on him. The first was the magnolia, which represented perseverance. As such, a white magnolia stood proudly in his bouquet, nestled among the red roses of passionate love. Pinky had chosen the magnolia for Brain, and insisted Brain choose at least one flower too.

Though Brain didn’t place much stock in what the websites claimed, he just went along with it to humor Pinky. But he’d settled on the colorful freesia, just to thank Pinky for his friendship, faith, and trust for all the years they’d known each other.

Their miniature procession stopped at a glass sliding door that separated them from the rest of the proceedings.

Brain gulped and clutched the bouquet to his chest.

Beyond those doors, the wedding guests mingled with each other on the grass. A gorgeous, azure beach formed the perfect backdrop to the ceremony. White, fluffy clouds dotted the sunny skies, and the beauty was rather foreign to him. He’d spent far too much of his life hiding away in the darkness of a sterile lab.

It seemed the entirety of their Animaniacs coworkers had shown up for the wedding. He was surprised by the turnout, but it seemed that everyone had been clamoring for him and Pinky to tie the knot for years.

And while the usual toon antics were prevalent among the guests, Brain’s attention was drawn to the very front, where Pinky was arranging flowers on Pharfignewton, who’d jumped at the offer of being Pinky’s best mare.

Back then, the sight would’ve incited a feeling he’d come to realize was jealousy. Now he was just grateful that Pinky received some physical affection from someone when Brain couldn’t give it to him.

Wakko opened the screen door, causing a stir among the guests in the back, which caused a ripple effect that spread to the front and prompted everyone to take their seats. Pinky slid off Pharfignewton’s back, bouncing on his toes and craning his neck to see Brain.

Even from this far away, Brain saw Pinky’s bright, goofy smile. It made him regret keeping the veil over his face, cloaking his happiness even from his partner.

“Testing, testing!” Yakko said into the microphone. When he’d been ordained to officiate a wedding, nobody knew for sure. He shuffled through the cards for his opening speech. “Alright, everyone. We’ve all been very impatient for this moment, so no more delays, capiche? Dot, start the music!”

A hush fell across the audience, and even the most rambunctious members of the Animaniacs crew fell silent as a soft piano arrangement of A Whole New World began to play.

Wakko proudly held the cushion with the wedding rings over his head and marched to the front. From the aisle, Mindy reached into her basket and threw pink flower petals into the air, and Buttons held onto her so she didn’t fall out of her seat.  

Romy released Brain and followed Wakko. Pinky greeted their son with an enthusiastic hug, and Bunny flashed them a thumbs-up from her seat.  

All the attention was on Brain now.

He wasn’t sure if he wanted it.

He wanted to flee inside the house. Tell everyone to go home and they’ll get refunded the costs at a later date. Take Pinky to city hall and sign a document to make their marriage official instead.

The audience whispered.

He saw the worry in Pinky’s eyes, a stunning shade of blue that popped out from the beautiful Hawaiian beach. They were too far from each other to speak normally, but Pinky laid his hand on top of the colorful freesia pinned to his white dress shirt, just over his heart.

Trust me, he was saying.

And Pinky had proven himself worthy of his trust long ago.

Slowly, Brain laid his hand on the magnolia, the centerpiece of his bouquet.

I won’t give up.

Pinky smiled that soft, knowing smile of his. Emboldened by his encouragement, Brain stepped out of the house and onto the white, silky path that had been laid out for him.

He took slow, methodical steps to steel his nerves. This was his reward, and he was allowed to have it.

No more electricity, no more fear of rejection.

The happiness of having someone by his side. The sorrow when they were separated either by force or by choice. The surprise of receiving gifts from Pinky when he’d done nothing to deserve them. The guilt that came from upsetting Pinky with morally questionable schemes.

Emotions he’d once derided as frivolous were now precious and dear to him.

All the good, all the bad, and everything in between. And this occasion marked a brand new beginning, a new chapter of their lives that would bring new happiness and surprises. Though they’d be sad, angry, or terrified sometimes, they’d always be together.

That’s what counted most.

The melody of A Whole New World floated gently through the air. An airy tune filled with wonder at a world previously unknown to them.

He and Pinky dueted this song so many times that the lyrics and background instrumentals were permanently etched into his mind.

Only now did he understand what the song was truly about. Leaving behind their defined roles, into a freedom-filled sky. Just the two of them, exploring a huge world together. The burdens of the past and worries of the future left on the ground, and all that mattered was the present.

Being themselves, and experiencing things they’ve never experienced before.

It was terrifying and exhilarating all at once.

He could hardly wait.

Pinky waited for him, taking Brain’s hand in his own. He was absolutely breathtaking up close.

“Narf,” Pinky whispered, and Brain would never tire of that endearingly stupid word. “You did it, Brain.”

“All thanks to you, Pinky,” Brain replied, and Pinky’s tail wagged at the praise.  

Together, they walked to that beautiful wedding arch with intertwining pink and blue flowers, stopping in front of Yakko’s podium. Brain gave his bouquet to Romy so he could properly hold Pinky’s hands. Romy gave them a lazy grin, and Pharfignewton lowered her head so Romy could have a good perch. Wakko proudly balanced the cushion on his head, and Dot stood beside her brother, giving him a friendly shove without knocking the wedding rings off.

And Brain realized he was still seeing the world through veiled eyes. Though his vision was unimpeded, he’d barely noticed there was a filter among all his doubts and fears.

He’d kept the veil for a transparent amount of privacy when he walked down the aisle, but now that he was with Pinky…

Well, it just wasn’t necessary anymore.

He brought Pinky’s hands to the veil. Their eyes met, and a silent understanding passed between them.

Then Pinky threw back the veil, and the filter he’d been looking through was completely gone. And Brain saw the...no, he saw his world through fresh eyes.

A bright, happy, silly mouse stood before him, a colorful burst of freesia on his chest, and beautiful sky-blue eyes filled with endless love, promising hope and warmth and companionship forever more.

“You’re so pretty, Brain,” Pinky giggled.

It was the most wonderful sound for his compass, his heart, and his world.  

No more tolerating. He fully accepted the undeniable fact of how much he loved Pinky, and Pinky loving him back from this point forward.

Never before had he felt so much happiness, and he was ready for everyone to see it.

Unable to contain himself, Brain leapt into Pinky’s arms and kissed him. Though he heard their audience reacting with shock, it was all just background noise to him. And he’d never been a patient mouse.

Pinky was surprised at first, but his strong arms wrapped around Brain to support him, and he kissed back wonderfully.

Fireworks exploded in Brain’s mind, or maybe the Warners set some off, he didn’t know. But he had to come up for air, and he released the kiss, though it seemed Pinky could keep going for quite some time.

“Technically, you’re supposed to wait until I say ‘you may now kiss the Brain’, but who am I to stop true love?” Yakko grinned.

“Sorry,” the mice chorused, though neither of them regretted the little break in protocol.

The audience burst into cheers, and Yakko led them in a standing ovation for a good five minutes before they all settled down enough for him to start his opening speech.

“Love you, Brain,” Pinky whispered as he put Brain down and took his hands again.

“Love you too, Pinky,” Brain replied, and he couldn’t wipe the smile off his face.

Everything was laid out before them, clear as crystal and bright as day.

End AN: This is cheesy but I don’t care I love it and they’re married now. 

The Hawaiian setting is not a reference to the PatB fic Trouble in Paradise, it’s just that the last wedding I went to was in Hawaii and it was so romantic.

3rd time I’ve referenced A Whole New World in these fics. This song is just too perfect for them. 

#pinky and the brain #brinky #patb fanfiction #cheesy in a good fluffy way

[armageddonouttahere]

Consolation

Title: Consolation

Summary: Takes place after “Putting Others First”, in which Roman sinks into his room and doesn’t leave for a while. Logan is the only one not preoccupied enough to come and lure him out, but in this he has to face emotions he’s been putting on the backburner for a long time.

Pairings: Romantic Logince, background platonic Moxiety

Warnings: Crying, self-doubt, insecurity, negative thinking

Rating: General Audiences

Genres: Fluff, Hurt/comfort (with a happy ending)

Word count: 2,500

A/N:  Here we are, at last! I had cranked out the last couple paragraphs of this fic just an hour ago, and I’m very excited. This had gone from a little Logince comfort drabble to a fic of 2,500 words (exactly, though I didn’t do that on purpose). I hope anyone who sees this enjoys it, and everyone who’s been waiting for it likes it even more, after all this suspense. Taglist will be at the end, under the cut.

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Logan was at a loss. The aftermath of Janus’ name reveal left all the sides shaken and fragile. Especially Roman. Logan wanted to help, he wanted to be able to tell Roman with certainty that he will be okay, that everything will be alright. Logan needed to be able to look Roman in the eyes and know that the words that came out of his mouth are truths.

But he can’t. So, Logan focused on the problems he could solve. He endeavoured to keep Thomas in working order, though on the inside he may be struggling. Virgil seemed to have taken a backseat, focused on watching over Patton. The most he’d seen of the anxious side was weekly updates and reports on Patton’s condition, how he was feeling, which Logan appreciated greatly. He needed all the positive data he could get.

As the logical side, Logan was somewhat attuned with the other sides’ reasoning and thought process. He needed this information to be accurate in order to know how Thomas works, how he functions. He knew how the other sides try to solve problems, how they understand things. When something or someone throws a wrench in the system it’s one of the few things that affected Logan physically.

In the aftermath after Roman sank out Logan had migraines for weeks. Roman’s flawed logic- his flawed perception of himself- is the one thing that has caused Logan the most physical pain. Roman’s view of himself shifted so drastically to the negative end that Logan felt… sorry? For him? 

He felt… he- he felt. Roman made him feel. What did he feel, exactly? Empathy? It was true that Roman’s emotional pain gave Logan physical pain, but the shared anguish went further than that. Logan knew what it’s like to feel wrong, to feel unheard. He related to Roman. He knew what he’s going through. 

Their opinions may differ, but Roman still needed consolation. Logan won’t further his belief that Janus is the villain, but Roman doesn’t need a scolding or a lecture, skewed though his viewpoint of Janus may be. He needed someone to listen to him, someone to comfort him.

Logan was aware that he’s no optimal candidate for the matter, not the first choice for consolation (nor the second). He does not possess the endless cuddles and comfort food of Patton, nor does he have the quiet understanding and listening ears of Virgil. His only way of reassuring the prince is through data, probabilities, and chances. Inadequate. Unsatisfactory. Definitely not enough.

Logan made a plan. A plan to make Roman feel better. A plan to get Roman to open his door, something he hadn’t done in two weeks. He gathered things he believed he would need in order to cheer Roman up: the Sherlock screenplay Roman had gifted him at Christmastime, Logan’s book of Shakespeare’s plays (Hamlet being pre-marked with a red sticky-note, in case Roman is feeling increasingly dramatic and macabre), his journal for note-taking, vocab cards, and his laptop- which has a playlist compilation full of ‘cute’ animal videos at the ready. All of this was needed for Logan to get up the courage to knock on Roman’s door. He felt as if he’s putting on an armour of sorts. Preparing himself for battle. 

It’s quite funny- the logical side needs bravery and courage to step outside his area of expertise and comfort the prince of the group.

May 17th, 2020. 1830 hours. Attempt #1: Prologue.

Roman has not left his corner of the mindscape for 16 days, 6 hours, and 28 minutes. Virgil has just given an update on Patton’s condition, which is thus: Patton’s “room” has slightly lessened in its intensity of upsetting emotions. The picture frames’ rate of showing unfavourable memories has decreased. Patton has not cried yet today. The Dark Sides, Remus and Janus, seem to be keeping on the “down-low”. Thomas has not had any intrusive dreams in many days. Virgil has been too preoccupied in keeping tabs on Patton to give him anxiety over much.  Thomas’ motivation has gone down. His restlessness has gone up. Roman’s unconscious contributions to Thomas’ everyday life have gone down significantly. Thomas has stopped daydreaming. He has stopped thinking about the future, what he has to do tomorrow. He is becoming forgetful and apathetic.  As the logical side, there is only so much I can do to keep Thomas in working order without help from the others, that much I can admit. I have put off trying to help Roman in case things only become worse, but the stakes are too high at this point. Action must be taken. I will record the results of this 1st attempt later.

Logan steeled himself, books tucked under his arm. He took a deep breath and knocked on the door. 

Around nine at night, he wrote down the results. Roman had been unresponsive to polite requests for entry, knocking, attempts to start a conversation, small-talk, even a referencing desire to build a snowman. He had not responded to propositions of reading from plays or poetry, or any of his favourite literature. In summary, it was almost like speaking to a “brick-wall” (almost, because the door to Roman’s room was made of mahogany).

“Really? Things must be bad,” was Virgil’s response as Logan recounted the events to him later that evening. It was late, almost time for Logan to get some shut-eye after organizing Thomas’ duties for tomorrow. Logan had entered the kitchen hoping that Thomas would get a good night’s sleep so he could have the highest level of productivity the next day, but judging by the Monster Energy drink resting in Virgil’s hands he supposed that was not the case.

“It is certainly concerning. I tried… if not everything, at least a substantial amount of options.”

“Yeah, and if Roman doesn’t answer to a Disney reference… I’m worried about him. Do you want... me to try?” he said, fidgeting. Logan realized he looked uncomfortable with the idea. Virgil must felt a little guilty for not showing up at all during the argument.

“No, I believe that more attempts should be made. To wear him down, in a way. I’m planning to try again tomorrow.”

“Same Bat Time, same Bat Place?”

“An interesting way of putting it, but that’s the idea.” Logan rubbed his eyes and began making a list of all his tasks once he returned to his room.

“Alright. I’m gonna go see Thomas.” Virgil said, getting ready to sink out.

“I assumed you were. And Virgil?”

He popped back up. “Yeah?”

“Please at least try to motivate him a bit, if through fear? I don’t want to deal with a gloomy, unproductive Thomas tomorrow.”

“You got it. I won’t screw him up too much. ‘Night, Lo.”

“Good-night, Virgil.” He was alone.

“Roman?” Logan knocked once more. “Roman, would you be open to company? I wish to speak with you.”

Nothing. He sighed, pushing his journal farther into his pants pocket. He decided to come with substantially less things this time around. To come as he is.

“I’m not entertaining visitors or guests at the present. Please come back another time, thank you,” came a weak and muffled response.

The sound of Roman’s voice gave Logan an ache in his heart which he didn’t want to name. He ignored it, for the moment.

“I just want to speak with you. You’ve been decidedly quiet these past few weeks. Your input, both in-person and in Thomas’ subconscious has dropped a considerable amount. As far as I am aware you have not made your presence known to me or any of the other sides in over two weeks.”

Silence was his response. Facts were getting Logan nowhere. Logan sighed, struggling with himself. Did he tell Roman what he thought in simple terms, what he was trying to say through his data? How could he bare himself to Roman’s listening ears, let himself be known?

“In all honesty, Roman, I’m- I’m…” He took a breath. “I’m worried about you.” He said this in a rush, letting it all out in one breath. Like a Band-aid, as Virgil had stated. The silence that still followed both frightened him and spurred him on.

“Roman, I- I haven’t spoken to you in weeks. I’m afraid of what will happen if you stay isolated for much longer. You’re a necessary part of Thomas’ life, for me to have things to maintain and keep in order. But more than that, more than duties of mine, I mis- I’m… finding your absence upsetting.”

Logan faintly realised his hands had begun to shake, and he clenched them.

“You… mean a lot to m- the Mindscape, to Patton, to Virgil… to everyone. No one means you harm. We need your input on discussions, and revel in your ideas and thoughts. We... miss you.”

Just gotta rip it off.

“I- I miss you, Roman.” Logan shut his eyes, forcing out the idea that he had become emotional enough to begin producing tears. Logic does not cry. “We bicker sometimes and both of us are wrong on occasion, but I would rather have arguments with you than nothing without.”

“Seeing your vibrance and excitement in brainstorming, your happiness in Disney movies and romances, watching your brilliance when creating plays and stories and… being you, I- I find myself… swept up- metaphorically, of course- in every emotion you give off when you’re around me. Seeing you productive and happy gives me more of a reason to work to the best of my ability.”

“It’s… it would be difficult for me to ever say these things in the hearing of the other sides, but… I miss the feelings you bring me when you are around. It is something greater than a job well done, Crofters, or puzzles and murder mysteries being solved.”

“The emotions I feel when you are around are something more than a simple pleasure in watching, in the aesthetical enjoyment of seeing things fall into place. When I’m with you, I feel… spurred into action.”

“Roman, I- I can’t… I can’t bear your absence any longer. I’m worried about you, but more than that, I’m worried that should you keep to yourself, I’ll never… I- I won’t…” Logan swept aside a few tears that had run down his face. His throat ached so much that he feared he wouldn’t be able to get any more words out. The words he spoke next came out in a hoarse whisper.

“Without you I’m afraid I’ll never feel anything again.”

A shuddered gasp tore itself from Logan’s throat as he took his first proper breath in a few minutes. Tears slicked their way down his face freely now. This was, Logan supposed, because such a long drought of emotion had rendered him virtually unable to control any that did overcome him.

“However,” Logan began once more after a few more minutes of silence, his voice quieter now. If anyone else had heard it, they might have said he sounded ashamed. “Should you wish to remain alone for… whatever period of time, I won’t stop you. Asking you to open your door for my sake is extremely selfish of me. I’m… I’m sorry, Roman.”

Logan took one more breath before turning around to leave. He had no idea what the effects of his speech would be, and that scared him. He was in an entirely new territory. This was an unprecedented event, with no similar experiences to compare it to. He had ‘boldly gone where no man had gone before’, so to say.

Logan was so wrapped in his own panic, for that is what it was, he almost missed the imperceptible click of Roman’s door opening as he walked away. Every muscle in Logan’s body tensed, and he prepared for angry words and scathing insults. Logan would face it, however. He turned around, and was met with a sight for some very sore eyes.

Roman held open his door an infinitesimal amount, peering through the crack. Through the small open space Logan could see the prince out of his usual outfit, the beautiful swath of his hair, and one very tearful eye. Logan opened his mouth without knowing what would come out, but the air was knocked out of him.

Roman flung the door open wide and his socked feet ate up the steps between them as he flung his arms around Logan, the force of his embrace almost tipping Logan over. An embarrassing ‘oof’ escaped him at the impact and his hands went up to grip the back of Roman’s jumper after only a second of hesitation.

Logan’s mind filled incredibly fast with all sorts of information: the scent of Roman’s hair, the warmth of his body, how Roman buried his head in Logan’s neck and the slight wetness that came from tears. The way Roman’s nose jutted into his neck, the almost imperceptible touch of Roman’s lips on his shirt collar. Logan’s body betrayed him in an audible catch of his breath as Roman clung to him harder.

“Roman, I-” Logan began in a faint whisper, but Roman only shushed him and tightened his grip, rocking them from side to side ever so slightly.

They stayed like that for Galileo knows how long when the prince peeled himself from Logan. Roman looked upon Logan with eyes so bright from unshed tears Logan would have believed there were stars in them.

“You never said anything. Not a word.”

Their conversation was as hushed as could be, the Mindscape and the world beyond it ceasing to exist and zooming in on the two of them, in this moment.

“I’m not good with words. When it comes to talking about feelings, I mean. You know this.”

“Don’t lie, Specs. That was one of the most eloquent and beautiful things I’ve ever heard.”

Logan scrambled to find a breath within him as Roman smiled up at him. For one of the few times in his life, he found himself with nothing to say.

“It was moving, and heartfelt-” Roman continued, taking Logan’s hand and stepping back, towards his room. He paused in his motions and looked at Logan once more.

“-and it was incredibly romantic.” He said softly.

“I’m- I’m glad.” came Logan’s strangled reply. Roman smiled at him again and led him into his room. There they would sit and talk for hours, and Logan would hold Roman to his chest. They would confess to things bothering them and their hopes, dreams, and fears for the future. It would grow late, and Logan would give in and begin to card his hands through Roman’s hair as the prince drifted off to sleep.

