#also heads up that I'm almost certainly doing some self reblogs on this

[runningfrom2am]

leveling the playing field X

summary: with nowhere else to go after getting caught cheating to help lucy gray, you both make some desperately stupid decisions.

pairing: coriolanus snow x fem!reader

wc: 3.1k

tags/warnings: capitol brat!reader, maybe slightly ooc coryo, idk i tried my best. do they love each other or hate each other? who knows (we do, kind of). implications and mentions of abuse, so read with caution!! also a little bit of swearing but that's neither here nor there

masterlists // nav // requests

a/n: hi all!! i have some slightly annoying news (I'm so sorry) but i think i have to close my taglist for this fic and for other coryo stuff (which i am working on bc I've seen the requests!!) bc its gone up almost 150 people and i can only tag 50 people per post and it is SO much work to tag everyone individually even after i paste them in and i don't want to have to reblog it 2 or 3 times to tag everyone :(. I'm so sorry like i said ik its annoying but if you'd like to be the first to know ab new parts and you're not already in my taglist, feel free to turn on my post notifs!! that way you'll also see everything else including my asks ab the fic where i answer more questions and we talk theories and all that fun stuff :)

next part

Coriolanus was having a hard time adjusting to the life of a peacekeeper, but he was getting there. He sent off that letter for you almost as soon as he arrived, but was yet to receive a response so that seemed like an answer enough. He had to forget you, especially if he wasn't going back to the Capitol anytime soon.

He was homesick, to say the very least. Both of his bunkmates were out, likely working, but he didn't care much to know exactly where. He was just relieved to have a moment to himself to wallow in his self-pity, chest constricting tighter and tighter with every breath.

A door slammed shut down the hall, followed quickly by his own door opening- at which he held his breath. He had to get it together.

"Is this bunk taken?" Someone asks, a voice not belonging to either of his bunkmates, but he recognizes it nonetheless.

He shot up straight, taking in the appearance of the boy in front of him. "Sejanus!" He had never been happier to see his classmate, hopping out of his top bunk to quickly give him a hug.

"This is a surprisingly warm welcome for someone who almost got you killed." Sejanus chuckled, hugging him back.

Coryo laughs slightly, pulling away and grabbing his shoulders. "Oh, no. Quite the opposite. What are you doing here?"

"About the same as you." He shrugs, sliding his things under the bed below Coryo's. "They were going to expel me, but my dad paid them for my grad certificate and let them send me here. They got a new gym on the condition that they let us both graduate."

Coryo should be relieved, but a graduation certificate doesn't matter much if he's stuck here for the next twenty years. "And Y/N/N?" He asks.

"Y/N?" Sejanus asks, lifting his head back in confusion. "What about her?"

"Did she graduate too?"

"I... I don't know, I didn't know she was in trouble. We were told she was sick."

Coriolanus's stomach drops. That's a story he'd certainly heard before, and he didn't like at all how that ended. He swallows, nodding a little bit as he looks at the floor. "So you didn't see her at all?"

"No... Not since the last time I saw you." Sejanus states. It had been a few weeks now. "But, her mother came to our door a week or so ago, real early in the morning. Ma shooed me away but I heard them talking, it seemed like she didn't know where Y/N was either. She was looking for her, wondering if any of us had seen her."

Again, this is what Coryo had seen before with what happened to Clemensia. Her parents weren't allowed to see her at all while she was in the hospital. "I think she's dead." He admits.

"What? What makes you say that?" His friend gasps.

"I... I heard her screaming when I left our meeting with Highbottom." Coriolanus explains. "At first it was normal Y/N screaming, you know, but then it got worse and worse until it just... stopped." He hoped Sejanus would change his story, that he would remember seeing you at school or on the streets or at one of your parent's obnoxious parties, having a good time, and being yourself. That maybe he had just forgotten, but the look on Sejanus's face tells him that didn't happen.

It was Sejanus's turn to look down now, giving a solemn nod. "I mean, no." He laughs suddenly, shaking his head. "They wouldn't kill her on campus- if you could hear it, she's not dead. They wouldn't kill her just like that, right?" He says, trying to convince himself of that truth. "Surely she's just sick. Maybe grounded, or something."

"Yeah, yeah. Probably..." Coriolanus concedes, hoping that somehow Sejanus was right.