There, in the black-blue of the sky of Roman’s window, scattered with stars and the slanting rays of the moon, Logan would look down upon the prince’s sleeping head and realize, though he had first doubted his abilities, he had been enough. Enough for Roman and for himself. He had been enough.

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Taglist:

@count-woe-laf @psychedelicships

#franklin writes #sanders sides #thomas sanders #thomas sanders sanders sides #ts sanders sides #roman sanders #logan sanders #patton sanders #virgil sanders #ts roman #ts logan #ts patton #ts virgil #logince #logince fanfiction #logan x roman #logic x princey #logic x prince #sanders sides fanfiction #ts sides fanfiction

[dramaticsnakes]

The Revived: Chapter 21: Observations

This is chapter 21 of the Dream SMP multichapter fic @rainbowbutterfrosting​ and I wrote together! I hope you’ll enjoy!

AO3

Read in order (on Tumblr)

Characters in this chapter: Wilbur, Ghostbur, Ranboo

Word count: 3551

Cw: intrusive thoughts about hurting others, overworking, isolation, food, mentions of burning, tension between characters, arguments

Fic summary: Wilbur was alive, and it was such a magnificent feeling, that made his mind spark with anticipation. It didn’t take long, however, for Wilbur to realize that this new breath of life, was not just his own. An echo-y voice hides in the back of his mind, and before he knows it, the transparent version of him he saw at the endless train station, is a lot more ingrained than he’d expected him to be.

And Wilbur really shouldn’t care. Because he’d be damned, if he spent the life he’d awaited for so long, babysitting a lost cause of a ghost, stuck in the very same limbo Wilbur spent so long in. It was an even exchange, and one Wilbur wasn’t going to mess with. Why exactly he ends up setting out to get the ghost out of his mind, in order to save the both of them, however, is beyond him. And perhaps Wilbur’s past isn’t as easy to leave behind, as he’d hoped it would be.

The ticking of the clock became a constant to Wilbur, in the days that followed. It filled the silence when there was no dialogue between the two. The stacks of books next to him grew, as he tried to sort through them. The information wasn’t very useful for the most part, but there were always more books. More incomplete notes and recounts to look through.

Occasionally he would venture downstairs, to harvest some crops and settle his growling stomach. Once he took some of the remaining blaze rods and made some strength potions that joined their place next to the remaining instant health ones. He placed a finger on the glass bottles of potions, just to make sure they were still there, and then he would return to his seat.

He read whatever he found out loud, perhaps to remind Ghostbur of his presence. To fill the train station with something other than emptiness. He let out a quick breath, whenever the silence was broken by the ticking of the clock, that reminded him to get back to work, instead of letting his mind drift off into prime knows where. Into the void, and to the walls, that he could claw at all he wanted to no avail. 

The ghost spoke less and less as he read, and Wilbur’s hands shook, as he tried to pay attention to the way the arms of the clock moved. The words seemed to flow off the page as he read each one, incomprehensible to him aside from their sound. Information. Work. He needed to do something. Anything.

“Ghostbur, you said you liked writing books?” Wilbur had asked, once his mind had nearly succumbed to the silence.

“Oh, yeah?” Ghostbur had said quietly, a bit of curiosity creeping in. “It helped me remember and understand things better.”

Wilbur had smiled to the best of his ability. “How about we write one! We should keep track of what we know about everything somehow.” he said, finding that the words made more sense than he had originally anticipated, “We could write down what we know about our connection, and eventually figure out how to… Separate us.”

The ghost had gasped, “That’s a great idea!” he said, sounding a little more excited, even if  he still seemed tired.

And so, that was exactly what they’d done. In a chest downstairs, Wilbur had managed to find a dusty old empty book and quill, and had set it down on the nearest table. It dawned upon him that it had been quite a while since he’d written anything at all. Memories of declarations, and lighthearted words of victory, flooded his mind momentarily, until he managed to make sense of the quill’s movements. 

Ghostbur can communicate verbally with me, and I with him. The words seem to be clearer once they are directed at Ghostbur, though it is possible that the connection has simply become clearer over time. In addition to this, Ghostbur can hear the words and sounds of anyone and anything nearby, including muffled versions of them while I am unconscious.

As they wrote down more observations, the ghost seemed a lot more excited by his inclusion in something. By having a project to work on.

Wilbur thought, the self-centered bastard that he was, that perhaps this partially came from himself. That perhaps the ghost’s interest in keeping track of information in a library, or having a plan or something to complete, were some of the remains of Wilbur’s presence. Whichever part of Wilbur’s soul, however faint, that had stayed behind, upon his exit from this world. 

“You should mention that I see you sometimes too!” Ghostbur had chimed in.

Wilbur’s grip tightened around the pen, as he tried his best to remember some of his past interactions with Ghostbur regarding that. “Right…” he said quietly, “When have you seen me, again?”

“First time was right before Phil gave you that gapple, when you were really cold,” Ghostbur began, “Then after Phil left the mansion and you were on the ground shaking a little bit, then that one time with Niki,” Wilbur found his limbs turning heavier at each instance the ghost listed, and Ghostbur’s voice seemed to gain a tint of uncomfortable realization as he spoke as well, “During that conversation with Tommy where he… Got upset, shortly after you were shot, and uh… Under the table in the bunker a few month- days ago.”

Wilbur swallowed something in his throat, pressing the quill harder against the paper than he intended. “Got it.”

Ghostbur is apparently able to see me when I am experiencing intense emotions or experiences. We are uncertain if this works both ways.

Wasn’t that pathetic? That all those times, Wilbur hadn’t even looked up, or paid attention to his surroundings enough, to catch a certain glimpse of the one he had been speaking to ever since he returned? Did it work when Ghostbur was feeling intense feelings as well? Had he been so dense, as to not even pay attention to that?

Wilbur shook the thoughts off, and added a side note at Ghostbur’s request, detailing how it felt to pet Friend. It made Wilbur smile, ever so slightly, that that was something that was considered of utmost importance. 

Ghostbur feels what I feel physically to a certain degree. It seems to be related to the feeling’s intensity, however the longer I’ve stayed alive, the connection to touch seems to have grown stronger. Once again, we are uncertain if this works two ways.

With shaking hands, he added:

If it does work two ways, water appears to be an exception, as it burns Ghostbur regardless of which world it touches us in, without burning me.

He hardly punctuated the last sentence, before he shut the book, memories of pleas and apologies filling his mind. The addictive feeling of control, that was so incredibly unearned, yet appealing nonetheless. Submerging himself in water, until silence was all he would ever hear, and he would be alone. Alone in his mind, alone with his thoughts, and the ghost would never stop feeling the pain.

He kept his hand on the cover of the book, and his other tightly wrapped around the quill, until it felt too much as if both were burning him.

Instead, Wilbur sought out the bookcases, and the information that wouldn’t make Wilbur’s mind overflow with thoughts of the control he had. Because if Wilbur was always mere moments away from grasping at said control, the least he could do was postpone it, until such would only affect himself. Not that he cared particularly, but he could weave a few fragile threads of something that resembled it. Just for the time being.

And when even that became too much, he would lie down on a mattress, or lay his head down at the table, tossing and turning as he tried to drift into oblivion. The comforting darkness, that seemed more and more inaccessible to him each moment, and all the more tempting each day. He would eventually succeed, and would wake up to read a new time on the clock. Sometimes minutes later, sometimes hours, but always enough for him to hesitantly get up and keep going.

Totems weren’t any good for revivals. Apparently they’d tried using them to get Wilbur back. Nearly finding it in himself to ignore the strange improbable fact that there had been attempts to bring him back at all. Was his revival Dream’s own doing? Or the doing of wishes from others? If it was the latter, why had the reaction he’d gotten been so tense?

It was funny that, despite the attempts to revive him, everyone looked to him as if he brought himself back into the world. As if they didn’t spend hours if not days trying to bring him back. How their plans had changed and shifted constantly, and how the universe didn’t care.

There was also a bit of irony placed in Dream and how he hadn’t given a direct account on any historical events, since before L’Manberg. He found a few from George, but none of them were about Dream himself.

So that was what it had taken to take that perspective away from history, Wilbur had thought, ignoring that anything he might’ve said on the matters himself, had likely been blown up along with the nation in question.

Absent-mindedly, Wilbur had reread the parts of the book on Pandora’s box, about how he could gain access.

Not that anyone would let him. Not that the gist of memories didn’t fill him with dread that wasn’t his own. Not that it wasn’t a last resort. Though he latched onto the information nonetheless.

He was about to flip the page when the familiar echoing whisper filled his mind, “Wilbur?”

His voice was hoarse when he first tried to speak. He cleared his throat before responding once again, “Yeah?”

A hesitance lingered in the back of his mind. It oddly didn’t feel like his though. It was a soft blue contrary to his warm browns and occasional reds. 

“So…” Ghostbur took a deep breath, “Y’know how we aren’t going outside and stuff like that?”

Wilbur nodded, though confusion was portrayed on his face, “Mhm, why do you bring it up?”

“Oh! I- well, I was thinking about us going outside again?” Although it was a suggestion, the tilt at the end made it sound like a confirmation of thought. 

“Why would we do that? There’s enough food in here to last a while.” His eyes flickered across the page, “I would read to you again, but this book is about Dream.”

Ghostbur’s breath hitched as he stayed silent for a moment. “That’s fine. I was just wondering about seeing someone again.” Ghostbur quietly added near the end, “It’s been a while.”

“Don’t you want to get out of limbo?” Wilbur felt his words come off as disinterested with a hint of annoyance, but he frankly didn’t mind.

“I mean- yeah, but that doesn’t have to be our main priority right now. You can still enjoy your life.”

The life that no one wanted to be in. The life without a purpose. Well- he wouldn’t necessarily say that. His goal was to get the ghost out of his mind. Preferably, out of limbo as well.

“My life can be put on hold temporarily.”

Ghostbur hummed in a slight agreement, but it oddly lingered in distaste, “What if I want you to live your life?”

Wilbur rolled his eyes, “Living my life won’t give me information.”

“Interacting with people gives you information.”

“I can’t interact with people when there’s a ghost in my head constantly asking what I’m doing.” 

The moment he said the words, he was about to apologize when Ghostbur sharply spoke, “Maybe you could interact with people if you stopped running away and talked it out.”

A scowl melted onto Wilbur’s face with ease, “You haven’t even spent a day in my shoes so don’t act like you know everything.”

“Well- maybe I would know things if you talked to me more!”

“There’s nothing to talk about. Wow, Ghostbur, feeling upset right now. Wow, Ghostbur, feeling pain again.” He mocked Ghostbur’s voice as if he was imitating a small child, “Oh no, what’s that feeling? I have to react to absolutely everything because I’ve got nothing better to do!”

“I-” Ghostbur sharply cut himself off before taking a sharp inhale, “Maybe I don’t have anything better to do! Especially when you keep on throwing yourself directly into danger without even trying to give me a warning.”

Images flashed through Wilbur’s mind to dunk his hand in the cauldron that was only a few long strides away. Screams that echoed through his mind. The pain would be longer for Ghostbur as well since time passes differently in limbo. Just a few quick moments. Just a few seconds of his time and Ghostbur would finally shut up. 

His legs stood up automatically before he forced himself to sit down again. “Maybe it’s hard to give you a warning. Surprise, surprise, I don’t know when someone is going to shoot me!”

“It’s not about knowing when the moment comes! It’s about you putting yourself in dangerous situations that hurts us.”

“Oh. My. Fucking. Prime. Have you ever thought of why I stay in this bunker? I’ve found a place that’s safe and you just keep on complaining about it. We’ve only been here- what a few days?” Wilbur exhaled out of his nose in astonishment, “I’m trying to do something to help the both of us and you’re just whining like a toddler would.” All he had to do was walk to the cauldron. Just a few seconds of his time. It would be so easy. 

Ghostbur’s astonished voice cut through his thoughts, “Whining?” Ghostbur bitterly laughed once, “I’m just offering a suggestion to you, and you’re not even bothering to listen. If anything you’re- you’re the one acting childish!”

“I’m not!” His eyes focused on the cauldron, no longer looking at the air as he usually would when talking to Ghostbur.

“If you really aren’t childish, then go to someone and genuinely apologize!” Wilbur couldn’t even get a word in as Ghostbur continued, “You’ve constantly been running place to place without even thinking how others feel. That includes me! It includes the fact that you don’t tell me what you’re doing and you keep on hurting me with your recklessness!” 

Silence. 

But the silence was oddly different this time. It lingered on Wilbur’s end more than it did Ghostbur’s. He blinked a few times, attempting to pull his thoughts together before they wrapped around the cauldron. It would be so easy to pull a few screams out of Ghostbur. His breath hitched when he imagined pretending to injure himself, just to wash it off with water. The ghost would believe him too. He would believe Wilbur was hurt and willingly let the water be put on him.

Yet, it gave a much different feeling to not warn him. He wanted to hold an ice cube in his hand, explaining it to Ghostbur as he did it. The naive ghost wouldn’t even know what would happen. There would only be the faint burning as the ice cube melted. Even more so if he squeezed it. Sure, Wilbur would feel a bit of pain from the action, but he could always switch hands. He’d hear some new pleas if he did that. More crying if he continued doing it. The ghost would become so incoherent near the end, just begging for it to-

“Wilbur?” A voice made him jump as he looked over to see the source of it. The one and only Ranboo was staring near him, his hands were wrapped around a book he held to his chest. It looked similar to the other books Wilbur had been flipping through, but the cover seemed newer than the other ones. Slightly thinner as well.

“Ah- yes, I suppose that is me,” Wilbur stated.

“I… thought Tubbo didn’t really want anyone down here?” 

Wilbur slowly nodded, “Oh. Yeah, I guess he did say that.”

Ranboo awkwardly bounced on the balls of his feet, “Do you need help leaving?”

Wilbur glanced at the books remaining on the bookshelf, “I’m good.”

Ranboo laughed for a few moments. The sound filling the air rather than joining a joke, “Are you though? This place is a bit funny.” Ranboo quickly added, “I mean, not funny as in a joke kind of funny. But I guess I mean funky in a way, like it’s just sort of weird if you get what I’m saying. When I said funny, I just meant that it was funny the way it messes with your head, not that it’s actually-” Ranboo cut his own rambles off as he appeared uncomfortable, hunching slightly over his book.

“Don’t worry, I’ve gotcha.”

“Yeah, cool.” Ranboo met Wilbur’s eyes for a quick moment, the green one almost mesmerizing Wilbur. “So, is Tubbo asking you to help out?”

Wilbur raised an eyebrow before his eyes flickered to the book Ranboo was holding. A look of realization came across Wilbur’s face as he pieced together that Ranboo was probably helping Tubbo with the library. The boy seemed rather reserved, so he supposed that made sense. “Not exactly.” Wilbur continued after a few seconds of the clock next to him ticking, “I just figured I’d stay here a few days.”

Ranboo tilted his head slightly, “You don’t have a house? I thought you ran a nation and all of that stuff.”

Wilbur shrugged, “I don’t know, man. Houses aren’t really my thing.”

Ranboo exhaled sharply in a way that could have been interpreted as a laugh, “So you’ve been sleeping here for how long?”

“I’d say a few days now? Not sure, I haven’t really been keeping track.”

Ranboo nodded, “What do you do for food though? I don’t really see a pantry anywhere around here.” Ranboo inspected his surroundings once more as if a magical kitchen was going to appear right behind him.

“There’s some carrots and melons downstairs. I did see some wheat seeds in one of the chests though. I might start making bread.”

A confused expression came across Ranboo’s face, “Do you know how many rooms our mansion has? You can just go into one of the hundreds and we wouldn't know for weeks.”

Wilbur’s astonishment bounced off of Ranboo’s, “I didn't know I was supposed to break into your home and sleep in a random room?”

Ranboo was speechless for a moment as he starting talking and then cutting himself off before he simply stated, “Or you could have asked?”

Wilbur’s mind went back to Tubbo. The failed comfort as he went downstairs. He shaky arms around Ranboo’s torso as he left. The uncomfortableness that radiated whenever Ranboo was alone with Wilbur. 

Yeah, he’d rather pass on their fake smiles.

“I’m alright.”

Ranboo stayed in silence with him for a moment. It took a few seconds before Ranboo changed the topic, “So you know Michael right?” Wilbur nodded. “Well, we were just inviting some people to our house since we’re throwing a little party for him. Would you like to come?”

Wilbur seemed surprised that he would even get an invitation as Ghostbur quickly chimed in, “Okay, I don’t want to stay quiet anymore. Can we please go? Please, please, please, we’ll get to see everyone again!” Ghostbur’s pleas hit differently this time as they were colored with bright yellow excitement that he hadn’t heard from the ghost in awhile. 

Almost automatically he responded, “Sounds fun, we’ll go.”

“We?”

Embarrassment shot through Wilbur. “I meant I’ll go, my apologies.” He could hardly hear his own words as the back of his neck felt warm and Ghostbur cheered in excitement. 

Ranboo seemed slightly lost in his mind as well, as he quietly mumbled, “Right, yeah…” His face perked up when he added on, “It’s at our house- y’know the whole mansion thingy that you’ve been to a few times- at about noon.”

Wilbur looked to the clock subconsciously as if it was about to turn noon at that moment. He strangely found it was four o’clock in the morning. “Wait, what are you doing here so early in the morning?”

Panic glazed Ranboo’s eyes before he quickly mentioned, “I could ask you the same thing.”

Confusion filled Wilbur’s mind. He felt like the living embodiment of a question mark as he asked, “I already told you I don’t have a house. You have one though. That’s why I’m asking why you’re here since we established I’m technically homeless.”

Ranboo nodded, the movements seeming jerky. “Yeah, that makes sense.”

Wilbur was about to press more about the topic until he saw Ranboo’s shifting movements along with the raw fear evident on his face. Perhaps that was a side-effect of being a centrist- never explaining yourself or your views properly. Wilbur awkwardly supplemented, “It’s whatever. Thanks for inviting me to the party.”

Ranboo seemed to immediately relax, “No problem.”

“Is it noon as in six hours from now, or noon as in tomorrow?”

Ranboo looked at the clock. “I didn’t even realize it was four in the morning- wow- but yeah, six hours from now. Wait- four plus six is ten and that’s not noon.”

Wilbur felt like an idiot, but in the kind that made him laugh gently at his mistake, “Oh, fuck, you’re right.”

Ranboo let out a short laugh, “Mood.”

Wilbur nodded, “But, yeah that time works for me.” After a short sigh, he realized how exhausted both of them were. The eye bags were present on Ranboo’s face after he looked for a moment. The boy seemed to constantly shift as Wilbur looked away with a yawn.

Ranboo yawned as well, but an enderman vwoop came out instead of the typical human noise. Wilbur wanted to ask why the strange sounds came out of him, but he felt his eyes droop slightly. 

Ranboo noted the energy in the room as he started walking towards downstairs, “Alright, I’m gonna head out.”

“Good night- or rather good morning.”

Ranboo chuckled, “Good morning to you as well, Wilbur.” Ghostbur chuckled along in the back of his mind, seeming much happier than before.

#dream smp #dsmp #c!wilbur #revivedbur #ghostbur #c!ranboo #fic #The Revived

[bitea-sweetea-roseytocin]

Orange Theories (This is a lot of Series analysis explaining the theories)

Part 1

Name- Thomas and the other seem to go with names based off of Roman mythology. Logan and Patton being an exception, being based off of the greek Logos and Pathos.

So- the greek god of war is Aries and the Roman god of war is Mars. So, my two top name theories are 'Marshal' and 'Aaron.'

Alternately, the Greek goddess of rage Lyssa/Lytta- which leaves room for names such as Lyle or Lyon (which would be a cool route to go- it sounds like Lion, an animal known for pride. And ignoring this being Roman's trait, those who have the sin of pride over taking them often lash out when that's threatened.)

As to his relationship with the others...I feel that he would be Logan's opposite. Logan wouldn't like him much, at least. Anger is irrational and has the ability to blind someone- to block out logic.

You could argue that Virgil would be like this, too, but if you think about it, fear has the ability to be calmed down with logic- Virgil never blocked him out. In the debate they had, Virgil didn't want to participate, and granted, his views were irrational. But even Logan admitted that Virgil followed some logical forms of thinking- he had reasons for his doubts. And, even then, if he, himself, didn't listen to Logan, he never stopped Thomas from doing so. He let Logan say his piece and calm Thomas down. He and Logan worked together.

Another piece, is that Remus would be Logan's opposite. He's chaotic and random, he doesn't follow a line of logic and he's irrational...or is he? Remus spouts random nonsense half the time, but he's never very wrong, is he?

"I didn't make him throw the baby, I merely gave him a baby...and a large... sharp knife..."

Doesn't that make sense? Yes, he's random, "ERECT! Remember that... erection medicine?"

But, that was because Logan said "Erect."

He works based off of word association (it's not the time for word association games.)

Certain words trigger Remus' train of thought. We do it all the time, just because it's not clean doesn't make it illogical. If someone says "red" you think if the the color or something you know that has the word associated with it.

When Remus hears "erect" he thinks "erection" and something that has the word associated with it.

Logan likes word association games because they're logical and make sense.

Not to mention, he's technically everyone's opposite. He's immoral, brutally honest, brave and extroverted, chaotic.

He's not even Roman's opposite. Roman's opposite is Virgil; fear.

So, Remus is a wild card. He identifies as "Intrusive thoughts" and "Dark Creativity". But even Roman admitted that Creativity follows some form of Logic, otherwise they would be random and that's never funny (demonstrated by Patton.) And the twins are just two sides of the same coin.

Furthermore, if you look at the series, so far, the Light Sides have an arch of having to learn how to deal with and accept their opposites.

The series can be broken up into two seasons; Anxiety and Deceit.

Anxiety: Roman has to learn Virgil's importance to the group and accept him as a helpful part of Thomas.

Confidence;Doubt Bravery;Fear

Deceit; Patton has to learn that being selfish is okay, sometimes, and that Deceit does, have some beneficial contributions.

Honesty;Lying Generosity;Selfishness

Remus never got such an arch, he was thrown into the middle of Janus' as a result of Thomas not taking care of himself. Remus is a result of deminishing mental health. I imagine he's more of a wild card, just showing up every now and then to mess with the others.

Logan had no problem with Remus. He never recognized him as a threat and he just camly dealt with him.

So, that makes the next step or "season" to be about Logan's rival.

Rage blocks out Logic. It often doesn't make sense, especially in the heat of the moment. It only makes things worse and you causes people to often forget why they're so angry. They forget logic, only registering rage at something.

I predict that the next normal SS episode will be the beginning of season 3; Rage.

Irrational;Reasonable Passionate;Cool

Energy;Calm

Patton's gonna not like him. He'll believe that he ruins relationships and causes Thomas to be mean. (I.e. when he got upset because Thomas deamed his friends as effable.)

Janus is gonna try to convince them that anger can be okay. That it's important to let yourself be angry at others, seeing as it's recognizing your own worth and importance and recognizing and validating how you were hurt and allows yourself to work through that pain; because you acknowledge its presence and impact.

Logan would try to help, but Rage would make nonsensical arguments that Logan doesn't know how to logically dispute. Y'know those times when you know something is wrong, but they say it in a way they sounds viable and you don't know where to start unwinding it? Yeah.

Rage would probably support Roman (my poor boy- the dark sides keep picking on him-)

He'd tell Roman that his anger at the others is justified and that he deserves an apology. This is getting into Pride!Roman territory. But, I don't think Thomas and the team would do that. It would be more like- Roman is hurt, tired, and confused. At the beginning of Rage's arch, he'd be fed up with feeling like he can't do anything right by the lightsides. And then having to be friends with someone who was only using him. So, he'd side with the anger who'd be telling him that he's valid and that his feelings matter, too.

And, I think Rage would believe it. He wouldn't just be using Roman, he'd really be friends with him, because he knows/thinks that Roman's anger is justified.

And, again, Remus is a wild card. All the side will probably have their ups and down with him.

Virgil would probably side with Patton and be bitter at Roman for backing him.

I think this would be the last of the dark sides, and then it would shift into working on personal issues.

Roman's insecurity and relationship with Remus. Logan's emotional isolation, Janus and Virgil's trust issues and violent relationship and Virgil's life with them, Patton's emotional suppression, ect.

#sanders sides #roman sanders #roman angst #logan sanders #remus sanders #virgil sanders #patton sanders #janus sanders #orange side theory #orange side #Rage!Orange #sanders sides theory #Thomas Sanders

[sillyguyhotline]

what are your voice hcs for the yttd cast?

hope these work!! i ended up adding in a few unrelated headcanons, and it’s like 1 am so i only got to the main cast. if you want me to do any of the dolls lmk :)

Sara: I’ve heard a lot of people say she’d sound like Mahiru Koizumi, and I honestly agree with that, but I think her voice would be deeper. I hc that she was one of those girls with an unusually deep voice when she was younger and got teased for it a lot. Now, though, she takes advantage of it and uses it to be more intimidating during debates and arguments.

Joe: Okay so once I saw a post where someone hc’ed his voice as sounding like Shaggy and another one where someone proposed it would sound like Kazuichi so honestly I’m gonna go with something between that. His voice would be sort of deep but I could also see it as having a dopey quality to it. He probably just talks in a joking or exaggerated tone so frequently that it’s become normal for him, and only a few people (such as Sara and Ryoko) have heard his voice when he’s not intentionally making himself sound ridiculous. 

Keiji: He just has a really deep, calm voice- think Rantaro or Ryoma. Johneawesome’s voice for him works really well, too. He can count on two hands the amount of people who have told him he should start an ASMR channel because of how soothing his voice is. Usually I’d say that Keiji is probably detached enough from the internet that he wouldn’t know what ASMR is, but I think he’d stumble across it while looking for techniques to combat insomnia and quickly develop a liking for it. Now he listens to it every night because it helps to keep intrusive thoughts and guilt away, to some extent. He’ll laugh whenever people tell him he should start a channel of his own, but he’s secretly considering it.

Kanna: Her voice is super sweet and gentle, leaning towards the quiet side. Sort of like Chiaki’s, but not quite as high pitched. I think she’d really enjoy singing quiet songs and lullabies; her family members tell her she has the voice of an angel, and they’re right! She’s probably sung to baby cousins to calm them down before, and when it actually worked she got super proud of herself.

Q-taro: I’m boring, so he has a Southern accent, but in more of a smooth country singer way than a yeehaw way. He has very mixed feelings on songs about trucks. 

Shin: Okay, so... once a friend and I were having a conversation about him and we proposed that he had the stereotypical “I’m Bri ish” accent. HOWEVER, it only comes out when he’s panicking or is otherwise overemotional. Nobody really seems to know where he developed it, but they just kind of accept it. (this is a joke but i’m going with this hc because i find it funny). Otherwise he just kinda sounds like a normal dude, though his voice is a little bit higher than most. 

Reko: I can’t really think of anyone to compare her to, but her voice is pretty rough, a little deeper than Sara’s. She has a lot of range, though; when she’s singing, she’ll typically go a lot higher, to the point where she’s screaming, but when talking will usually stick to lower tones. In fact, when she’s angry, she’ll go really deep and nearly snarl at people.

Nao: I don’t really know how to describe it, but I think that in normal times Nao has a really steady voice. It’s not exactly quiet, but it’s very gentle and has a certain degree of confidence to it. When she’s anxious, though, it skyrockets in pitch and becomes a lot more trembly. I’d imagine her not really liking how she sounds when she’s anxious, but her frustration only ends up making it worse. (reko, on the contrary, thinks she sounds very sweet and intentionally makes her flustered so she can hear the anxious voice).

Kai: He has a very quiet, musing voice, reminiscent of Korekiyo’s but a bit more muted. I can see him enjoying poetry, and he’ll often read poems either to himself or others because the words flow off his tongue in such a satisfying way. Perhaps he used to read bedtime stories to Sara when she was younger and it nurtured a love for reading because of how fantastic the stories sounded in his voice! (this is sort of unrealistic but let me have this headcanon, maybe she was young enough that she wouldn’t remember him hfbdfhbdf). He’ll rarely ever raise his voice; rather, when he’s angry, it drops its lilting quality and becomes a lot harsher.

Gin: I think he’d sound sort of like Masaru Daimon; he’s just a very energetic and enthusiastic little kid. I also think his voice would go a lot higher for the “meows” and a lot lower for the “woofs.” He’s been practicing and perfecting his animal sounds for a long time and he’s very proud of how they currently sound; it’s somewhere between enunciating the word and imitating the actual sound.

Alice: God, every time I imagine his voice, I can’t help but think of Gundham Tanaka if his voice wasn’t quite as deep. Just… a very overdramatic, theatrical voice that he often puts on to intimidate people. His voice will go to a very high-pitched “EEEE” type scream if he’s ever startled, though. 

Mishima: I just hear his voice as the typical “evil scientist” voice. Perhaps his, like Joe’s, was developed over time because his students joked about his appearance and he, being the good-natured teacher that he is, went along with their jokes. It’s rubbed off on his normal speaking voice quite a bit, but when he’s tired he drops the act.

#ahhh i was tired when i wrote these so i hope they’re alright #projecting onto keiji with the asmr one lmao #yttd #your turn to die #kimi ga shine #yttd headcanons #depressobean’s asks #depressobean answers #anon

[bilgisticallykosher]

Selfishness vs. Selfishness Redux

Pre-episode thoughts. I don't think they're going to address the dark side Everybody-already-knew-that thing right away. I'm still thinking Deceit's gonna be Virgil, but I'm also not so certain that's going to wind up going down. Because there's a lot of other stuff to get into. We know from the first Asides that stuff between Virgil and Patton is growing, and simmering. It's coming, and while that's in the future, there's probably going to be more build-up here. Is it that Patton knew about Virgil's past? Is it something else entirely? This is going to be a two hour episode, geez. 

Also, I can't believe he's actually going to the wedding. Idk. All those people saying he got the date wrong, though? First of all, Logan is in charge of the schedule, he'd never let that happen, how dare? And also, I always double check dates and invitations for stuff. I really doubt Virgil wouldn't have looked at the invitation and checked the information again. Watch me be totally wrong now. 

I don't know who I think the cloaked figure is. Could be Deceit ("like a freaking Scooby Doo villain"), could be Thomas himself. Probably not Organization XIII, but I'm not completely eliminating the option, let me have this. 

Things I'd like, but am 99% certain won't happen; Deceit's name (which I'm both hoping and expecting to not start with D), a new side, Remus and Deceit interacting on camera, or really Remus at all. Except for that green score of BOOBS, I maintain that's Remus's contribution. 

ALRIGHT, LET'S GO, I'M NOT READY!!!!

First impression of the thumbnail. You vs. Yourself???? Oh my gosh. Ohhhh, I'm freaking out. Patton looks so apprehensive, and I don't know if that's on general, or because of Roman or in response to Roman, because Roman looks so annoyed at Patton! He's so angry oh my gosh. I mentioned I wasn't ready, right? Okay. Okay. So their sprites are different styles, which is cool. Patton's looks risk-based stroll around town type of RPG, Roman's looks fighting style. 

The options for the character select???? Oh my gosh, that's. Hi, Remus. Anyway, uh, I don't know what this means, but there's three character options on top and- DARK SIDES ARE SEPARATE FROM LIGHT SIDES! Oh gosh, I was thinking maybe it was something to do with specifically Logan. Ooh, Deceit's in his lawyer outfit, nice touch.  THERE'S AN EXTRA BLANK PLAYER OPTION. I don't know if that means he'll be revealed this episode, or just that he exists. I mean, we just had Deceit's logo, Remus's reveal and name reveal… here goes.

IT STARTS WITH THE VIDEO GAME??? THIS IS THE INTRO????? THE WEDDING??????!!!!!!! Oh hey word crush. Oh hey, it's the couple! Starting to think this is a dream or fantasy, btw. Also, Lee and Mary Lee sound like...Esteban and Valerie? Maybe? Idk. Omg, Life is pain. 

This is awkward, beautiful. Pfft, hence the marriage. Photographer is great, no idea who he or the emcee are. Ooh. Crushed. 

INTRO??? EXCUSE ME??? Oh was SvS originally on 3/31? Yeah, good, play a review like all of us haven't been obsessing over what happened last time. "APRIL 13" I'm just going thi pause forever now. Oh this is going to be the angry walk in that was previewed in the bloopers, I can tell. Oh no. OH NO! And it is at night and he seriously freaking actually went to the wedding????

Oh my gosh he's so angry. Ohhh, Patton rethinking his phrasing, nice. You should never→I'm surprised that you etc. Oh Roman! Oh, maybe we should… not review. Oh boy. 

Oh there's Patton's avatar. In then guitar hero thing. Oh, Thomas is associated with the color white, confirmed??? I like how they did the notes there. So much detail. The talk sprites are great, but the expressions on the dancing sprites are worth paying attention to. Okay, Patton's still very, um, defensive, I guess is the word? Thomas is angry and bereft and confused and full of doubt, and Roman's heavily on the confused side (ha) about him aligning with Deceit. This is why he stole his hat. Great animation work, everyone, that was fantastic, artists! 

"Why didn't I just talk to them before the wedding?" THOMAS. Also, because Deceit specifically prevented Logan from being too close to the courtroom scene by benching him and not asking him what his idea of a compromise was. "I brought that up," well, you did, but Deceit kinda made it seem like you were suggesting lying to them, so you got shut down. Sorry, Ro. Listen, I love Deceit, but the boy's a manipulator. 

We learn to predict the future!!! Roman, no. Woah, Patton's just being completely dismissive. I mean he's been through some hard times the last few episodes, minus LNTAO, but damn. Oh. Roman's very much defending Patton. This forebodes very badly. This is going to explode terribly. Oh no. 

Okay, so, the thing with the feral cats. Is Roman okay? Did someone do this to him? More importantly, did he do this to me? Also, on a serious note, I'm super shocked Deceit hasn't come in yet, because he (and Thomas, and arguably Patton) is obviously regretting going to the wedding. I mean, Virgil's not coming in right away because of the reveal at the end of DWIT, but- hey where's Logan?! Logan and Deceit should both totally be here! *gasp* Except in the one on one episodes (Heart vs. Mind, My Negative Thinking, Logince; the argument) it's always primarily been the two sides that are featured with the others either not there or off-screen or making small cameos. But Deceit was and is an important part of this decision past, present, and going forward! 

Oooh, I like the Lee and Mary Lee backstory. Hm. Patton does bring good points, but. I still agree with- oh, Thomas just solidly saying no made me snort. Okay, so speaking of the coin bleeping, why the video games? I know there's more to come with it, how do they come into play? Oh okay metaphor. 

That was clearly not the good ending, Roman. Bringing up Is Thomas A Good Person again. OOH xylophone, is he a-comin'? Oh he's directly blaming Patton. Wow, Roman. 

A BAGEL?! Oh, game sssssssstore. Really? Frogger, Pat? 16 graphics. Oh there's the hotdogs. OH and there's the cloaked guy! Smashing our theories. That does not seem like Sondheim. 

The puns, oh my gosh, brilliant. Getting to the meat of them here. Gosh these graphics are fantastic. 6AM dull. 

Oh. Hm. Technically, he does not have to give him the 'dog. The building tension is fascinating. 

HI, LOGAN! Patton looking real uncomfortable at "regret." I mean, they all know they regret it now, right? Roman making fun of behoove, that's so funny, I have no idea why. Seriously, whoever's doing the art, I'm dying at Logan's expressions. Woah good thing viewers have the pause button. I'm all for not buying X-mas decorations. I'm doing my part, goyim. 

I'm counting "it's not like Kingdom Hearts" in lieu of that having been Organization XIII. Oh boy, Patton. Right thing vs. Feeling good vs. Feeling good about doing the right thing. This is falling apart. Patton's noise. 

BOOBS omg Deceit is Bowser. I love that painting in the background! Scutes! Time went from limited to being lost to poorly spent to wasted! I'm standing by the purple being Virgil. Fyi, in Judaism, doing a good thing for the wrong reasons doesn't matter, because you're still doing the good thing, even if it's just for the reward. There's a thing about it with Avraham and a King.

Roman's getting close to breaking. Reptilian rapscallian guy. And who's to say he can't be doing it for the reward and to help people? 

"... an individual's happiness and the amount of selfless acts…" that should be number, not amount, Logan! Can't judge good deeds only by how good you feel when you do them. 

Okay, here we go. How do we know what's Right? Killing and stealing is illegal everywhere, yes, Thomas, what are you doing, Thomas???

Oh my gosh, not the trolley problem. They're referring to Deceit as Denial and Roman as Passion! Oh gosh, that looks like Joan, Talyn, Dot, Valerie, and Terrence, and Leo by himself, maybe? Oh geez, I jolted. Logan index carding for trolley problem. 

Unus Annus is right, the trolley problem is stupid. Oh my gosh, Logan's giant wall of text physically pushing Patton back, I spit all over my screen. Skip All. 

Roman's… blaming himself? Oh!!! Are we getting Roman's insecure arc???!!! This is a complex issue, and Patton's having a hard time backing down, and everyone's feeling bad.

Scared?! I hear music! NO. Why is he scared, oh my gosh?????? That's not a tired metaphor. Oh! I've heard of hypoxia! It was hypothesized (and disproven) to be the reason for a specific Bermuda Triangle incident. 

Good point, Logan. Regarding theory and in the moment instincts. Remus mention with intrusive thoughts! Shocked that Logan is arguing for leisure time. Logan's self satisfied smirk at the self-sacrifice. GLITCHY! Oh he's a frog. Lilypadton. 

Oh my gosh I'm getting so stressed. Yes, thank you, Logan for the scream. I… don't. The conscientious comment. No, it's not. This seems… Deceit-y. IT IS! SHARP SIDE OH MY GOSH! Oh, he didn't rise up, he popped out in the freaking dialogue box, NO, FRICK IT WAS RIGHT THERE! And the Nietzsche and the specific examples that he used!!! I'm so angry! I DIDN'T THINK HE'D TAKE LOGAN'S PLACE AGAIN! I MISSED THE SIGNS! 

Hey guys, look, it's Deceit. Bull… frog. Lord of the lies. Oh! 8-bit Deceit theme. Okay, the first thing Deceit said about him not doing it on purpose was nice, but yeah, those words striking him is accurate. Yeesh, harsh. 

Is Patton eating his own words? Oh, uh, is anyone going to acknowledge he hit Thomas? Is that telling of the situation instead of just being a funny background event? 

The crick in Thomas's neck is so funny. SNAKES ON THE PLANE!!! ...Hm. Happy that he brought that up. Oh my gosh, Deceit's spluttering, he's like so bad at things sometimes, I love it. 

Logan! No, don’t do that, everybody appreciates you! Double curse? Pffffft, Logan. Deceit…definitely smiling at Logan's logic. Deceit is interesting here. Oh wow, yikes. He's really fascinating here. Legitimately complimentary? Oh, no, kind of not, maybe. Roman looks distressed.

"...Trees?" Roman's super pumped up. Good for him! Ha, his imitation. Deceit looking confused? Patton looking all sorts of things, I really think that Deceit is being genuine here- NAME?! I'D THIS HAPPENING? Why is he stripping? His, no, what does his glove have to do with his name? 

………. Janice? Did he say Jenus or Janice. It sounded like Janice. Deceit. No. Oh, burn, Roman. Damn, he almost got me. His name is not Janice. No. It's not. Don't even. Deceit was being so straight(ha)forward for the past couple of minutes. Awww, Roman. Insecurity addressing time? Wait, why is Deceit nodding at the hero thing? His lip is trembling, his voice is cracking and oh no! Roman just sank out.

Don't call him Janice, that's not his name. Oh he's being genuine again. Patton's talking about himself. WAIT WHAT. He had a five second cameo, omg. 

Yeah, those are the easier questions. No, Deceit, bad Deceit. Man, his facial expressions in this episode. Fractionally fiendish fibber. Oh, I like the reasons for Deceit being a part of him! That's… cute? Oddly cute, maybe. So, freaking how far in the future is the Asides? 