Simultaneously, you were adjusting beautifully to life in District Twelve. You got in the habit of borrowing Lucy Gray and Barb Azure's clothes, and they let you sleep on the floor between their beds. For the first time in your life, you were free. No one knew you, no one had a single expectation of you besides Tam Amber appreciating your help with the goats and occasionally going to the market with Lucy Gray and Maude Ivory to get food. It was refreshing, to say the very least. Everyday you felt yourself unwinding more and more.

"Do you play any instruments, Y/N?" Maude Ivory asks you, skipping to catch up to you as you hike down a trail out to the lake with the rest of the covey.

"I do, actually." You nod at her, a small smile on your face. "Try three."

"Three!" She claps excitedly. "What do you play? You'll have to perform with us! Do they have different instruments where you're from?"

"Not really." You giggle, putting your hands in the pockets of your bright red skirt. "I play the piano, and the violin, which is just like Clerk Carmine's fiddle, but much more boring, and a harp, if you've ever heard of that."

"You play the fiddle?" The young girl smiles.

"Not like he does." You smile at the boy as he walks ahead of you, not paying any attention.

"I'm sure you're just as well." Lucy Gray interjects, bumping her shoulder with yours as she walks next to you. "Maude Ivory, you should hear her projection. I'm yet to hear her sing, but boy, can she yell."

"I can't sing." You laugh, shaking your head. "Back home you don't sing unless you're training for the opera, and you have to start that around the same time you learn to walk. My parents would rather me learn the piano."

"Then why am I the one yellin' at all our shows? You should step up." Maude Ivory giggles, and you just shake your head, ruffling her hair.

"I definitely couldn't do it nearly as well as you." You insist. "Besides, I have stage fright." You joke, mostly to get her off your back.

She laughs as she fixes her hair, running to catch up with the kids in front of her.

"She just adores you." Lucy Gray smiles. "It's nice to have a new face around."

You smile, watching Maude Ivory collect flowers from the side of the road. "She reminds me of my brother. They're about the same age."

"Right, you lent me his guitar." Lucy Gray says, a particular sadness in her tone tipping you off that she believes you should be upset about leaving him. You miss him, sure, but he's better off now with you gone. Besides, he couldn't be any worse than you. Your parents have always doted over him, and there's no doubt in your mind that now that you are gone, it's multiplied.

"Yes. That's him." You reply, accompanying a moment of silence between the two of you.

"Do you miss him?"

"Sure." You nod, kicking a small stone down the path in front of you. "But he's better off without me there. That brings me enough peace to sleep at night."

"Hey, can I ask you something?"

"Shoot." You smile at her, grateful for the change of topic.

"What happened to Coriolanus?" For the first time in weeks, you feel a pinch of discontent in your gut at her question.

"I don't know." You lie, shrugging your shoulders. You don't even know why you felt the urge to lie at all, you knew he was here somewhere but you hadn't seen him once. Out of sight, out of mind is what you have been trying to convince yourself. "He's alive, I'm sure. Peacekeeping in one of the districts probably."

"Oh, I was hoping you would know more."

"It would be nice." You agree. "But he's not exactly in my good graces at the moment."

"It feels so out of character for him to betray you like that, doesn't it?" Lucy Gray asks.

You laugh, shaking your head. "It was unusual. That's what I thought, anyway." You sigh, giving a slight shrug. "I haven't told anyone, but we had... I don't know, a moment, a few weeks ago. During the games. Just a couple of days later and he's throwing me under the bus like I meant nothing to him. We've been friends for years- I thought everything was about to change for the better, and then..."

"That's cruel." She says disapprovingly. "I bet he's sorry now that you're gone with the wind. He's regretting it. I promise you that much."

You smile slightly at the thought, allowing yourself to entertain it, if only for a moment. "He better be."

"Is that for me? Oh, c'mon y'all, you know that I gave up drinkin' when I was twelve..." Lucy Gray says, taking a sip out of the clear liquor bottle someone in the audience handed to her. "Oh, It's to clear my pipes, just to clear my pipes." She clarifies, tossing the bottle back into the audience.

Coriolanus watches leaning against the side wall of The Hob. He's happy to see that Lucy Gray is back to doing what she loved, and she made it home alive and well. He's also more than pleased to finally get off the barracks for something other than work. "Now, who's ready for a song, huh?" She smiles, looking down off the stage to her right. "Okay, comin' right up. First, I'd like to introduce to the stage with a big welcome, a grand ole friend of mine, The lovely Sage!" She says, giggling at her rhyme as another girl climbs up on stage, giving Maude Ivory and Lucy Gray a quick hug each.