Stop calling him Janice, that's not his name. Oh, Deceit and Thomas bonding. That snort, oh my gosh. Oh, serious Deceit again! That reaction to "you're right" is oddly similar to that fake laugh at the end of Embarrassing Phases. 

………. Virgil's not here yet. His reveal isn't being addressed. Accepting Deceit. That's why he's so pissed at Patton in Asides. The next episode proper they're going to reveal that Deceit's accepted, more or less, and Patton was a big part of that, hugely changing his mind, that's why he's so pissed at him!!!

April 30th? Oh is this Lee and Mary Lee? I was wrong on the voices. Door-yelling! Hm. I mean. It's nice that they're acknowledging him, but I really don't think that sways the situation one way or another. Cute more background, and Thomas being awkward. They. This could have been instead of the wedding. Kingdom Hearts again! 

Oh hi, Patton and Deceit. He seems annoyed at the situation. Patton and Deceit bonding. Hi again, Leslie. Wild. 

This video really didn't go at all how I thought it would. Roman was barely miffed at Patton. Oh man, this was intense. I. Oh man. I need to process a lot. But I think we're on the right path, here. Janice is not his name!

Okay, I went on tumblr and two seconds in, I saw Janus, which I looked up and that makes way more sense. Another, more condensed post to follow. And several thousand reblogs.

#roman sanders #ts spoilers #janus sanders #patton sanders #logan sanders #virgil sanders #remus sanders #svs redux #character!thomas #sanders sides #new video reaction

[fluffy-marshmallow-heart]

A Twist Of Fate ch.13 -Friday Night

The Elementalist AU

Beckett x MC (Oriana)

Words: 2814

Master List (Catch Up Here)

This AU is set after everyone graduates Penderghast, and Beckett and Oriana were never friends. Fate, however, may have a different plan for them.

  Friday. It was finally Friday and Beckett was buzzing with nerves. Tonight was his triple date. No, not a date. Just a gathering of friends. Introducing someone else into the fold. He’d barely gotten any work done, and he confirmed with Dave and Tom where they were meeting before heading home to get ready. When he arrived he ran straight up to his room.

I need to change. I need to look good. It’s our first date. Damn it, no, not a date.

Finally, he chose a light blue button down shirt that accentuated his steely eyes, and a pair of beige slacks. He styled his hair, and splashed his cologne on, then ventured out into the hallway.

“Ori?” He knocked on her door

“I’ll be out in a minute, Beck.”

He nodded, as if she could hear him, and went downstairs to wait for her. He paced around, feeling impatient. What is taking her so long?

About five minutes later he heard her footsteps on the stairs. He went to greet her as he normally did when he got home, but when he caught sight of her, his breath was taken away. She was wearing a golden dress, which flared out mid-thigh. The top was v-cut, giving just the slightest hint of her breasts, and it tied in a halter around her neck. Her arms were bare, and if he didn’t know any better, he’d say she was glowing. All thoughts about this not being a date flew from his mind.

She grinned as she reached the bottom, and the sweet scent of her lavender and vanilla perfume permeated his nostrils. “My, my, is the great Beckett Harrington speechless?”

“Ori” He breathed. “You look gorgeous. Wow.”

She smiled and did a slight twirl to show off the remainder of the dress, which was cut low in the back, revealing even more of her silky skin.

Beckett was actually speechless. He always knew she was beautiful, but seeing her in this dress, knowing she wore it for him. It was blowing his mind.

“You look handsome yourself.” She murmured, stepping up to him and kissing him on the cheek. He blushed furiously at the gesture.

He cleared his throat and stepped over to the coat closet. “You’ll need this. It’s cold. And rainy.” He held her jacket out to her but to his surprise, she turned around and backed into his arm.

“A gentleman always puts the coat on his lady.”

“Uh…my lady? I don’t think you’re…I mean, we haven’t reached that…if that’s what you want…erm…” Blushing again, he gently helped her into the coat, running his hands down the sleeves, his breath shaky. He could feel her chuckling lightly. She turned to face him again and flipped her freshly curled hair out of the jacket and down her back.

“Your hair…it looks lighter.” He told her, admiring the golden streaks in it, unable to stop himself from touching the soft strands with his fingers.

She shrugged. “It’s easy to do.  I can do yours if you want.” She reached forward and ran her hand through his sandy hair. “Though I’m kinda partial to how you are right now.”

His jaw dropped, and this time she laughed heartily. “Honestly, Beck, you make this too easy.” She stepped around him now, opening the door. “You’re driving, right?”

He nodded vigorously, walking her to the passenger side of the vehicle and opening the door for her. She rose an eyebrow but said nothing. As he drove the short distance to the restaurant, she asked about his friends.

“So, what are they like? Do you work closely with them?”

“Dave is actually my mentor, he was the one who introduced me to everyone, got me set up in my office…he really just took me under his wing. Everyone there is exceptionally nice, it was very strange to me. Completely different than college. And Tom…I was getting coffee in the break room one day, and he just appeared and started going on and on about his wife and kids. I didn’t ask, he just opened his mouth and told me all about them. And he hasn’t shut up since. Even if I didn’t want to be friends with him, I don’t think he would ever let me not be friends with him.” Beckett laughed at the memory. “Best thing I’ve ever done is take that job. It changed my life.”

“I can tell.” She said softly. “You’re different than you seemed at first.”

“Is that a good thing?”

She smiled. “Definitely. Although…there is one flaw in your story.”

He glanced over at her, surprised. “What’s that?”

She placed her hand on his leg, giving it a slight squeeze, and batted her eyelashes. “I thought that taking me in was the best thing you’ve ever done.”

Beckett was so taken aback by the comment, that he accidentally yanked the steering wheel to the right, almost going off the road. He quickly corrected himself and was relieved to find that they had arrived at their destination. Oriana was laughing, and he glared at her.

“That’s not funny, Oriana, I could have killed us. You shouldn’t distract drivers like that.” He fumed as he pulled into the parking lot and stopped the car.

“I can honestly say I was not expecting your reaction to be so…intense. Geez, Beckett, lighten up.”

“I could have crashed!”

“But you didn’t! I know you would do anything in your power, which is a lot by the way, to make sure I don’t get hurt. I know that with every fiber of my being. Besides, do you expect me to believe you haven’t enchanted this car with some sort of protection? That’s practically witchcraft 101 with heavy machinery.”

Beckett opened his mouth again to argue, but instead let out a huge sigh. “Why do I lose every argument with you?”

“Because I’m always right.” She smirked.

He rolled his eyes. “Get out of the car.”

“You mean you’re not opening my door for me?” She said slyly

“No. I’m going inside before I get soaked.” He responded, opening his own door and stepping out into the rain. He ran up to the awning above the restaurant door, where he stopped and turned to wait for Oriana. However, she was only a step behind him and ran right into his arms.

“Woah!” He exclaimed, circling his arms around her.

“Oh, I’m sorry! I didn’t think you were actually going to wait for me.” They were standing close together, his arms still around her, faces only inches from each other.

“Guess you were wrong.” He murmured, tucking a piece of her damp hair behind her ear.

“There’s a first for everything” she responded breathily, her eyes searching his.

Beckett’s heart was pounding. This is it. I’m going to kiss her. I’m going to kiss Oriana Miller, and then I’m never going to stop. I think she already knows…I’ve always been hers.

He started closing the gap…when a voice rang out.

“Beckett! You actually made it!”

He jumped at the intrusion and quickly let Oriana go, cursing the person who called his name. “Tom! What timing you have. And what do you mean, I actually made it? I said I was going to, didn’t I?”

Ignoring his cool demeanor, Tom walked right up to them, holding hands with a woman. “You must be the lovely Oriana I’ve heard so much about.”

She gave him a surprised look. “You have?”

Tom grinned. “Oh, yes, absolutely. You were the first girl he ever mentioned, back at our first happy hour.”

“Wasn’t that months ago?”  She asked, sliding her eyes over to Beckett, who was giving Tom the death stare.

“Sure was…” He caught Beckett’s eye. “I mean, no. Just this past happy hour he mentioned you. After the happy hour, actually, because that’s when you…reconnected?”

“Right…” Oriana said, looking at him questioningly.

“My husband’s forgot his manners. I’m Jessie.” The woman next to Tom greeted warmly. “Beckett, it’s nice to see you again. And Oriana, it’s lovely to meet you.” She shook both their hands. “Let’s get inside, shall we?”

The four of them entered the building and gave the name to the hostess. She led them over to the table where Dave and his wife were already sitting. More introductions were made.

“Oriana, this is Dave, and his wife Melissa.” Beckett informed

“Hi, so nice to meet you.” Oriana smiled, and Beckett couldn’t help but notice how easy this seemed for her. She gets along so well with everybody. What made me different?

“So, have you heard a lot about me as well?” Oriana asked, her face giving nothing away.

“Oh, not much.” Dave responded. “Just that you went to college together and he recently gave you a place to stay for a bit.”

Oriana rose an eyebrow at him but turned and started to remove her jacket. Dave caught Beckett’s eye and winked.

“Oh my god, Dave.” His wife grabbed his arm. “Life goals. That dress. I need it, and I’m going to fit into it after this pregnancy.” She patted her belly, frowning.

“You’re beautiful, Mel. You don’t need any dress to prove it.” Dave told her affectionately.

“How far along are you?” Oriana asked her.

Melissa sighed. “Seven months. I’m due December 21st. It can’t come fast enough I swear.”

“Well Dave is right, you look beautiful.” Oriana told her.

“Oh Beckett, I like her. You should bring her out more often.” Melissa turned towards him now.

Beckett felt himself blush.

“Agreed. It’s nice to have a normal girl here.” Jessie told him.

His face flushed even more.

“Normal?” Oriana questioned.

“Oh yes. Tom told me about a couple girls Beckett had dated. They did not sound very nice at all. And he deserves someone nice.”

“Oh, uh…” Oriana stammered.

“We’re not dating. We’re just…friends. And roommates.” Beckett informed, still a shade of red.

Jessie frowned. “Oh, but Tom said…”

“Tom was wrong.” Beckett glared at his friend.

This is awful. I’m never going to stop blushing. It’s bad enough they brought up my exes, and now they’re talking about my wanting to date Oriana?? This is so embarrassing.

“He’s so cute when he blushes, isn’t he?” Oriana grinned at him. “He has literally always done that around me, and it’s so adorable.”

Beckett stared at her in surprise. “What? I never blushed. You’re confusing me with someone else.”

“Oh no, I’m definitely not wrong. You would blush any time I accidentally brushed by you. You claimed to hate me, yet always put yourself near me.”

His jaw dropped. “You…noticed that?”

“You’re hard not to notice.” She returned with a smirk.

“Well. This is quite enlightening, isn’t it, Beckett?” Tom chuckled

“I uh…” Beckett swallowed. “Erm…”

“See?” Oriana laughed. “50 shades of red.”

“Moving on.” Beckett said sternly.

I am so done with this conversation. Maybe we’ll come back to it later. When it’s just us.

Luckily, the waiter finally arrived, and the group placed their orders. Beckett was relieved that no one brought up his relationship with Oriana again, and the rest of conversations flowed smoothly. After finishing their meals, Melissa asked if anyone wanted to get dessert.

“Don’t mind me, these cravings are no joke. I need something sweet, stat.” Dave kissed her cheek again and agreed on dessert.

“Oh, I never pass up dessert.” Oriana informed. “Beckett? How about you? Do you ever pass up…dessert?”

His eyes widened as he felt her hand on his leg, a finger gently sliding up.

“Well?” She asked innocently.

He gulped, the tips of his ears turning pink.

“I…I suppose I could go for dessert.” He mumbled out, his eyelids involuntarily fluttering closed as she lightly skimmed her fingers back and forth on his thigh, and he could feel himself growing in his pants.

“You’re not falling asleep are you, Beckett? Are you already in a food coma?” Dave asked.

Beckett’s eyes flew back open and saw everyone staring at him. Oriana was no longer touching him and instead was perusing the dessert menu, acting like she’d had no effect on him.

“If he was sleeping I don’t think he’d be blushing…again.” Tom smirked.

“I’m sure he’s just dreaming of this chocolate mousse right here.” Oriana glanced up and flashed the table a dazzling smile. The other two couples decided on theirs and Oriana leaned in close to Beckett, her breasts pressed lightly against his arm. “That’s definitely what we should get, Beck.” She murmured quietly in his ear.

“Just one? There are two of us, don’t you think we should get two desserts?”

A wicked smile appeared back on her lips. “Who’s to say we don’t have more at home?” Now her leg was brushing on his, and his heart pounded furiously.

“What are you doing.” He whispered frantically.

“Just picking out dessert with you.” She winked and straightened back up in her chair as the waiter approached again.

A few minutes later, the desserts arrived…each couple sharing just one. Beckett groaned inwardly at the looks his friends were giving him. He knew they were dying of laughter inside, and probably realized that he just wanted to die of embarrassment. He’d only been telling them repeatedly all week that this wasn’t a date.

“These are huge!” Melissa squealed excitedly. “That’s why we always share. Even though I’m pregnant…well, I don’t want to gain 400 pounds as I eat something sweet every single night. So, I make him share with me.”

“Well it’s also just what couples do. Sometimes. I guess not all the time. But generally, when someone shares dessert it’s a couple.” Dave looked meaningfully at Beckett and Oriana, who was currently handing Beckett a spoon.

“Yes, it’s definitely a couple thing.” Tom chimed in, beginning to chuckle. Beckett didn’t miss Jessie elbowing him in the side, hard, and giving him a Look.

“That’s an interesting theory, Tom.” Oriana then turned her gaze back to Beckett. “What do you think? Do you usually share dessert with someone?”

“Well, Ori, considering I’ve been single, no. I do not normally share dessert with someone.” He shot out, feeling triumphant for all of five seconds before realizing he’d just proven everyone’s point. Beckett felt his face burning for about the millionth time that night alone.

She took a spoonful of the sinful mousse, not breaking eye contact. His eyes fell to her lips as she seductively licked off the remainder that had stuck to them. He leaned forward to speak quietly in her ear, as his friends resumed their own conversation.

“Do you even know what you’re doing to me, Oriana”

She turned her head to whisper in his. “What makes you think I don’t know?”

He groaned quietly, straightening his back as she rose another spoonful of mousse to her lips. After a quick glance around the table, he was relieved to find no one paying attention to them.

When it was finally time to leave, Beckett was actually sorry to have it end. Oriana was amazing, and it seemed everyone loved her. She was smiling brightly as everyone said their goodbyes.

“Oriana, it was such a pleasure to meet you. I’m so glad Beckett has you as a…friend.” Dave hugged her, followed by Melissa, Jessie, and Tom.

“I can see why Beck likes working with you. You guys are good for him. It’s true that taking this job was the best thing that ever happened to him.” She told them.

But Jessie shook her head. “No, I admit I don’t know him well, but Tom is very fond of him, so I’ve heard a lot about him, and I’m going to say that the job is not the best thing that’s ever happened to him.”

Oh, no. I don’t like where this is going.

He was horrified by what she said next. “It’s quite clear that you are the best thing for him. I’m glad you’re here, Oriana. I do hope we see you again, soon.”

Oriana smiled politely and watched as everyone left. “I think they like me.” She said quietly.

“Are you really that surprised?” He asked, while helping her back into her jacket. She just shrugged.

“Ori? Seriously?”

She turned back to face him. “I didn’t know what to expect with them. I like them. They’re nice, and I can tell they genuinely care about you. I’m…I’m really glad things turned around for you after graduation.”

He noticed her eyes were starting to turn glassy, and when he reached for her, she pulled back. “I’ll see you outside, Beck.” She turned and fled out the door.

Beckett frowned. What the hell just happened? I thought she was happy tonight.

He grabbed his own jacket and ran after her. Once outside, he realized it was still pouring rain. He saw Oriana about halfway through the parking lot. His heart sank as he saw she was not alone. She was with Chase.

  @annekebbphotography @carabeth @gardeningourmet @eileendannie @alesana45 @thequeenofcronuts @drakewalkerfantasy @zigortega4life @friedherringclodthing

@emerald-bijou @xo-endlessmayhem-xo @divergentofhogwarts @rissah @syltti78 @damienswhore @askdana @giulia2372 @symonde @coffeebeandragon @flyawayboo @pbmychoices @wickedgypsymoon @kendrasgue @timmagicktoad @feartheendlesssummer @elainew13 @the-soot-sprite @endlessly-searching-for-you @nerdynstoned @brightpinkpeppercorn

#a twist of fate #beckett harrington fanfic #beckett harrington #beckett x mc #beckett x oriana #the elementalist fanfic #the elementalist #choices the elementalist #the elementalist 2 #playchoices #choices stories you play #choices fanfiction #fluffy-marshmallow-heart

[timeoutforthee]

Like it or Not-Chapter 25

Taglist: @itsausernamenotafobsong, @sea-blue-child, @iaminmultiplefandoms, @princeanxious, @uwillbeefoundtonight, @zaidiashipper, @arandompasserby, @levyredfox3, @falsett0, @error-i-dunno-what-went-wrong, @scrapbookofsketches, @podcastsandcoffee, @helloisthisusernametaken, @amuthefunperson, @michealawithana, @yamihatarou, @heck-im-lost, @unlikelynightmareconnoisseur, @idkaurl, @bubblycricket, @fnp-alizay, @neonbluetiefling, @comicsimpson, @a-little-bit-of-ace

Summary: Logan, Patton, Roman, and Virgil are all struggling in their recovery. Their doctors, Thomas Sanders and Emile Picani think they can help each other out.

Aka Group Therapy AU

Trigger Warnings: disordered eating habits, death mentioned, parents not understanding mental health, general ignorance, parents fighting

Read it on AO3!

On the one hand, Logan’s support system was growing stronger. On the other hand, he started to see the cracks in its foundation.

Patton and the others seemed to be willing to celebrate any small victory, but his parents had much higher standards for him. They didn’t know what their son was struggling with, they just knew they wanted it to end.

Obviously, Logan thought to himself, They are my parents. They love me. They want me to feel better.

That was the mantra he repeated to himself, but some days it seemed less about love and more about convenience.

“What do you mean by that?” Thomas asks him.

“I mean…,” Logan trails off, unsure of how to phrase this, “They just don’t...understand. And part of that’s my fault, I haven’t taken the time to properly educate them, but sometimes I wonder, if I stopped this tomorrow, would they be happier?”

“It’s not your job to educate them,” Thomas says.

“It feels like it is,” Logan admits, “How else are they supposed to learn?”

“They’re adults, Logan, they should take the initiative to research themselves.”

“And if they don’t?”

“Well, then, they’re not being very supportive, are they?” Logan is quiet at that. “Have they been supporting you, Logan?”

It takes Logan a while, but he finally says, slowly, “No.”

“How do they react to this, then?”

“They ignore it.” They ignore me.

“Can you elaborate on that?”

“They take me to therapy, but we’re silent in the car. We don’t talk about therapy, they’ve never even asked about what I’m coming here for. They’re against me taking a psychology class. And there are certain things I have to do that they don’t understand and I-”

“Wait, pause there. What do you mean there are things you have to do?”

“Like I have to eat my food a certain way. Like I have to keep track of my calories. It’s just something I have to do.”

“I see, are there any more rituals you have to do that aren’t related to food?”

“No,” Logan says, “Well…”

"Yes?"

"There was the instance, when I was younger."

^

Logan was eight when he learned about death.

His grandfather passed away, quietly in his sleep, and suddenly death felt a little too real. He had seen it in movies and tv shows, but now suddenly it felt like it was around the corner. He knew it wasn’t after him, necessarily, but the main person he worried about was his grandmother.

So every time he visited, he’d leave, dragging his feet behind his parents, before turning and walking back up the steps to knock on her door. She’d open the door, and he’d nod, satisfied. But not for long. He had to walk down the steps and turn back around at least two more times before he would finally pick up his feet and follow his parents to their car.

“Why does he do that?” his grandmother asked one day when she thought he wasn’t listening. Logan had closed his eyes during a movie, and now he was slumped over on the couch. But he wasn’t asleep yet. “It’s annoying, you know.”