Coriolanus looks away as the crowd cheers, scanning the crowd for Sejanus who had just excused himself to grab a drink a couple minutes ago. He's wondering where his roommate could have disappeared to when Lucy Gray's friend starts speaking.

"Well hello, everyone, so lovely to meet you all! I have never felt so welcome anywhere." His head snaps back to the stage. He'd know that Capitol accent anywhere, even as you pause to allow any cheers to quiet down. "I mean that." You grin, hands clutched to your chest. "And that feels so good, considering Lucy Gray all but forced me up here." You laugh, draping an arm over her shoulder, letting her take back over. How could this be real? Coryo is tempted to rub his eyes or pinch himself to make sure he's even awake. He was so sure you were dead, but despite the different name and completely different clothes, he was positive it was you. The pang in his chest made that obvious, along with the wave of surrealism that suddenly surrounded him so all he could see was you.

"Now, my beautiful girl Sage here will be taking over for our friend on the fiddle, we'll give the band a quick break, and we're gonna have a bit of a change of pace while she's lending us her talents." Lucy Gray says, and Coriolanus watches as you take the beat-up violin from the young boy gratefully. He knew you played, but he hadn't heard it for years. You looked so calm, something he wasn't sure he had seen in public since you were young. He can't pull his eyes from your figure as it graces the stage with your presence, lighting up the room even if it was only for him.

A small smile grows on his face as you start to play, several whistles echoing through the room before Lucy Gray even joins in with her singing. He wants to scream, to cheer and clap and yell and tell everyone in this dark, rundown building that this 'Sage' was his. Inarguably and undoubtedly his. Coryo's pride is only curtailed when he recognizes the song; it was the ballad Lucy Gray played in her interview on your brother's guitar.

The sophistication your violin playing brought to the piece almost made it sadder and infinitely more haunting. It's beautiful. Now with your classical touch, the song sets a pit of guilt in his stomach. That somehow, even without you singing, it's now a ballad from you to him.

"Just let me remind you what I am to you..."

He makes eye contact with Lucy Gray as he shifts his gaze away from you. She pauses for only a moment, hands still moving rhythmically over the strings of her guitar. She smiles and nods at him, jaw slightly agape as she glances back at you to see if you noticed him. When it's clear you haven't, she gets back on track with the words within only a moment.

"'Cause I am the one who looks out when you're leaping. I am the one who knows how you were brave..."  Your lips turn up in a small smile as she sings, eyes still shut while you focus. Even though he's sure you're thinking of him, it doesn't bring him much consolation. Well, at least you were thinking of him. He would take it.

The song ends as quickly as it starts, and despite the slower tone, the audience is still excited. More so as the band returns to the stage and you return the violin to Clerk Carmine before turning back around to give a bow. You wave out to the audience, reveling in the whistles and praise before reaching out for an extended hand, accepting it as its owner helps you down. "That was stunnin', where'd you learn to play like that? I've never heard anything quite like it." The man asks, still holding your hand out in between you.

"Oh, thank you. I've been playing my whole life." You grin as the music picks up again.

"Can you dance like you can play?" He asks, lifting your arm to spin you.

"I can certainly try." You laugh, going along with it as he pulls you into a more open space of the crowd, and to Coriolanus, it seems like you're taunting him. You're dancing like you don't have a care in the world, dressed in a skirt that looked like it was made out of a red bed sheet cut up and stitched back together in half-hazard squares, and what looked like one of your t-shirts cut up into a tank top that exposes most of your stomach and back. Appallingly too, a smile present on your face that he had dreamt of seeing again one day but was certain he never would. The only problem is that you're dancing with someone else. Not that he was much of a dancer, but he could try if he had known that's what you wanted.

He's planning his method of attack. He can't leave without speaking to you, because he doesn't even know if you'll be back here the next time he gets a day off. Though, based on your appearance and newfound carelessness, it's likely.

His urge is just to kiss you, but the only thing holding him back is that it could set you off. If you hadn't heard his apology from miles away, would you still be angry at him? But actions speak louder than words. He knows that physicality works with you, and it was hard to deny that he hadn't dreamt of how soft your lips felt on his for weeks. One time was just simply not enough for Coryo.