“Aww,” his mother replied, “I think it’s funny when he does that.”

“I do too,” his father said, shrugging, “Kids are a handful. At least with Logan it’s something as tame as knocking on the door a few extra times.”

“So you’re not going to stop him?” his grandmother says, her annoyance creeping in.

“Come on, Mom, it’s just a little quirk, he’ll grow out of it,” his mother says.

Mental health has a funny way of expressing itself, especially in kids. How people reacted to it could change the whole trajectory of an illness, completely changing their lives. And when it came down to it, when Logan started acting a little different, his family laughed it off.

Logan didn’t grow out of his knocking ritual, it only ended when his grandmother passed. And Madelyn and Kurt didn’t grow out of ignoring their son.

^

Thomas is staring at Logan, listening intently.

“Tell me, Logan,” his doctor says, “That sort of panicked feeling you had when it came to death before, do you ever have a similar feeling now?”

“No,” Logan says.

“Really? Not even when it comes to food?”

“I mean…,” Logan starts thinking. Thinking of the moments before he cuts his food, when he arranges his food on his plate, when he’s counting steps, calories, carbs…

“...yes.”

Thomas makes a note of that. “Logan, I have a question for you. Have you ever heard of obsessive compulsive disorder?”

“OCD? Yeah, though I’m not sure how accurately it’s been portrayed to me. It seems to involve a lot of cleaning.”

“Not quite,” Thomas says, “It’s when we have intrusive and upsetting thoughts-obsessions-that can cause us to perform rituals to try and keep them away-compulsions.”

Logan feels something in his stomach sink. “Why are you telling me this?”

Dr. Sanders smiles softly, “Why do you think I’m bringing it up?”

“I thought I had an eating disorder,” Logan says, ignoring the question.

“Oh, you do. One doesn’t cancel out the other. There is such a thing as comorbidity.”

Which makes sense to Logan. He’s read enough of his psychology book to knows it’s actually pretty rare to only have one mental illness. He had a feeling that a day like this would come, but he didn’t think it would be this.

“So...if I did have OCD...what would happen?”

“We would work on it,” Dr. Sanders says, shrugging, “I have an OCD workbook around here somewhere that you could work through, but it would also give us a new way to approach your eating disorder.”

“And you think that would be more beneficial?”

“I do. But we can discuss that at length next time. For now, we’ve run over time.”

Logan looks at the clock on the wall behind him. They’re fifteen minutes past when he was supposed to be out of here. His dad would probably be worried.

No, says a voice that’s a little too honest, Dad probably won’t care.

^

Dinner that night is tense.

More accurately, Logan is tense and it’s starting to infect his parents. They’re having hamburgers and fries which made Logan even angrier than he was because if they spoke to him for even a second they would know how much he hated french fries and how triggering they were. Yet they had the nerve to make passive aggressive glances at his plate and at each other as he was cutting the fries into bite sized pieces.

“How was school, Logan?”

And Logan knows he should bite his tongue. Should play nice like he always has, but after the session he just had with Dr. Sanders, he can’t put forth the effort.

“Fine.” Maybe if he just doesn’t talk everything will be fine.

His parents glance at each other which just makes his blood boil more.

“Are you sure, honey? You seem stressed,” his mom says.

And just like that, he deflates. Maybe he’s being unfair to them. Like he told Dr. Sanders, he never tried to educate them. Maybe it was time he tried.

“School was fine, I just had a stressful session,” he says, honestly.

His mom purses her lips, trying and failing to keep her face neutral. “Oh?”

“Yeah, we…,” Logan’s throat goes dry. He doesn’t know why talking about this makes him so nervous, but it does.

“Are you going to be done with that soon?” his dad asks, cutting him off.

“Done…? With therapy?”

“Yes, with therapy.”

“We haven’t discussed that at all. In fact we just made a breakthrough today, we’re going to start working on something new-”

“Breakthroughs should mean ‘almost done.”

“But I’m still struggling!” Logan snaps, “So that means continue.”

“Honey, I don’t think you’re struggling as much as you think you are. I mean, everyone has struggles, I think yours are normal.”

“They’re not!” Logan is getting emotional and he knows that’s only going to hinder his argument, but he’s getting desperate. “How can you guys not see it?”

“See what?” his dad asks.

“The counting, the compulsions, the-the,” Logan never stumbles over his words, but his emotions are overtaking him right now, “The OCD, the anorexia.”

His dad leans back in his chair. “Anorexia? Like when you don’t eat?”

“Yes, dad, when you don’t eat.”

His dad stares at him. There’s no recognition, no realization, no sadness. Just confusion.

“Boys don’t get eating disorders.”

And maybe Logan should have expected this or seen it coming, it’s not exactly an uncommon belief, but he’s always seen his dad as an intelligent man. Clearly, he would listen to reason.

“Mental illnesses don’t discriminate, they’re chemical imbalances in the brain-”

“Chemical imbalance? I thought you were talking about anorexia-”

“I am.”

“That’s a behavior. A behavior is choice, Logan,” his dad says, slowly, as if Logan is the confused one in this instance.

“Dad, that...isn’t the way it works.”

“Of course it is!” his dad says, “That’s the way it’s always worked, that’s the way it’s always been! Maybe these doctors you’ve been seeing are just hacks in disguise.”

“They’re not hacks what are you talking about?”

“I’m talking about some new age doctors who think they know everything, when in reality they’re just taking my money!”

“They’re not-”

“You know what? I’m tired of waiting for this to be over. It’s over now.”

Logan suddenly feels like he’s been plunged into the arctic. “What do you mean?”

“I mean you’re not going back to therapy.”

“Dad,” Logan stutters, which is unusual for him, “Dad, you-you can’t mean that, I need it, please-”

His dad doesn’t say anything, just stands up and goes to his room.

“Mom,” Logan says, turning to her, “You can’t let him do this, please, I need therapy, I need group, I’m sorry, I’m sorry-”

His mom is staring at her plate. She finally shakes herself and looks at her son.

“I can’t control what your dad does.”

“You can take me to group,” Logan says, desperate, “please.”

She sighs, “We’ll discuss it.”

#lion #like it or not

[swans-anime-ramblings]

An examination of LuNa in Strong World

*note: I’ve had quite a few new followers in the past 10 days or so, hooray! But because of that, I just thought I’d give a quick FYI. I occasionally post about LuNa on my blog, so if that isn’t your jam, no worries! Just block the lunami tag so you don’t have to be subjugated to my ramblings on this specific topic 😊. I always tag accordingly, so you don’t have to worry. I hope we can still be friends!*

Let me start off by saying that I don’t consider myself a multi-fandom hardcore shipper. I definitely enjoy certain ships, but on the whole I’d say I don’t particularly care who ends up with who for most of the anime/manga I’m into. However, LuNa is a whole different story. It really is my OTP.

I’ll admit, I resisted becoming attached to LuNa. I wanted to keep an open mind, and honestly, shipping complicates things. It sets you up for monumental disappointment because there’s a chance your ship will not become canon. And if this happens (and it happens a lot), it taints your experience. I’ve never believed you should invest in a story solely for shipping, but the disappointment remains all the same.

For me, Strong World was a big factor in shipping these two. I remember smiling and thinking, “yeah...I want these two to find romance.”  And so, I think it’s high time for me to go through their biggest moments in the movie and why I think they have meaning. Be warned, this gets lengthy!

1. Luffy is Nami’s emotional anchor/ support

This is one of LuNa shippers’ biggest arguments in favor of them finding romance, so I won’t explain why this is a thing, but I think there’s two major instances in the movie.

When Shiki first abducts Nami in the beginning of the movie, Luffy yells for her and his attention is focused on her while everything else is in chaos. She immediately responds by yelling his name back, but it’s too late and he’s knocked away. I think this exchange sets up the movie being about their relationship, and reinforces that their bond is strong.

The second, and perhaps more potent time, is when Nami hears of Shiki’s plan to wreck the East Blue. She’s napping inside the house when Xaio comes in excitedly because her friend’s dad came home. Shiki is leaving and he’s going to destroy the East Blue. After Nami hears this horrible news, she immediately says, “Luffy” as she gets up and goes to find him. She’s dazed, scared, and there’s a terrifying situation about to happen. Saying his name is completely reactionary because he is her rock.

2. Luffy and Nami find each other

Unlike the other Strawhats who were separated into groups, Luffy is completely on his own. It’s a convenient, purposeful way to give them some time alone when they happen to meet-up. Nami sees the Sunny and she exclaims, “Sunny-go!” And then moments later Luffy runs out of the forest, sees Sunny and also exclaims, “Sunny-go!” Luffy sees Nami and starts running towards her. Some hilarity ensues, but luckily Billy is there to save the day.

3. Luffy’s tenderness toward Nami

Normally, I wouldn’t peg Luffy as a “tender” guy. He’s usually getting into all sorts of trouble, is brutally honest, yells a lot and has a monstrous appetite. In this movie there’s a couple instances where Luffy’s boisterous nature is calmed, and here we can find Luffy focused on taking care of Nami.

After they are reunited, Luffy is cooking up some food and turns toward Nami giving her a tender smile while he tells her to eat. She refuses since it’s scorpion, but I love his moment. That smile is so irresistible.

Another good tender moment is after they’ve reunited with some of the other crew. Everyone is exhausted and Xaio’s mom invites them to come in and rest. As far as I can tell, it was an open offer, and before anyone has a chance to respond, Luffy says,“Nami. Why don’t you go and do that?” He knows she’s been through a lot, and gives her an opportunity to rest without any other interference. When the crew sleeps outside, Luffy is the one closest to do the door.

This type of quiet caring is the right type of caring. It’s natural, non-intrusive, and has such a lovely feel. Nami is an independent woman, so smothering is annoying to her. I think Luffy cares for her instinctively like this since he’s not the type to do things that are unwanted. For Nami, I feel this works best for her.

4. They’re comfortable with each other

One of things I love about the scene where Luffy and Nami are reunited is how relaxed they are talking to one another. I feel like there’s this common misconception that Nami is yelling at Luffy every waking moment of the day, but that’s simply not true. I bet they talk like this often. While Nami is changing, she’s asking Luffy where everyone is and he responds while cooking his scorpion. Honestly, this feels to me like a couple who has come home from a long day at work. After they’ve been reunited, someone starts cooking while the other gets out of their work clothes. “How was your day?” “oh just fine. It’s been busy at the office since everyone is off for vacation.”

Their comfortability with one another is shown again just a short time later when Nami is riding on Luffy’s shoulders with her hands gently sitting on top of his head. While flying, they’re casually discussing where the rest of the crew might be. I feel like if Nami were in this situation with anyone else, she’d be furious, or at least we would’ve seen her temper flare before accepting her fate.

Luffy is angry at Nami

This right here is the big one. After Luffy and the others are pulled out of Shiki’s trap, Luffy is somber because he’s lost. Ussop says, “she went with Shiki to save our hometowns” and everyone, including Luffy, heard Ussop say this. Luffy doesn’t react beyond continuing to look defeated.

When they start playing the message Nami left them, Luffy hears Nami’s words about how they (i.e him) isn’t strong enough to face Shiki. And Luffy is furious. His hands start shaking and he starts screaming. It makes him so angry that he goes and punches a rock out of frustration.

This isn’t like Luffy at all. And interestingly enough, we have something to compare it to. Robin’s departure from the Strawhat’s is over the same circumstance. Robin leaves so that the crew will not die because she believes they aren’t strong enough to face the World Government. After the failed attempt to rescue Robin, the crew explains what happened to Luffy. His response is seen below (also shutout to Luffy+Nami yelling at each other over it hahaha).

Now, he’s definitely angry but there’s one key difference. Luffy is angry at Robin for not worrying about her own safety, not because Robin doesn’t believe Luffy is strong enough. He isn’t taking her leaving personally.

But he does take it personally with Nami.

This idea of Nami “not believing Luffy is strong enough” fits in the category of things that you absolutely DO NOT say to a man you’re in a relationship with, in real life. This is a thing, and even an implication of  “you’re not strong enough” can be hurtful. I’ve seen this firsthand. But for confirmation I googled “things a woman shouldn’t say to a man they’re in a relationship with” and got a bunch of listicles (some of which were weird, I grant you). However, in the ones written by men, this was close to top. Here’s a random one I found.

From Glamour Magazine:

4. “He’d kick your ass.”

Telling us that anyone--even a grizzly bear or some sort of terminator from the future--- can beat us up is equivalent to us flipping through a magazine and physically pointing out the women we think are betting looking than you. It’s ridiculous, I know, but we like to think we’re tough (true story: an ex told me her friend, a mixed martial artist,could kick my ass--- my response: “not at Jeopardy”).

And absolutely, a couple of men don’t speak for the whole of masculinity, but I think it’s safe to say a lot of men would feel this way. Luffy’s reaction tells me Nami’s words cut. He was expecting the trust he places in her to be reciprocated (to quote Warlordgab). The idea that she didn’t was too much for him and he reacted. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him this angry at one of his crew members.

Luffy protects Nami’s honor

Despite Luffy being furious with Nami, he will not allow her to appear weak in front of Shiki, who makes fun of her sacrifice. “You’re an idiot,” Luffy scowls. “Nami didn’t sacrifice herself, she just came to fight as our vanguard, is all!” before the Strawhats begin shooting up the palace. What’s funny about Luffy’s statement is it’s truer than he thinks. But she was gone and could not defend herself, so he did instead.

Luffy holds a grudge

Luffy’s anger toward Nami isn’t just a gut reaction. He stays angry at her, and when I watched this movie for the first time I was surprised. You can feel his anger when he’s about to beat the crap out of Shiki. “Nami. I’m gonna beat this guy up and then we’re going home.” He can’t talk with her about his anger until later, so he doesn’t even mention it, but it’s written all over his face. Even though he’s angry, he reaffirms to Chopper and Ussop to take care of Nami. Again, I feel like this is an accurate response to how a real man would act if they were in a similar situation.

Luffy scowling while fishing would probably be funnier if the circumstances hadn’t been so serious, but it’s evident he’s been by himself stewing for a while. When Nami is better, Luffy lets Nami know EXACTLY what he thinks. “You said some really mean things! I can’t believe you didn’t have faith in me after all this time!” And it’s then, the truth is revealed.

Nami is embarrassed at her message

At the very end of Nami’s message, she quietly asks to come be saved and doesn’t want Luffy to hear it now that the situation has been resolved. Sanji says it was “a message of love,” and Nami doesn’t even deny it. She just moves on to the next thing which is..something.

I think the reason Nami is embarrassed by the message, is that it does show her care for Luffy. Nami says that she directed the message to him because “you’re denser than anyone else”. So Nami, in the middle of Shiki breathing down her neck, is worried that Luffy will be angry by the message she’s being forced to give, and tries to say something so he understands. That she DOES believe in him, and she wants him to come get her. Nami understands Luffy.

What does all of this mean?

Well, that’s a good question. Because at this point in the game, are we really seeing “romantic love” from these two? I don’t think so, despite some of their reactions normally stemming from romantic love. So what is it then?

Recently, a good friend of mine has been going through One Piece. He is extremely analytical to the detriment of him enjoying shows at times. He told me admittedly that he doesn’t care about shipping nor does he pick up on shipping cues. As he’s watched One Piece, shipping isn’t a thing I’ve ever asked him about.

He watched Strong World right after finishing Thriller Bark, and this is what he had to say while giving me his thoughts on the movie.

"Luffy and Nami have a cool relationship. It’s an unstated love that’s purely platonic but incredibly strong. It’s not brought up much but I have sensed it.”

Honestly, I was wowed by his statement. He was able to put into words something I was having a hard time categorizing. The movie makes them feel like more, but at the same time it’s not romantic. This bond, which at the time of Strong World is platonic but strong nonetheless. They care for each other deeply and they have a special relationship.

So how does it progress?

Have you ever fallen in love with your best friend? I have, and I can tell you there was a single moment when everything became crystal clear to me. Afterward, I spent hours trying to sift through my feelings. When, exactly, did my caring for him transition to love? Did I always love him and was incredibly dense? Or was it gradual, and like a flower, it had been growing for some time beneath the surface and had just sprouted?

Yes…I think that was it. The seed; our friendship. The water; our caring for one another. The earth; the time we spent together. The sun; our shared laughter.

I think this analogy best describes Luffy and Nami, too. As my friend picked up, there’s something beneath the surface, something strong and lovely. Will Oda give it a chance to bloom? I don’t know, but I hope so.

I really hope so 😊

#LuNa #lunami #luffyxnami #luffy #nami

[princessamericachavez]

Travel companions

He’s been watching them for quite some time, but never from this close. It’s usually through Jester’s eyes, her sketch book, her tales that he’s known them. Well, not entirely. He got curious too and would some times observe their adventures from the shadows, getting to know Jester’s new friends with his own two eyes. He’d been the first one, after all, and he wanted to make sure they all lived up to his standards. 

The Traveler liked observing them, even in their worst situations, as Jester ran around torn between fighting beasts and keeping her friends alive. He’d gotten to the conclusion that he’d chosen well. Tricksters, after all, aren’t too hard to find. Many in this world enjoy creating chaos, but too many seem to enjoy it most when it harms others. Good hearted mischief, in the other hand, is a much rarer gem, and in his not very humble opinion, Jester embodies it wonderfully. 

Perhaps it’s that good hearted playfulness that made Jester —and himself— like Mollymauk so quickly. He is, after all, a kindred spirit in more ways than one, and The Traveler finds him a great addition to his cleric’s adventures. There’s no cheerfulness in him now, though, as the tiefling kneels next to Jester’s body trying to shake her awake.

“Come on, kid, not like this,” Molly mumbles, pouring a healing potion into her mouth, trying to steady his own shaking hands to do so, but the spilled liquid will make no difference at this point, the Traveler knows.

“Move, move, maybe I- I can stabilize her or- or something,” Beauregard shoves Molly away and takes his place, pulling out her healing kit and searching the cleric’s body for wounds. There aren’t any. This isn’t that kind of issue. “I- I don’t know what to do,” she admits, voice shaking. 

Seeing her from up close for the first time, The Traveler notes her youth. She’s even younger than Jester, which is quite funny considering the tiefling sees her as an older sister, what could have been, what she could have had. He’s not sure if he agrees with that assessment. In his opinion, the monk is irreverent in a strangely boring way, too busy with suspicion and ambition to enjoy her own adventures. Jester approves of her, though, so he is willing to give her a try. 

There’s a shriek as a third person reaches the body, and it fills the musky carven with a shiver cold enough for The Traveler to feel it too. Ah, the other trickster child. He would claim her for himself too if given a chance, if her motives were less instinctual and her actions driven towards fun rather than survival. He’d accept her too, though, because he likes her. Much like Jester does, he sees in her another suitable playmate, and quite enjoys the shenanigans the two girls can get into on their own. It’s a match he’d quietly encouraged, and of which he’s rather proud. As the goblin cries, however, all he feels is a strange kind of sadness, clenching inside his chest. 

“Can you do something?! Please, Caleb! With your magic, you must- please!” Nott asks loudly, standing up to grab at the human’s clothes and tug desperately. 

“I don’t believe I can,” he says, rubbing her hair, his eyes set on Jester but clearly looking at something farther away, lifetimes ago.

Ah, the wizard. This one he likes even less than he does the monk. Too serious, too moody, too sad for his taste, but in him he knows Jester saw a challenge, a person to make happy somehow despite their differences. He’s seen her dance around him for months, with jokes and pranks and more than one argument… and he saw it all eventually pay off. It’s a thing he’ll admit he doesn’t understand, an unusual kind of friendship that at times reminds him of a pair of siblings he once knew. It’s important to Jester and, judging by the way his face has paled and his fists shake, it might be to him too.

“We need to do something!” Mollymauk snaps. 

Good, good. The Traveler has never been too keen on patience either. 

“I can’t,” Caleb insists. “I do not know- I don’t think I even could bring her back… only a cleric could.”

“She is the cleric!” Beauregard snaps, standing back up. Her eyes hold back tears. Yes, she is very young, and full of rage that she throws against the nearest rock. He’s confident he hears her knuckles snap against it. 

“Hey, hey, knock it off! That’s not helping!” Molly grabs her arms. 

“There are temples in town,” Yasha speaks up. “There were temples, I saw them. We can find clerics there.”

Without waiting for an answer, she scoops Jester up in her arms. The Traveler watches her closely, standing by Jester, close enough for his breath to slightly ruffle the white tips of her hair. The celestial one, he notes, Jester likes talking about her, admires her quite a bit. It’s not her strength that catches his attention, though, but the softness with which she looks at the tiefling, her jaw set with determination. He approves of the sentiment, but this won’t do. 

Those temples won’t do, he whispers in Mollymauk’s ear, pushing the idea into his head. The tiefling tenses, and the Traveler is amused to see that he recognizes the intrusive thoughts in his brain. He doesn’t mention it, though, he just says: “Those deities are not right for her. They’re just the ones allowed.”

“So what?” Beau snaps. “We just need them to bring her back, not to worship their gods or something.”

No. He won’t have it. He won’t be able to be with her if she goes there, and she is his.

“It’s her deity that we need to contact,” Fjord intercedes. “We can’t do it there without them noticing.”

The Traveler turns around to look at the half-orc. He’s been quiet, keeping his distance, and even now his face is practically a mask, unreadable. Jester loves Fjord, she has for a while even if she might not truly realize how much, but he? Oh, he doesn’t like him. Fjord is filled with lies, curling like tentacles around his every word, he smells like salt and seaweed, he belongs to another whose darkness dims the warlock’s true intentions. And yet, this is the one Jester has chosen, her first friend after The Traveler, the object of an affection that almost rivals the one she shows him. He is competition. He makes her laugh and encourages her and he looks after her… but that isn’t Fjord’s role to play, that’s his. 

“Shakaste!” Nott jumps. “We should take her to him! He can help!”

“How would we find Shakaste?” Beauregard asks, voice edging in anger. Molly is still holding her arm. 

“I- I might be able to,” Caleb jumps, dropping to his knees. He scatters his books on the floor and begins searching for an incantation. Five minutes later, he puts it together with shaky hands and sends the message. “Please, we need your help. Jester needs your help. We are North of Zadash, in a cave by the mountain. Please hurry.”

“Did it work?!” Beau and Molly ask at the same time. 

Caleb holds a hand up, then perks up.

“It worked! It worked! Oh my god! Yes! He said- He said he’s coming. A few hours. He is coming.”

Hours?!

The cave grows colder with his anger and the six travelers flinch a little. He groans and huffs and plane shifts away until the time has passed. At least they have an incoming solution, and that will do until he is needed again.

It’s hard to tell time when he’s not around mortals, but he feels the call once the ritual starts. He’s midway pulling strings in a fun and intricate political game he’s been playing with —the rich and powerful are incredibly fun to toy with and almost too easy to manipulate— but he drops it all immediately to show up to the ritual. 

Shakaste, he notes, looks exactly the way Jester described him in her drawings. Even in her cartoonish version, she captured the gentleness of his features, the wild hair, and the comforting aura that surrounds him. His white eyes shine, as do his hands placed on Jester’s body. 

“Does anyone have anything to offer to the ritual?” Shakaste asks with a calm voice that quite contrasts against the sudden wave of panic that goes through the remaining Mighty Nein. They look at each other, tensely, until Nott —the brave one— stands forward.

Nott says nothing, just puts down her mask next to Jester, and a handful of flowers. The first circle on the ground lights up and The Traveler feels Jester’s familiar soul for the first time since her death. She is still in the Raven Queen’s realm, but she’s awake, listening. He extends his reach, trying to get to her, to bring her closer to home. 

“Hey,” Mollymauk intercedes next, kneeling by her side. His voice is very soft, but in the darkness where Jester is it resonates and makes her soul feel stronger. 

“So, tiefling to tiefling,” he says as a confidence, and as he speaks he starts moving jewelry from his horns to hers, “this isn’t my first time dealing with this kind of thing, you know? It’s a wonderful story, that I might tell you about later, but for that you have to come back, yes? I mean, we still have so much to do, and honestly it wouldn’t be fun if it’s without you so please, please, come back to us?” 

As he finishes with the jewels, he puts down his deck of cards, next to Nott’s offering, slices his palm with his swords and lets the blood drip on them. As soon as the blood falls, something moves in the air of the cave, some dark energy that The Traveler has recognized on Mollymauk’s fighting and that now manifests itself in his spiritual plane. It circles around Jester’s body, then moves towards the darkness where her soul is and holds on to her, like a chain, pulling her closer to this world.

And next, of course, comes Fjord. The Traveler watches as the man takes the spot Molly had been on kneels next to the cleric. He’s barely spoken, as far as he knows, but when he does his voice is clear.

“Jester? I- No, that’s not right. It’s not you who we should be calling for, is it, darling? It’s The Traveler.”

Finally.

With a laugh he stops everything around them, keeping Fjord, Jester and himself inside a nice little bubble to talk. He appears then, physical and tall before the kneeling half-orc.

“You called?” He asks, tilting his head, as if he hadn’t been waiting for this moment from the instant Jester fell.

“I did,” Fjord says, standing up on his feet. His usual drawl is gone, as is his sheepish air. He stands tall, chin held high and eyes trained on him. 

“So this is your real voice,” The Traveler smirks, narrowing his eyes at him and crossing his arms over his chest. “That explains some things.” Like the veil of lies that usually covers his words and the easiness with which he seems to fade into the background when he wishes to.

“Yes, it is,” Fjord says, shifting his weight a little. For a second, he seems unsure, but The Traveler is not about to help him out of the awkwardness by breaking the silence. He finally clears his throat and says: “I- I don’t know much about the gods, or religion, or magic. I’m still learning.”

“Clearly,” The Traveler snorts.

“Yes, uh, yes. But I do know you,” Fjord goes on, slowly, not breaking eye contact. “I do, because you are the most important thing to Jester, and she is- I’m hoping she is as important to you… as she is to me.”

“You lie to her,” The Traveler says, hiding his accusation behind amusement.

“No, it’s not that. I- She knows me, maybe not my history, but the part of me she knows, it’s real. It might be the only thing that’s real anymore. And she is real, and fun, and kind, and too good to die like this after all the shit she’s been through. She deserves more. I just want to bring her back, I’ll do anything. Please.”

The Traveler considers him carefully. It might be the false voice being gone, or it might simply be his words, but something about the warlock sounds honest. He thinks he spots, for the first time behind all the shadows, the light that Jester keeps talking about, earnest and heart behind the many faces.

“Jester says you are her best friend in the world,” Fjord goes on. “I want to believe that you want to help her too.”

And there’s a look in the half-orc’s eyes that suggests that the distrust is mutual, but there’s frankness in it too, a strange offering that rings of desperation to The Traveler’s ears. And that kind of desperation is exactly the kind a god, or some other kind of creature, might latch on to. It's dangerous.

“I do,” he finally replies, taking a step forward and offering Fjord a hand. The boy shakes it firmly, shoulders easing with relief.

With the contact, The Traveler hears waves, smells salty water, and takes notice of the shadows that still linger behind Fjord like tentacles, he feels observed and he doesn’t like it. 

“Word of advice,” he whispers as his physical form vanishes, “next time be more mindful of who you make deals with.”

“Wha-”

Before Fjord can get another word in, he lets go and the world recovers its pace. The rest of the party find Fjord standing there, with his hand out stretched and staring confused at the emptiness in front of him. The Traveler finds it rather funny. As they try to ask what happened and the half-orc mumbles lies and excuses, they are interrupted by a loud intake of air. 

The ritual continues and Jester finally comes back from the shadows. In the crossroads, The Traveler kisses her forehead and sends her a wave of reassurance, so that her awakening may not be too violent and her own death won’t put fear inside her bright heart.

Give them hell, he whispers with a smile. You chose them well.

#jester lavorre #the traveler #mollymauk #fjord #fjorester #sort of #beauregard #nott #caleb #fanfic #critical role #sofia's nonsense #idk guys #will probably post to ao3 tomorrow at some point #good niiiiight

[ienveeus]

namgi high school au

Part of my ongoing, non-linear  High School AU series

- 5th June, 2011   -          2nd December, 2010   -     21st October, 2011 - - 20th June, 2011       -        1st January, 2011       -       7th July, 2011 - - 18th February, 2011  -

HAVEN’T POSTED ANYTHING FOR THIS IN AGES BUT IT IS STILL IN FACT A THING HRGUIDHU

Here we go with part seven! 

18th February, 2011

‘Truth or dare?’

Yoongi can’t help but snort at Namjoon’s question. Can’t remember the last time he heard it, perhaps a couple years back in middle school, when everyone was a lot more interested in who likes who. Or perhaps when they were just a whole lot less subtle about it.

‘Truth or dare?’ Yoongi parrots back, tossing Namjoon a look in his peripherals. He sits with his back pressed against the side of the pick up truck’s trailer, Yoongi’s opted to lie down, feels a lone screw digging into his back but he doesn’t shift to remove it. ‘That’s what you’re going for? Pictured you more as the kinda guy to lie back and make up a bunch of constellations and all the stories to go with them.’

‘There’s no stars out tonight,’ Namjoon shrugs. ‘And even if there were, I don’t know any constellations.’

‘Really?’ Yoongi sits up, flicking the screw aside as he does so. ‘Figured you were the type.’

‘Always one to assume.’ Namjoon’s teeth glint in the moonlight. ‘Truth or dare?’

Yoongi shrugs. What’s the worst that could happen? ‘Dare.’

A low whistle splits the air between them, Namjoon looks positively delighted, cocking his head to the side as he surveys Yoongi’s face.

‘Brave of you.’

A seed of doubt wedges into Yoongi’s mind, increasing when Namjoon shuffles off to the side retrieving his bag and digging through the contents. When he turns back, he's got a wide grin on his face and something in his hand. Yoongi has to squint, and can't help but scoff when he sees the contents.

'And what are you planning on doing with that?' Yoongi cocks his head at what looks like something his mother would have in her ensuite, a purse of sorts, open so Yoongi can see that the contents are all various types of make up.

Namjoon's grin widens. 'Let me do your make up.'

'You're joking.'

'Nope,' Namjoon pops the 'p.' Wanna see what you'd look like.'

Yoongi watches Namjoon's fingers like a hawk, eyes narrowed in skepticism as they come across what Yoongi pins as mascara or something equally black and garish that won't come off easy.

'You're just gonna draw a giant dick on my face or something aren't you?' Yoongi mutters, beginning to regret this whole picking dare business.

Namjoon snorts and pulls out a little tube of something that Yoongi can't place. 'You picked dare, you're gonna have to bare the consequences.'

Out of fear of being labelled a wimp, Yoongi presses his lips closed and leans forward, allowing Namjoon to cup his chin and lean close into his space. He squeezes the little tube and squirts out a dollop of the liquid onto his finger, dabbing it on Yoongi's cheeks and under-eyes, the bridge of his nose and all the rest. It's a wonder Yoongi manages to hold himself together. The proximity between them non-existent and he has no idea where to put his eyes with Namjoon this close, sharing his airway, closer than he's been to any boy that isn't family.

'Not the best lighting,' Namjoon mutters to himself, pulling out a bottle of something and dabbing a fair amount on his hand. He's got a brush out, and begins painting the liquid over Yoongi's face, instructing him not to scrunch his nose at the chill.

'Don't blame the lack of lighting on your inability to do this.'

'I'll have you know I know my way around this bag of goodness.'

Yoongi huffs out a sigh, closing his eyes as Namjoon nears them with the brush. 'Shut up and get this over with.'

'Of course, your majesty.'

The closeness doesn't get any easier to handle. Yoongi keeps his eyes closed the majority of the time and hopes whatever substance Namjoon's painted his cheeks with is enough to cover the pink tinge that now permanently resides there. He goes over his work with a powder, brushes something across his eyelids and forces Yoongi's eyes open when the mascara finally makes an appearance in the way it's meant to be used as opposed to what Yoongi's ass friends might do.

There's a small argument when Namjoon comes at him with tweezers, insisting that plucking Yoongi's eyebrows is part of the dare but Yoongi is having none of that bullshit. When Namjoon huffs he blows his cheeks out and Yoongi refuses to think about how cute that is when Namjoon mutters about putting him in black lipstick now due to him being a shit.

When that's done and Namjoon's made him smack his lips together, touching up some little things he pulls out his phone, turns on the front camera and makes Yoongi look.

'Shit,' Yoongi hisses, not recognising the person staring back at him. In this lighting he looks so dark, like he imagines a twin sister of his might look like if she went through a goth phase. 'You actually did this seriously.'

Namjoon shrugs. 'Told you. Wanted to see what you'd look like. Now let me take a picture.'

Yoongi stiffens, glaring at him. 'No fucking way.'

'You're no fun at all.' He points a finger at Yoongi, eyes twinkling in the scant light. 'Your turn, sweetheart.'

Yoongi huffs, thankful his dignity is preserved for a little longer at least and there shouldn't be any remnants of this come morning. 'Truth or dare?'

'Truth.'

'Why do you have so much make up in your bag?'

'It was a thing I bought for Seokjin when he was in the school play last year, liked me doing his make up for him before shows. Now I just keep it around in my bag for times like this.'

'You're weird,' Yoongi says.

'And you're pretty,' Namjoon says without missing a beat. If he notices the struck look Yoongi gives him, he ignores it in favour of asking, 'Truth or dare?'

It carries on like this for awhile. Yoongi flicking between the two, whilst Namjoon takes a liking to dares. Namjoon asks about his most embarrassing moment, dares him to dance to a girl group song (this takes a lot of convincing) asks him about his first kiss. Yoongi gets Namjoon to text Seokjin a love confession, gives him a moustache with the mascara and has him do his own make up without the help of a mirror.

'Have you ever been in love?' Yoongi asks when Namjoon picks truth. He'd been running out of options, exhausting himself with trying to come up with something and in the end, curiosity had won out over appearing cool. Not like Namjoon gave a shit about images anyway, that was his whole thing.

Namjoon blinks at him, caught off guard by the question.

'Hard to say,' he says. 'I think I might've been. Been in a few relationships and I always get like, really involved, y'know? And I like them a lot. I told them I loved them and I think at the time I believed it but then looking back.' Namjoon shrugs. 'I don't know. It's really hard to say.'

Yoongi nods, biting his tongue from asking more questions. He tries to see if Namjoon looks uncomfortable with the intrusion, because it feels like it might've been. But Namjoon looks more thoughtful as he draws patterns into the dust. When he looks up, his eyes pierce straight into Yoongi's and Yoongi tries not to jolt in time with his heart.

'Truth or dare?' Namjoon asks.

Yoongi swallows hard. 'Truth.'

'What about you?'

'What about me?'

'Have you ever been in love?'

It's Yoongi's turn to wear the struck dumb expression. His eyebrows shoot up, face feeling strange under the cake of make up he feels like he's drowning in. Namjoon stares at him, a challenge in his eyes and Yoongi frowns.

'That's cheating.'

'How so?' Namjoon says. 'No rules against it. Pretty sure you just have to do the dares and answer the truths truthfully. Straight forward.'

'It's boring then,' Yoongi says with a huff. He doesn't even know why he's making a deal out of this. It's a simple enough question, the answer not all that incriminating. But he thinks, anything relating to the subject of sexuality, or romance are the danger areas. He can't help but squirm at the mention of them.

'I haven't been,' Yoongi says, 'if you have to know. Haven't even dated a girl before. And I'm not really the type to waste time pining.'

'Never dated a girl you say?' Namjoon says and there's a very thin veil masking the amusement in his voice. 'What about a boy then?'

Yoongi flinches as if Namjoon's thrown a punch his way. He brushes it off quickly, scoffs, but really he doesn't know how seriously Namjoon can take him considering the very definite pause before his response and the shit Namjoon's pulled on his face.

'Very funny, asshole.' He wonders if Namjoon can hear the strain in his voice or hear his heartbeat from the short distance between them. A distance Yoongi wants to increase in the passing seconds. Maybe. His head feels a tad fuzzy, 'What the fuck is this sneaking another question in shit? That's cheating.'

'Okay, okay, fair enough. I'll give you two goes for me then. Happy?'

Yoongi pulls his lips into a thin line. 'Peachy.'

'Then go ahead. I pick truth.'

Yoongi wracks his brain, mind flitting about in search of something. Namjoon watches him closely, still so amused, eyes twinkling as if to replace the lack of stars up in the night sky. Yoongi feels out of his depth suddenly. Isn't quite sure why but it feels like he's stepped into some territory that he might have a challenge navigating through.

'Is it true you had a thing with Mr. Kwon?'

Namjoon lets out a loud laugh. 'He's like. In his fifties.'

'Rumours say you don't care.'

'Rumours are wrong I'm afraid. God the things people come up with... Did you really believe it?'

Yoongi shrugs. 'You're something of an anomaly, Kim Namjoon. I can never be sure what to believe.'

Namjoon hums, looking contemplative. He turns so he's looking at Yoongi face on, rests his head on the edge of the trailer. 'Round two then, pretty boy, come on now.'

The name has electricity zipping up Yoongi's spine but he brushes it off as the chill in the air, clears his throat to keep his voice from shaking.

‘Truth or dare?’ he asks.

‘Dare.’

Namjoon has shuffled close. So damn close that Yoongi can feel his breath on his cheek and shudders like there's insects crawling all over him. He wracks his brains for something, but Namjoon's proximity has rendered him incapable of forming a coherent thought.

'My dares are lame. I can't think of anything.'

'I can think of a dozen things.'

Namjoon's coming onto him. Yoongi was fucking right and Namjoon is coming onto him. Does he do this with everyone he spends time with? All the boys and girls and whatever other people Namjoon is into.

'Are you only into guys?'

The question comes unbidden, Yoongi's voice a squeak of a thing. Namjoon's shoulders lift as he snorts, shuffling back and giving Yoongi room to think.

‘I picked dare.’

‘I told you, I couldn’t think of anything.’

Namjoon takes his time staring, trying to read through the cracks in Yoongi’s annoyance. Yoongi’s sure it can’t be too hard, Namjoon has the eyes of a hawk and those cracks are as wide as chasms.

'No,' he says. 'I've dated a woman, kissed a few girls before and liked it. I don't really have a preference I think. Just met more guys that caught my interest is all.'

Yoongi nods, feeling heat in his cheeks as Namjoon’s eyes flick over to him again. He can’t hold the gaze for too long and is all too aware of the fact that it’s Namjoon’s turn to ask now.

Swallowing the lump in his throat, Yoongi suppresses a shudder. He’d been quick to label the game stupid and juvenile, but it’s crossed into dangerous territory now. When Namjoon asks the dreaded question this time, all Yoongi can think about is their proximity, the ease in which Namjoon said he could think of a dozen things for a dare in that damn low voice of his.

Yoongi picks truth, out of fear, because maybe there is something here and Namjoon knows it, but he’s in no way ready for any of it. Can't even put words to what this is.

Namjoon smiles and Yoongi can see the dimples in his cheeks even in the scarce lighting.

‘Tell me a secret you’ve never told anyone.’

Oh no.

Yoongi likes to think he’s blunt and some would say that that leans more towards being a weakness. Yoongi disagrees, he likes being blunt, likes that he’s the kinda person that can speak his mind and people come to trust that’s his truth.

Yoongi is also a liar, something that contrasts a lot with the former characteristic, something he doesn’t like all that much about himself but knows is sometimes necessary. This is one of those scenarios in which he could be a liar. One where he could lie and come up with some bullshit thing about how he shoplifted when he was twelve or snuck soju from the fridge at his mother’s New Year’s party.

He could even tell a half-truth. Pretend that he hadn’t told his brother about the time he fooled around with Sujin and she’d let him feel her up under her shirt. He’d leave out the part where it did nothing for him, tell Namjoon that it had felt good and he'd been super into it and he hadn't told anyone to be respectful to her. Another half-truth. He knows the sorta shit that spreads about girls who let guys do things like that, how she'd be downcast and he'd be applauded for being such a man. Namjoon would probably respect that.