Coriolanus scowls as the man you're dancing with spins you again, making you laugh as he drapes an arm around your waist.

Maybe he should get Sejanus, see if he's seen you yet.

Another spin, and a hand sliding lower down your bare back as the man pulls you closer, his fingers landing on the waistband of your skirt. When was the last time that scumbag had so much as washed his hands? Coryo wonders to himself, rage boiling up under his skin.

Kiss her. Definitely kiss her.

But if the song choice was any indicator, you definitely weren't pleased with him. It couldn't be, though, because how would you know he would be in attendance? Coryo finds his feet carrying him through the crowd, pushing past a dozen carelessly drunk people in his effort to get to you before he's even thought it all through.

Your brow furrows as a body forces itself between you and your dancing partner. "Hey! What are you-" You cut yourself off, hypnotized by the cold blue eyes staring down at you.

That's my girl. Even though you're angry, Coriolanus is grateful to be the object of your gaze once more.

"'Scuse me, man, do you mind?" The man says, making an effort to push Coryo away. He turns, and before you can intervene he's swinging his fist right at the other guy's face, finding its target in a fraction of a second.

He stumbles back, grabbing his face as it immediately drips blood from his nose onto the floor. There are gasps in the crowd as it disperses around you.

"Hey, settle down, settle down now." You hear Lucy Gray call out amidst the music playing in the background while you grab the back of Coryo's shirt, pulling him back before he continues to beat up your dancing partner.

"Coriolanus, what are you doing here?" You shout over the music. He shakes out his fist, turning back to you now and grabbing your face, pulling you closer to kiss you instead of dignifying you with a response. His actions would certainly speak louder.

You want to be angry, but that falters as you feel his lips on yours again, his hands planted firmly on either side of your waist as he holds onto you so tight you weren't sure breathing was an option- even if you could. You followed him here, of course you wanted to see him, but how could he betray you so easily and expect forgiveness in a kiss?

It takes you longer than it probably should to build up the courage to place your hands on his chest, shoving him back. "What is wrong with you?" You spit, looking him up and down in the blue uniform signified of a peacekeeper off duty.

"What's wrong with me?" He asks, looking around and gauging how many people were even taking notice. "What do you mean, Y/N/N, I wanted to-" Clearly you hadn't heard his silent apology, or it just wasn't enough.

"Hey!" You hiss, jumping at him and attempting to cover his mouth at the use of your nickname, and he quickly swats away your hand. "Let's go. Outside, now." You shove him back by his chest, pointing towards the exit.

You look up at Lucy Gray on stage, still singing as she watches you nervously. You give her a nod and a small reassuring smile before linking arms with Coryo and guiding him toward the door. Just like old times.

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i've closed my taglist for coryo now!! sorry to everyone who wanted to be added, but unfortunately there was significantly more demand than i expected and i sadly just cant tag everyone. BUT! if you still want notifications when i post for this fic, please turn on my post notifs!!

#tbosas #tbosas fic #tbosas x reader #coriolanus x you #coriolanus snow #coriolanus snow x reader #coriolanus x reader #the hunger games #thg fanfic #thg fanfiction #thg series #coryo snow

[catcze]

HI CATTE! big fan of ur works!! glad to see another wrio filo fan !!, can I request wrio trying to learn filo for Filipino!reader !! I think it's super cute and I feel like he would probably become fluent in secret to surprise you !!!!!

Reblogs are greatly appreciated !!

「 FEAT : 」  Wriothesley x GN! Filipino! reader

「 ### : 」  Fluff, some swearing, but overall very good vibes ♡ Reader can speak Tagalog! I'll be real this is super cheesy esp the tagalog dialogue but SUE ME I love cheesy shit and this is self indulgent. Written pre-4.1 release.Translation for Tagalog dialogue found at the end!

AAAA HI BABY ♡ I cannot express how happy this made me ?!?!? Like, I'm bumping it up on the prio because it made me sooo kilig when i read it HAHAHAH I hope you like it lots !! (also if any filos have corrections/improvement on the tagalog dialogue pls lmk because I am notttt the best at writing in tagalog dialogue lmao) also ! I changed it and made him, like, not super \ fluent yet at Tagalog, hence why imo some of his dialogue sounds a bit;;; like, practiced? textbook? if that makes sense? HAHAH

Wriothesley doesn't have some big, grand reason for doing any of this. It's not your birthday or your anniversary or anything like that. He's not meeting your parents and he sure isn't planning on proposing just yet.