But Yoongi looks up at Namjoon and he feels his heart thump with the tell-tale signs of fear. Has the overwhelming urge to start running in any direction to get as far from Namjoon as he possibly can. So he does the one thing he can think to do and closes up.

‘This game is stupid,’ Yoongi says.

‘Oh shit,’ Namjoon laughs, ‘you must be hiding something big, huh?’

‘I’m not hiding shit, alright? This game is just stupid. I'm over it.'

'You're making this a way bigger deal than it has to be,' Namjoon says with that same carefree attitude that Yoongi is beginning to resent. 'You asked me all sorts of things and I answered. Come on.'

‘Why do you care so much?’

‘Because you’ve got me intrigued. What is it? Surely it’s not that bad.’

Yoongi ducks his head, using the back of his hand to swipe all the makeup from his face. ‘Would you drop it already?’

Namjoon’s grin is lost in the darkness, and Yoongi can’t help but imagine a cruel twist to it when he says. ‘No way.’

'You're being ridiculous.'

'Says the one literally avoiding a very simple question. C'mon what have you got?'

'Nothing.'

'Bullshit. C'mon some kiss and tell thing? Got some dirty pictures hidden under your pillow? Got drunk last New Year's and kissed someone you wished you didn't?'

Yoongi clenches his fists, feels the urge to tighten in on himself or swing at Namjoon or something. 'Namjoon, seriously, drop it.'

'You realise it's me, right? I couldn't give less of a shit about what you get up to and this is too good to let up so you might as well just--'

‘I’m gay, alright?’ Yoongi hisses, and then without warning, he bursts into tears.

It's mortifying and that realisation only makes the whole thing so much worse. Yoongi isn't in the habit of crying. Doesn't want people to see him like this, especially not Namjoon, the dumb fearless asshole that Yoongi's just confessed his biggest secret to. He shuffles into the corner of the tray, curling in on himself as best he can and hiding his face. He doesn't want anyone to see him like this. He doesn't want Namjoon bare witness to his stupid stupid meltdown.

In the silence that follows, Yoongi feels small and vulnerable, sick with the entire situation. He can't help the way he shrinks when Namjoon reaches out to him, the stupid noise he lets out like Namjoon's moved to punch him or something.

‘Please don’t touch me,’ Yoongi says, can’t be sure whether he’d lash out or melt into it and sob all the harder. Isn’t sure which would be worse.

‘You’ve never told anyone before?’ Namjoon asks, gently broaching the silence with all the teasing mirth from before gone from his voice. Yoongi shakes his head, face still buried in his arms so he won’t have to see whatever look is on Namjoon’s face. 'Hey it's okay. You're alright. I get it, it's scary saying it out loud, huh?'

Yoongi nods weakly, shuffling further into his miserable little corner.

'Shit, hyung,' Namjoon winces. 'I'm sorry. I shouldn't have pushed like that.'

There's a snappy response there, right for the taking, but Yoongi's too messed up to take it. His breathing's evened out a little at least and he no longer feels like he's gonna choke on his own vomit at any given moment.

'You're okay,' Namjoon says. 'I mean it, I really don't care what you are. I mean it's me, I'm not straight either. Not that it's about me but. Shit, Yoongi, I'm really sorry. Please don't cry.'

'I'm not crying,' Yoongi says, in a voice that perfectly indicates how hard he is lying right now. He sniffs, wiping his face in the crook of his elbow before looking up and over at Namjoon's face screwed up in apology.

'I really am sorry, hyung,' he says.

The world has not imploded on itself. No-one is screaming at him. Namjoon isn't looking at him with all the disgust Yoongi's felt towards himself ever since he discovered how to delete his internet history years back. It's not going how he thought it would, and granted this wasn't the way he wanted to come out but on a scale of one to ten, ten being the worst imaginable scenario, this is about a four.

Even so, Yoongi feels drained and despite the apologies, he can't help but feel a slight grudging feeling towards Namjoon. Doesn't want to be out here anymore.

'C'mon,' Yoongi says, shuffling out the back of the truck, nudging Namjoon on his way. His feet hit the ground and he walks around, throwing the door open. 'I'll take you home.'

'Yoongi--'

'Namjoon.' Yoongi sighs through grit teeth, fingers clenching around the door. 'I don't wanna talk about this right now.'

Silence hangs between them before Namjoon nods his head, beginning to shuffle out. 'Alright, hyung, alright.'

On the way home, the truck is silent except for the dull murmur of music dribbling out from the car radio.

#namgi fic #namgi #sugamon #bts fic #high school au #the second otp #my fic #it has been far too long wow #probs will end up doing a couple more non linear fics and then opening up requests for a bit

[everlarkbirthdaygifts]

Happy Birthday alliswell21!

Firstly, we want to apologize to @alliswell21 for the delay of her gift. We hope you had a lovely birthday on the 21st of October! To ad further cheer to your day, the wonderful @wildlyglittering has written a special Everlark fic just for you! We hope you enjoy it :)

Title: Into the Woods

Gift for: alliswell21

 Rating: M

 Trigger warnings: swearing, sexual situations

 Author’s note: I’m so sorry for the delay. I am an incredibly slow writer. Please slap my wrists for this one.

“Is that a Pumpkin Spice Latte,” murmured the voice, honeyed and low, in my ear, “or are you drinking the blood of your enemies?”

               “Ugh,” I made a sound of disgust and shrugged away from him, making sure my shoulder collided with his jaw as I moved. Great, I thought. Golden-douche is here. One hour without him was all I wanted today, just one solid hour. 

               He moved around the table to sit opposite me, completely uninvited, not that he cared, and began removing his coat. When I knew he couldn’t see I took a glance down his body and noticed that water had splashed his trousers and the coat that was now hanging on the back of his chair held a thick, woollen scent. He’d obviously been caught in the rain. I felt a sliver of mean spirited joy but hid my smile behind my mug as a I took a sip.

               “Not looking so dry, Peeta,” I said. “Did your face collide directly with a rain cloud?”

               As he sat he shook out his hair, water droplets bouncing onto the table, he grinned at me, unbothered by my comment. His arrogance probably meant he thought he still looked good. I took another quick glance, this time at his face and noted that, unfairly, he didn’t look too bad. His golden-douche hair had been turned a darker shade by the rain and his usual loose waves had begun to curl more around his ears.

               A drip on one of those newly darkened strands dripped onto the side of his face and travelled down to his jaw before he reached up to wipe it away. My brain told my eyes to stop looking.

               “Yes,” was all he said, “I suppose it’s a little wet out there.”

               My eyebrows went up. It was one of the rainiest afternoons that our District had on record and he had ventured outside in it. Peeta gave a nonchalant shrug and looked over at me and I noted how his eyes glanced down, very briefly, to my mouth as I took another sip.

               “So, Katniss, what are we doing?” This time his eyes met mine, his obnoxiously blue ones shining and I fought the urge to roll my own. On second thoughts, there were no prizes for restraint.

               “We, are doing nothing. I, am having a coffee and reading my emails. You, are interrupting me.”

               “Is that the one from Haymitch?” Before I had the chance to reply, Peeta had reached over and grabbed the paper placed in front of me. When he first found out that I liked to print out my emails and colour code the relevant text he had mocked me for days. Now though it seemed like they were useful.

               I protested at the intrusion, “Hey! I was reading that!”

               “Sorry,” he replied but didn’t seem anything of the sort. He was reading his way through the print-out and about a third of the way down he began to chew on his lip, worrying the flesh with his white teeth. That was... interesting. Peeta never showed anything other than relaxed cockiness. He must have gotten to that paragraph. The one that I’d highlighted in red which meant ‘panic.’

“Yeah,” he said. “It was shit the first time I read it and it’s still shit now.” He sighed and sat back, running a hand through his hair. Some more errant drops of water slid down his neck, trailing down the pale skin.

I snatched back the paper, the words swimming out at me, black on white. The key ones burned into my eyeballs, ‘two dumbasses,’ ‘professionalism,’ ‘working relationship,’ and worst of all, ‘off the project.’

Though I had anxiety digging a hole in stomach I wasn’t expecting Peeta to be worried so his concern came as a surprise. We’d both been sat in the downtown office when the email came through. I’d known that Haymitch was irritated and it was all down to the fairy woods set. Or more to the point, the disagreement we’d had on the set.

I knew there would be a rebuke but the email stated, in no uncertain terms, that if Peeta and I couldn’t find a way to work together then we’d both be off the project.

When I read it all I wanted to do was run, so I printed off the email, grabbed my bag and announced that I was heading to Sae’s Café. One look at Peeta’s face behind his desk gave nothing away. His calm stuck in my throat and I stormed off, the clouds matching my mood, but I made sure to grab his umbrella beside his desk before I left.

I took in Peeta’s face again and now saw the furrowing of his forehead and the way his lips drew down. I found myself saying, “I didn’t think you’d care about being off the project.”

His face smoothed itself back into a careful neutrality. “I happen,” he stated, “to love this project.” I snorted and his eyebrows shot up. “Why is that so funny exactly?”

“Well you say you love it yet you were planning on butchering it with your designs.” A muscle twitched in his jaw. “Why couldn’t you just let me lead on the woods? Everyone knows that’s my area! You were deliberately sabotaging my idea and...”

“Sabotaging!” he interrupted. “Like hell I was!” He leant forward, his jaw clenching and unclenching. “You are the best outdoor set designer, I’ll give you that, and you have an excellent eye for realism but dammit Katniss you are so goddamn stubborn! You won’t admit when you’re out of your depth and you were with this set. Frankly, you fail at anything imaginative!”

I tried to ignore the sting that came with his words. “It’s a wood.”

“It. Is. A. Fucking. Fairy. Wood.”

Here we were again. Glaring at each other and re-hashing the argument that got us into this situation in the first place. My fingers itched and I curled them into my palms. I fought the urge to stand up, grab my bag and storm off. Again.

The disdain had been simmering along at a level that we had managed to ignore but the recent argument had boiled everything over. I knew there was no return to before, if we didn’t try and resolve this we both had something to lose. It seemed that Peeta reached the same conclusion at the same time, and I watched as he rubbed a hand over his face.      

It was as though he had wiped away his frustration and I saw his face lose its hardness. “Listen,” he looked tired. “I suggest that we try and put these issues aside and find a way to work together. Hell, we’ll get Haymitch to mediate if needed.”

I pulled a face at that but thought of the email again, ‘off the project,’ floating around in the pool of my memory. I swallowed any bitter response down and nodded. That seemed to buoy Peeta and he continued talking, “We’ll apologise to Haymitch, profusely, bash out the project and then we can hate-fuck it out to celebrate. Agreed?”

“Excuse me?” My voice came out like a hiss even though a weird little thrill travelled through me. “What the actual fuck?”

The goddam shine was back in his eyes. Whatever apprehension he’d experiences had evaporated like water and he was clearly getting one last goad in. Well fine, I would bite.

“No,” I ground out. “We’ll work on this project, which by the way is based on my original design, and then you can go hate-fuck yourself and cry about it afterwards. Agreed?”

He flashed me a grin. “Well, that just doesn’t sound as fun.”

 ****

 By the time I arrived the set was a hustle of activity. I waved a hello at Rue, possibly the sweetest set runner I had ever met, and then made my way over to where I could see Haymitch and Peeta standing. It didn’t particularly look like a conversation I wanted to join with Haymitch gesticulating at something above their heads whilst Peeta frowned, hands resting on his hips.

               It looked like Peeta had been running his hands through his hair, strands of blonde waves were sticking up all over the place. But then, that’s probably exactly what he had been doing. In the three weeks since Haymitch sent his email, and after the individual chew out’s we’d received, we’d made a point to cooperate and if that meant working closer together then so be it.

               The constant contact meant I was beginning to pick up on a few of Peeta’s ‘tells.’ He was one of the calmest people I had ever met but there was an undercurrent of frustration that occasionally ran through him. This frustration, which I’d once thought was solely because of me, was based on greater things, including his never-ending sense of perfectionism. In a way I was disappointed, I didn’t know why but the idea of it being me that was getting under his skin was slightly enticing.

               Haymitch saw me approach. “About time, sweetheart,” he grumbled. “Where the hell have you been?”

               I shot him a look that hopefully conveyed exactly what I thought about that nickname. “I was dealing with Glimmer.” The ridiculously named, blonde and beautiful art director who I had to have yet another meeting with.

               “There was a meeting with cotton-for-brains and you were the one that went?” Haymitch looked incredulous. “Why the hell didn’t the boy go?”

               Out of the corner of my eye I saw Peeta frown harder, clearly just as enthused about his nickname as I was mine. Despite us getting on better I couldn’t help but squeeze a small dig in. “Because, the boy didn’t want to go.”

               Peeta stepped forward towards me. “Hey, I’d appreciate the demeaning nicknames be kept to an absolute zero, sweetheart.” He held no humour in his voice and when he met my eyes head on there was no jest there either.

               Fine. I would play. I opened my mouth to retort but Haymitch jumped in first, throwing his hands up to the ceiling. “Jesus Christ, are we fucking back to this?” He looked between us. “Do not start this again because I swear to god if you do, I will smack your heads together faster than you can say ‘over fucking budget.’”

               “You,” he pointed at Peeta, “sort out the damn trees, do it cheap, and do it now. And you,” he turned to me, jabbing a nail bitten finger my way, “do not piss Glimmer off, she’s already gunning for us for some goddamned reason and having you turn up to make good is not exactly what I would call a plan.” With a final piercing look at us both he said, “Don’t fuck this up.” I watched his back as he went.

                “Well, that was rude.”

               I turned to face Peeta. The little muscle was going in his jaw and his eyes flashed with irritation but, as quickly as it appeared, it was gone and then he was sighing and running a hand over his face. I felt a pang of sympathy for him. This project was bigger than we both originally thought and he was taking the lead on a difficult set. His blue eyes were puffy and his broad shoulders seemed to sag. The urge that I would have once had to comment on his stressed appearance was no longer there. Instead, I found myself asking, “Are you ok?”

               Peeta looked at me, eyebrows raised and I felt a blush rise to my cheeks. Why did he look so surprised? Was it unusual to ask how someone was feeling? Was it that unusual for it to be me that sked how someone was feeling. For a moment I thought he would make an acrid remark and prepared myself, feeling somehow sad that he would. But he just glanced at me, thoughtful eyes swept over my face, lingered on my pink cheeks without comment before falling to look at my lips. He quickly glanced away.

               “Yeah, I’ll be fine. Haymitch is just being... Haymitch.” He let out a little laugh. “I’ve dealt with worse.”

               “He’s a pill when he’s like this. I think I preferred it when he was drinking.”

               I saw Peeta’s eyebrows stretch up to his hairline even more. “You did not just say that.”

               “Didn’t I?” I said, feigning innocence.

               A slow, wicked grin crept onto his face. “Katniss Everdeen, such unexpected sass.” He winked at me, “I think I like it.”

               The blush that was on my cheeks burned again and the flush bloomed down my neck. You are, I thought to myself, a grown woman. Get a grip. It wouldn’t do blushing like a virgin schoolgirl and it wouldn’t do to start flirting with Peeta.

               “Yeah well,” I replied with an eye roll, “try not to.” I waved my hand towards the set, ignoring the fact that he was still looking at me and smiling. “Don’t you have to go fix some trees?”

               “I thought you were the forest expert?”

               “It’s a fairy wood, aren’t you the expert at things that aren’t real? Don’t be such a golden-douche.” It slipped out before I meant it to but my tone held no bite. I looked over at him from the corner of my eye only to see his shoulders shaking in laughter.

               “Golden-douche?”

               “Yeah,” I shrugged. “On account of your hair and your general douchebaggery.”

               “Oh... I see.” His wicked grin grew lazy and spread wider on his stupid, handsome face. “You refer to my hair as ‘golden’ huh? What do you refer to my eyes? Azure? Cerulean? How about... Sapphire?”

“And there is that general douchebaggery I was referring to.”

“Ah, Katniss,” he replied. “That hate-fuck is beginning to look more like begrudge-fuck.”

I flipped him the bird. “Go begrudge-fuck yourself,” and then I walked off, the sound of his laughter ringing like a bell in my ears.

****

 If there was anything I hated, it was being wrong.

               Months ago, I’d been sat in Haymitch’s office, pouring over the designs for the set we all hated. The fairy woods. It needed to be grandiose, it needed to be ethereal and it needed to be done on budget.

               “Katniss,” Haymitch had said to me. “There is no one here that can compare with you when it comes to nature designs, but...” and he seemed hesitant for the first time I had known him.

               “But, what?”

               “They’re dull.”

               “Dull? What the hell does that mean?!”

               He’d told me that I had a great eye for realism but fantasy elements and outside the box thinking weren’t my strengths and so they were bringing in someone from one of the other teams to work with me. That was where it had all started, Katniss Everdeen and her wounded pride.

               Receiving criticism was not my strength. Nor was giving praise. It had bothered me that we needed Peeta’s more imaginative eye but what bothered me more was that he deserved praise I had to yet to give. Not that he would have cared about what I thought, I’m sure.

               The set was nearly completed and I still hadn’t said anything. Every time we were on set I was awed at what we’d managed to achieve. The trees somehow stretched into an endless colour changing sky, the lichen on the trees glowed a deep, molten silver and gold seemed to pour out from beneath the tree bark.

               I wondered if my face took on the enthusiasm and delight of a child when I looked at it all, because that’s what I felt inside. Still, when I thought Peeta was looking I attempted chilled neutrality. It seemed that I had to do that a lot lately, attempt chilled neutrality, as I swore he was looking at me an awful lot more. Problem is, I only knew this because I was doing an awful lot of looking back.

               We’d found a strange balance along the way and as long as nothing threw off the equilibrium we would be fine. Absolutely fine. Which is why I surprised myself by doing just that.

                               The laughter I could hear across the set wasn’t Peeta’s usual booming one but was light, giggly and sounded flirty. There, deep within the woods, past a few of the silvery trees, stood Peeta and Glimmer side by side. A thought came to my mind to turn around and leave them alone, it is never a good idea to go into the woods, it only leads to disaster. But I shook the thought out, these weren’t real woods and it was only Peeta.

               I affected a look of disinterest as I approached them. “Hey,” I said.

               They both stopped talking and watched as I stepped over fake roots. Glimmer’s face slipped from pleased to pissed while the smile lines around Peeta’s eyes deepened.

               I held out the takeout cup to him, “I got you a coffee.” I made sure he could see where Sae had written ‘golden-douche’ on it. He took it with a grin and a wink and for a moment by stomach pitched downwards. “Sorry Glimmer,” I said to her, not at all sorry. “I didn’t know you were here.”

               Glimmer’s pretty pink mouth turned upwards into a saccharine, and completely fake, smile. “Not at all,” she waved a hand at me. “I was just coming to see how my favourite set designer was doing with my favourite set.”

She turned, smiling at Peeta and gave his bare arm a squeeze. I caught how her fingers trailed lightly on his skin and clutched my own coffee a bit tighter. “Katniss, I was just telling Peeta how amazing his design is and what a talent he is. Don’t you think?”

I gave a grumble behind my hot beverage barrier that sounded like an agreement.

“Well, I just added some bits to Katniss’ original design,” I heard Peeta say. “I added the fantastical elements, but if it wasn’t for her base we wouldn’t have had much of a set to work on.” His comment surprised me and I looked over to see him watching me. I offered up a small, appreciative smile and he surprised me further by offering a small - but warm - one back.

“But it’s the fantastical elements that really make it come alive,” Glimmer continued. “If we wanted normal woods we wouldn’t have needed to bring you in.” She waved a hand around the set again. “This is so much more effort than normal, boring woods, don’t you think?”

I seethed behind my coffee, steam either coming from the hot liquid or my ears. My usual conversations with her were like this, barbed comments aiming for the jugular but hidden underneath a sugary sweet tone. This was the first time that she had tried to embarrass me in front of someone, and it was Peeta no less. For some reason that made it worse.

“Glim,” I heard Peeta say, his voice low but not honeyed. “I think you should be more respectful of Katniss’ work.” I looked up and saw the smile melt off her face.