In all honesty, it all started from a quick kiss you pressed to his cheek and a string of words in a foreign language whispered into his ear.

"What did you say?" he asks when you pull away, a small smile on your face.

"I said mahal kita," you tell him, a hand resting on his arm. Your eyes soften almost imperceptibly when you say the phrase again. You sound so damn fond when you say it, it makes his heart want to skip a beat. "It's one of the most common ways to say 'I love you' in Tagalog."

"Can you say it again?" He asks, and you easily comply.

Mahal kita. Mahal kita. Mahal kita. I love you. He turns the words over and over in his head, then tries to replicate how you pronounce it with his own tongue, but the words come out a bit funny thanks to his fontainese accent. He's not used to the intonation of the language and it shows, if your amused little laugh was anything to go by.

"Like this," you tell him after watching him struggle for a bit and taking mercy on his poor tongue. "Repeat after me." Then you open your mouth wide, so he can see how you do it.

"Ma."

"Ma?"

"-hull."

"-hull."

"Kih."

"Kih?"

"Mhm. Tah."

"Tah."

"Put all that together, and you get mahal kita."

He tries it again, but it still comes out a bit funky. Not at all like how you say it, sounding buttery smooth and practically dripping with charisma. Despite this, you still smile at him like he's given you the world in your palms, or like you're about to cry from happiness. You press your lips against his, stealing the air right from his lungs and making his eyes flutter shut. He can never get tired of kissing you, he thinks, and if messing up a little bit gets him this much affection, he can only imagine what you'd be like if he improved.

"Mahal din kita," you mumble against his lips, breaking away but not straying far.

After that, unbeknownst to you, Wriothesley picked up what is essentially (but not actually the title) a Tagalog for dummies book and hunted down a guard in the fortress who can speak the language enough for him to consult whenever merely reading the words on a page was not enough.

You've also begun to speak Tagalog more and more around him since finding out his interest in the language. You've even managed to correct his pronunciation a little bit, despite how new much of it was new to him.

("You have to roll your r's a bit more, Wrio. Like... like you're purring, i guess?" That, in particular, he heard quite often. Who knew that his mother tongue said their r's differently from yours? Certainly not him.)

He eats up every bit of advice you give him in passing when he tries to replicate whatever word or phrase you just said, quietly taking note in his head and repeating the phrases back to himself even when you're not around. He goes to that one guard he had dubbed as his 'Tagalog tutor' and peppers them with questions so often that he figures it warrants him to hand over a particularly generous bonus later on for letting him as much of a bother as he is.

And finally, after a good long while of giving it his best effort, his tutor deems him able to hold a conversation in Tagalog well enough, and promptly pushes him out the door, telling him to 'go get 'em, boss.' before hastily locking the door behind him.

When Wriothesley wanders back to your living quarters, reassuring himself that he's been practicing for this, for you, and that even if he gets it a little bit wrong, you're probably going to be happy either way. Probably.

"Sweetheart?" He calls, coming inside. He follows your faint 'over here' to find you on your bed in your casuals, relaxing for the day.

When you catch sight of him, you smile, beckoning him close, just to press a kiss to his lips when he leans over. "Hey," you say, grinning up at him.

"Kumusta ka? Namiss kita, mahal. " He says, the words coming out a soft murmur against your lips. You pause for a good while, jaw dropping and brows furrowing in confusion, and Wriothesley fears that he could have messed up somehow. Then a wide smile breaks across your face as you glow with absolute delight.

"Hoy, talaga?! Nagtatagalog ka?" You sit up to be eye-to-eye with him, and you see nothing short of pride in his eyes. One of your hands flies up to cover your mouth as you gasp. "Woah, ang galing mo!"

And oh, it's one of the cutest things you've ever seen from him— Wriothesley smiles, just s little bit, and the slightest hints of a blush dust his face. It's adorable to see how he reacts to your praise.

Wriothesley's eyes dart away from yours, one of the few tells of embarrassment you've ever seen from him. "Pasensya na, di pa ako magaling magtagalog. Nag aaral pa lang ako."