“It takes an incredible amount of effort and an observant eye to replicate reality and get it spot on. I mean, have you seen the tree bark?” Peeta gestured out to the tree next to where he was standing. “Do you know the amount of time it takes to get the texture correct? Or the colours? It’s not just brown you’re looking at, it’s the right shade of brown, and the green and silver and red.”

Glimmer’s mouth drew itself into a straight line. “Sorry Peeta, I didn’t realise that you felt that strongly about.... trees,” she looked over at me. “I have to go. I was only passing to say congratulations on a job well done. To you both.”

We watched her retreat and I let out a sigh. “You didn’t need to say all that you know. I’m a big girl. I can cope with her petty little knock-backs.”

Peeta shrugged and didn’t look at me. “Well, it was bothering me. You did just as good a job so she didn’t need to be like that.”

We stood there on the set, in the middle of the woods, in silence. Guilt started to gnaw away at me. If he could be complimentary about my work why couldn’t I just swallow my pride and say ‘well done Peeta, it looks beautiful.’ This was the moment if there ever was one. But I couldn’t. My mouth stayed shut until I decided to go ahead and ruin the balance we had earned.

“I know she didn’t but you didn’t need to defend me. I know my work is good and I don’t need you to tell her it is, it should speak for itself.”

Peeta’s mouth pursed and he spoke slowly, as though I was a child. “It does... speak for itself but I just wanted to point out the obvious to her. I think she is a little... biased and it doesn’t hurt to have someone on side.”

“I don’t need you on side.”

His eyes slid over to me and narrowed, the shining blue darkening. “What exactly,” his voice dangerously low, “is your problem here?”

I didn’t know. I didn’t know if it was because I had busted my ass on this project before Peeta turned up and he was now being hailed as some wonder boy, I didn’t know if it was because no one apart from Peeta had praised my actual contribution to the design and I was pathetically jealous and insecure. I didn’t know if it was because Peeta had called Glimmer ‘Glim’ and that she had trailed her fingers all over his skin. I didn’t know if it was because he seemed comfortable in letting her.

“She rode me hard for weeks,” was all I said. “All she did was bust me for the overspend, the design quality, how long it was taking to get the damn thing done and here she is singing your praises like I had nothing to do with anything.” I shook my head and went for the throat. “She rode me hard but honestly from the way she was panting at you I could wonder if you had been doing the same to her.”

It was a nasty comment, not meant to mean anything apart from cause hurt. I expected Peeta to protest in angry indignation and fight back. Except... he didn’t. I looked up sharply at his silence and felt a tremble of something in my stomach.

His eyes remained dark and angry and were boring into my face but his cheeks had gone a faint pink, the tips of his ears too. I watched his throat as he swallowed, the Adam’s apple bobbing.

“Oh,” I said. It came out soft. “Right.”

“Katniss...”

“No, I’m sorry I said anything.” I looked at the ground, at the fake grass, covered in fake leaves. “It’s not my business who you have relationships with.”

“We’re not in a relationship.”

“Or who you’re fucking.” I cringed as I said it.

“We’re not fucking.” He sighed, “Katniss...”

The ethereal beauty of the set now just seemed fake. All those pretty silvers and golds were just grey and yellow. The coffee tasted like mud and whatever I had with Peeta was...nothing. That was where I had gone wrong. For some reason I’d thought the growing joviality between us, the looks, the smiles, had meant more than it did. That was my fault, not his.

“I’ve got to go,” I told him. “I’m sure Haymitch wanted to have a progress update.”

Without waiting for a response from him, I walked off.

The project was almost completed, ‘we can hate-fuck it out to celebrate,’ Peeta had once said about when it was all over. At the time I’d been both angry and thrilled. Not that I wanted to hate-fuck it out at all, but if I was being honest with myself there was obviously something there that appealed to me.

I chucked my half-full coffee into the trash as I exited the studio and rolled my eyes at myself, feeling stupid. If there was anything, I said to myself, it would have been a pity-fuck. A sad, Katniss can’t get the job right, pity-fuck. I went straight home.

 ***

  It was late and I was cursing myself. Haymitch had called telling me there were problems with the meadow set and that ‘I get my ass down there first thing tomorrow morning and sort it out.’ My charming boss with his charming way with words.

               I’d rolled my eyes, confirmed I would, hung up on him and tried to enjoy the rest of my evening doing nothing at home. It was half an hour later that a sinking feeling hit my stomach. Shit, I thought. My binder wasn’t here. Racking my brains, I realised I’d left it at the last place I’d been, in the studio at the woods set.

I groaned. The meadow set was in a completely different studio halfway across the district. Trying to get from one place to the other in the morning would be impossible with the traffic. Haymitch would kill me if I wasn’t there on time but without that binder he would kill me anyway because I couldn’t fix anything without knowing what I was supposed to be fixing.

               I had one option and that was to collect the binder now. I shoved on some leggings and pulled an old sweater over my camisole thanking my stars I had the code to the building. If I was quick I could make it back in time to watch my programme before it started which was the sole highlight of my evening.

               When I arrived the night security guard recognised me and waved me in. “Busy night tonight,” he told me. “Only two of you but still, that’s busy for this time of night.”

               I frowned wondering who else was at the studio at this time of night and got my answer as soon as I pulled into a parking space. Two spaces down sat Peeta’s car. Great. I debated not going in but knew that was ridiculous. What was the point of driving all the way here to turn back empty handed? If I was lucky I could get in and out without him seeing me and if he did, well I was an adult. I was sure I could be civil.

               I wandered in, feeling nervous. I didn’t want to bump into him but then, some part of me did. We’d had that awful conversation on set three weeks ago and since then we’d gone back to playing the avoidance game. Well, I had. Peeta seemed to keep trying to talk to me but I always had a good excuse to get away.

               The studio wasn’t lit up fully but enough so that someone could make their way around the set and I wondered why Peeta was here. On the table to the side I could see my binder, all I needed to do was pick it up and leave. No one, aside from the security guard, would know I had been here. And then, for some inexplicable reason, I cleared my throat. Loudly.

               “Hello?” I heard Peeta’s voice from the set and his loud footsteps as they walked towards me. “Who’s... Katniss?”

               I turned to face him, noting his confused expression. “What are you doing here?”

               “I forgot my binder.” I picked it up and waggled it. “I need it for tomorrow, problem with the meadow set, so....”

               “Right,” he nodded. We stood opposite each other in silence.

               “What are you doing here? It’s a bit late.”

               Peeta sighed. “I honestly hate this set. I got a call from Haymitch telling me that some water damage had happened to some of the trees. God knows how, and now I’m just trying to get it sorted.”

               “This late?”

               He shrugged. “I had nothing better to do.”

               It was on the tip of my tongue to say, ‘what, not ‘Glim?’ but that was cold and unfair and completely borne from a place of my own jealously.

               “Do you want help?” My brain cursed at me.

               He seemed surprised but not unhappy and he let out a breath. “If you don’t mind?”

               “Sure.”

               We walked to the damage and I saw that some bark had begun to peel. I laughed and touched it, “It’s not at all funny but it looks just like real bark, except it’s sodden.”

               Peeta sighed again. “My wood got wet.”

               I gasped and looked over to him, “Peeta!”

               “Sorry, sorry, I shouldn’t have said that. Completely inappropriate,” but there was a small twinkle in his eyes that told me he wasn’t that sorry.

               “We could get some heaters to dry it out,” I said, turning back to the tree and choosing to ignore him, “but if we don’t know where the leak is coming from then it wouldn’t...”

               “Katniss.” He said my name with determination but I could detect a slight tremor. “I’m sorry.”

               I paused. I didn’t understand why he was apologising to me, I wasn’t too sure what he had done wrong, not really. I turned back to him. His eyes implored me to hear him out, his palms outstretched in a calming manner. “Why are you sorry?” I asked.

               “Because I think somewhere along the way I’ve screwed something up.”

               I looked down at the ground. “No, you haven’t. I just...,” I paused, not too sure how to continue. “It’s none of my business about you and Glimmer, really it isn’t.”

               “I’m not seeing her,” he said. “And I’m not sleeping with her. I have slept with her, months ago. A couple of times. There’s nothing I can do about that, it’s happened. I just don’t want you thinking that’s why I ended up on this job, that I slept my way into it. I was already on the job when Glimmer and I hooked up.”

               His statement did funny things to my stomach but it just added onto the guilt that I was already feeling. It wasn’t his fault I was a pathetic mess.

               “Peeta, shut up.”

               “Excuse me?” He laughed a little disbelievingly. “I’m apologising and you’re telling me to shut up?”

               “Yes, exactly!”

               “This is going well...”

               I shook my head. “I mean... you don’t need to apologise. I should be apologising to you.” I took a deep breath. “I don’t think you slept your way into this job, I mean, look at your design,” I gestured around us, “it’s quite obvious that you’re here because of your talent. I was jealous.”

               “Of my talent?”

               “No.” I took another deep breath. “Of Glimmer, actually.”

               It took a moment and then his face changed, confusion blended into understanding and then a soft, warm smile appeared on his face. “Oh, I see.”

               “This whole conversation is embarrassing me. I know I said I was going to help but I think I might just take my binder and go home.”

               “You know,” his voice was low and honeyed and wonderful as he stepped towards me, “I had a lot of inspiration to draw on when designing this place. An artist takes inspiration from everything.”

               I snorted, “Right, like what?”

               “Well, the gold from the trees is inspired by my hair,” he shook his head as he came closer, the blonde waves bouncing. “Obviously.”

               “Obviously, I see we’re back to being golden-douche.”

               “But hearing you talk about the woods you knew as a child really helped draw out my creative side.” He stood in front of me now and he reached out to tuck a strand of hair behind my ear. It lingered for a while as his eyes bore into mine before a fingertip trailed down my neck and onto my collar bone.

“And the silver in the trees? Well, that’s pretty special too.” His fingertip ran a pathway across my skin, tracing the bone and I shivered.

“That tickles,” I said. “But go on.”

He smiled and leant in, his broad shoulders stretched out in front of me, his blue eyes dark and delicious. The pupils were fat and black, squeezing out the colour. Peeta’s mouth was inches away from mine and all I needed to do was stand on my tiptoes and then our lips would meet.

“That particular shade was inspired by the eyes of someone who spent most of their days glaring at me.”

“I didn’t glare!”

“Who says I’m talking about you?” But he was grinning and his hands were now cupping my face, tilting it upwards to meet his. My hands dropped the binder I had been holding and I brought them up to grasp at his shirt. His chest was warm and hard beneath my palms and I clenched the material in my fingers. It was slow, how we were moving, and I just wanted to grab him and wrench him downwards.

“Peeta,” I whispered.

“Uhuh?”

“This isn’t going to be a pity kiss, is it?”

His nose was tracing a path on my temple. A slow kiss was pressed against my cheekbone. “Nope.”

“Are you sure?”

His nose skimmed across the bridge of mine to my other cheek where another kiss was planted. “Yes.”

I could hear his breathing deepen, as though being so close to me was exciting him. His body burned beneath my hands and I just wanted to slide my palms under his shirt and let them explore his skin. The thumbs that rested on either side of my face gently rubbed back and forth and it was almost ridiculous. Two adults standing in the middle of a fake fairy wood, almost kissing, but not quite. My stomach had changed its mission and swooped low in anticipation. The guilt and the jealously had long dissipated and all I wanted to do was press his hard body against mine and indulge in... something.

“Peeta?”

“Uhuh?” There was a smile on his face and I could feel it pressed against my ear.

“Didn’t you promise me a hate-fuck?”

He pulled back and I saw the shock on his face. My hands trailed down his shirt to his hips and I looped my fingers in his belt, pulling his body close to mine. My pelvis pressed against his and I slipped my hands to his backside to pull him even closer. I was being more forward than I ever had in my life. I didn’t know where this side of me had come from but I wasn’t too worried about stopping.

“I’m not going to hate-fuck you, Katniss.”

My heart dropped. It was probably for the best, we had no established relationship, we didn’t know what we were and besides, we weren’t anywhere remotely suitable. Just as I was about to pull away, Peeta’s hands left my face and skimmed down my neck, past my shoulders and down to my lower back. “That’s not to say I won’t fuck you,” he murmured.

My eyes widened as his hands slid down to my ass and pushed me in tighter to his groin. I gasped as I felt his hardness press against my pelvis and then he was bridging the gap and leaning forward to catch my lips with his own.

His were soft but insistent and they slanted over mine, pulling and sucking my lower lip between his, nibbling gently with his teeth. I groaned and shifted, tugging his hips further towards me and undulating mine against his. We pressed together and released and pressed together again, more urgent this time. His breathing grew harsher.

I pulled my mouth away, but not far. “We shouldn’t do this here.”

“Yeah, you’re right. We probably shouldn’t.” But then he was capturing my mouth again, his tongue sliding against mine, our hips flexing and pushing. I could feel his erection straining against the fly of his jeans which pressed against the thin material of my leggings. He was so hot, so hard and my heart thundered in my chest. Our hips sped up, crashing against each other and I relinquished the hold I had to do what I wanted, slide my hands under his shirt to press against his flesh.

Peeta’s hands reminded on my ass and I let him drive me into him over and over as I felt the heat of his skin on my palms. I smoothed them over his stomach and towards his back and he made a low, male sound that made my stomach swoop. His tongue left my mouth and he bent his head lower, trailing across my throat as I tipped it back, trying to breath more air into my lungs.

He smelt of Peeta and it was intoxicating. Forget air, all I wanted to do was breath him into my lungs. I whined and sunk my nails into his bare sides, hearing him grunt against the dip in my throat. “Peeta,” I said again. “We’re on set.”

He pulled back, eyes so dark they were almost black and his lips were deliciously swollen. “Do you want to stop?” he asked, but his tone made it sound as though it was the most painful question ever. Which it was.

“No, but we can’t take our time.” I glanced around quickly, worried that the security guard would come check on us at any moment.

Peeta licked his lips, my saliva clinging to them and he nodded. “Ok, so hard and fast it is.”

I made a noise, something close to a whimper and he lifted me from the ground, my legs wrapping around his waist. Our lips met again, whilst our hips met with hard and fast presses. There was no time for tenderness, not now. Peeta walked us backwards and lowered me towards the base of a fake tree.

I looked up and laughed, “At least it’s romantic in a way.”

Peeta grinned down at me. “You get to have sex in the woods.

“Oh, I’ve had sex in the woods. The real woods.”

Peeta moaned, “Don’t give me this information Everdeen. I can’t handle it right now.”

I stripped off my sweater, leaving me down to my thin camisole. “That’s no good, there’s lots I’m going to need you to handle.”

He grinned and surged forward, his hands on my waist sliding upwards as he did. The air met my bare stomach but he didn’t stop there and continued to slide the silky material up towards my bare breasts. His head bent low and captured a hardened nipple in his mouth, his tongue sliding over it whilst he rolled the other between his fingers.

I sunk my fingers into his hair, marvelling at the softness of the strands all the while marvelling at how his mouth was shooting bolts of electricity down to my core. I ground up against him and he pushed back into me, but it wasn’t enough.

Tugging at his shirt loosened it enough for his skin to be exposed and the bare flesh of our stomachs pressed together, a thin sheen of sweat accumulating.

“Peeta,” I gasped out, digging my fingers into his back once again. If my nail hurt him, he didn’t let on.

               He released a wet nipple with a pop, “What do you need?” he panted. “Tell me.”

               “You said hard and fast.” I flopped back to the ground as he sat up and I grasped at his body like mine was starving.

               A growl emerged from his throat and then he was grabbing at his belt, his fingers making quick work of the buckles and dragging his jeans and underwear down just enough to release his erection. With haste I yanked at my own clothing, pulling down my leggings and own underwear in one swift motion, managing to pull it free of one leg completely while it dangled off the other.

               My chest heaved and I watched his face as he looked towards where my spread legs met. What a sight I must have been. Camisole pushed up to bear my breasts and my centre spread out for him to see. As he looked at me I looked at him. Thick, muscular thighs and a toned stomach. Dark blonde hair trailed down from his belly button to his groin and there, something else thick and hard jutted out.

“Fuck, Katniss!” I heard him say, but the words were faint to my dizzy mind. His fingers trailed down to my core and dipped between my folds. I groaned and arched my back at his touch. A thick finger slid into my body, the slick wetness welcoming him. It was soon joined by another and I could feel my body stretch to accommodate. Peeta moved them, pumping slowly in and out and I tried to grab his cock but it was too far out of reach. A thumb was pressed against my clit and I could feel little stars shoot behind my eyes.

Whilst one hand moved between my legs another went back to my breast and continued to pluck the nipple. I could feel the pressure beginning to build in my stomach, my neck and back arched as far as they could go, my legs stretching wider and wider. I deaf to everything aside from the noises I was making and the harshness of my breaths. In the distance of my hearing I could make out Peeta’s noises of encouragement, his appreciation of how wet, how warm I was.

The pressure reached eruption and I yelled out Peeta’s name, my legs and arms squirming underneath him, my body clenching around his fingers as more wetness flooded out of me. As the quakes dimmed and my body twitched I felt Peeta remove his fingers and bend over me.

“Katniss,” he murmured and I could feel him press his hardness against my bare centre. I nodded greedily and in one movement he pushed himself inside me. A guttural noise came from us both as we joined and I clenched his shoulders and he begun to move.

We agreed on hard and fast and so that’s what Peeta gave. His hips pounded into mine and I tried to meet him thrust for thrust but could barely match his pace. I could feel him, his girth stretching me further then his fingers and he moved quickly and easily within me. The smell of our sweat and mixed arousal flooded my nose and I could feel my sweat mingle with his wherever our bare skin could touch.

Peeta’s hands gripped my knees and he suddenly sat up, his thighs, still glad in rough denim, splaying mine further as he continued to piston into my body. His face and neck had gone a deep red from exertion. “Katniss,” he grunted. “I’m close.”

I arched my back again and grabbed at my own breasts and Peeta’s eyes couldn’t seem to settle on one place, switching between my face, breasts and the place where our bodies were joining. With one last thrust, I heard him swear and then he was coming and holding himself over me, trying not to collapse.

“Shit.” He withdrew and flopped to the ground next to me and we just lay there, half undressed and completely dishevelled. I turned to look at him as our breathing evened out, our chests still rising and falling quickly.

My hand reached out and touched his hair which was now darkening from sweat. I let out a little giggle at seeing the strands curl more towards his ears.

               He looked at me and raised an eyebrow. “Something funny?”

               “Not really, just when you joked about hate-fucking me all those weeks ago your hair looked a little like this then too.”

“As I recall someone stole my umbrella.”

               “As I recall someone ventured out in the rain without one.”

               “You were upset. I couldn’t let you sit in Sae’s alone.”

               We lay there facing each other, underneath a fake tree in a fake wood, surrounded by silver and gold. Large, black studio lights were positioned above the tree tops.

               “I still need to grab my binder and head down to the meadow tomorrow. Ugh.” I sat up, reluctant to leave but knowing we couldn’t stay like this.

               “Hmm.” Peeta sat up too and we both begun re-dressing. “The meadow you say? We should probably add that to the list.”

               “There’s a list?” I asked him.

               He shrugged, “Well there is now. Ok, so hate-fuck isn’t going to make it...”

               “Isn’t it?”

               Peeta gave me a look, one that said ‘you know it isn’t.’ “...but it doesn’t mean that we can’t add others on.”

               “Oh,” I said, “what else is on the list?”

               Peeta stood and helped me up. At least sex in fake woods meant that twigs didn’t end up in our hair. “Well we can cross off fake woods but we need to add in real woods.”

Ah, I thought, best prepare for the twigs. “What else?” I asked him, feeling a tingle at where all this was going.

He smiled at me. There was a lovely pink flush on his face, his hair was in complete disarray and his belt hadn’t been successfully looped back correctly.

“When Katniss Everdeen realises how mad about her I am - sex,” he replied and he bent down to kiss me.

#everlark #everlark fanfiction #everlarkbirthdaydrabbles #everlarkbirthdaygifts #fan fic #by wildlyglittering