"Kahit na!" You're clearly enthused, happy and grinning and buzzing with energy. "Namiss din kita! Okay naman ako. Ikaw? Kumain ka na ba?" You're wide awake and looking up at him like he hung the stars in the sky for you. Wriothesley is smiling now too. All those hours and late nights trying his best to get the words right, and this was the very reason why.

"Mhm, kanina pa, bago pumunta ko dito." One of his hands reaches up to your face. The callouses and scars of his hand drags a giggle from you as he tries to rub the sleep from your eyes. "Sana nakatulog ka ng maayos."

And compared to when you first told him you love him in your language, his Tagalog has improved by leaps and bounds. Still affected by his accent, yes, but his hard work showed through. It is that and the tenderness in his voice that makes you break this little song and dance between the two of you. Your hand reaches up to hold the one cupping your cheek, letting you lean further into his palm.

"Were you intending to surprise me? Because you certainly did. In a good way, I mean."

Wriothesley chuckles. "I'm glad. Been trying to learn it since that first time, and I think I'm making some progress. Though anything more than a simple conversation is still a bit much for me."

"Kahit na," you repeat yourself, "You're amazing! You got so good! Oh, we are going to have so much fun having secret conversations that no one else can understand."

He playfully quirks an eyebrow at that. "While that's definitely going to be some fun, I really wanted to learn how to, ah, tell you that I love you back."

"Oh." Again, you pause. "Well. Here's your chance, I guess." And you smile at him again, the one that has his heart skipping a beat. Wrapping your arms around his shoulders to pull him into your space, you press your forehead against his and close your eyes. He can feel your breath tickle against his lips, and he almost sighs in response.

"Mahal kita, Wriothesley."

"Mahal din kita, my love."

Translation:

"Kumusta ka? Namiss kita, mahal. " — "How are you? I missed you, love."

"Hoy, talaga?! Nagtatagalog ka? — "Hey, really?! You're actually speaking Tagalog?"

"Pasensya na, di pa ako magaling magtagalog. Nag aaral pa lang ako." — (spoken sorta formally) "Sorry, I'm not very good at speaking Tagalog yet. I'm still learning."

"Kahit na!" "Namiss din kita! Okay naman ako. Ikaw? Kumain ka na ba?" — "Even so!" "I missed you too! I'm fine. What about you? Have you eaten yet?"

"Mhm, kanina pa, bago pumunta ko dito." "Sana nakatulog ka ng maayos." — "Mhm, I did earlier, just before I came here." "Hopefully you had a good nap."

"Mahal kita, Wriothesley." — "I love you, Wriothesley."

"Mahal din kita, my love." — "I love you too, my love."

#「 🐈‍⬛ 」 catcze.desserts #Wriothesley x reader #genshin impact x reader #Wriothesley #Genshin Impact #cw gn reader #If the dialogue is cringe I am so sorry the furthest i go in writing in tagalog is essays and papers HAHDKJANS

[sarahlizziewrites]

Some writing advice is sound, some is bullshit. "Show, don't tell" gets bandied about without any context or guidance like it's some golden rule. I feel like most people don't really know what it means. In general, I like to think of it as "Showing is often better than telling, if you get the opportunity". But above all, what I've realised is

Feel > Show > Tell

Which is to say, Telling is a fine way to tell a story. Showing gets the reader more invested in something, be it a character, a situation or a plot point.

Feeling makes the reader experience what your character is experiencing.

And this is kind of meta, but if you've read the kind of writing that makes your heart beat faster or makes you breathless or makes tears pool in your eyes or sweat bead on your brow, you know what I'm talking about. It's a way to write sentences that has little to do with the content of the sentences and everything to do with the way you read the sentence.

"You are a silly little boy," said the Lord of the Flies, "just an ignorant, silly little boy." Simon moved his swollen tongue but said nothing. "Don't you agree?" said the Lord of the Flies. "Aren't you just a silly little boy?" Simon answered him in the same silent voice. [...] "You like Ralph a lot, don't you? And Piggy, and Jack?" Simon's head was tilted slightly up. His eyes could not break away and the Lord of the Flies hung in the space before him. "What are you doing out here all alone? Aren't you afraid of me?" Simon shook. "There isn't anyone to help you. Only me. And I'm the Beast." Simon's mouth laboured, brought forth audible words. "Pig's head on a stick."

I pulled Lord of the Flies from my shelf in particular because I haven't read it since high school, but I still remember how insane this scene in particular made me. It still makes me breathless. The repetition, the single-line paragraphs, the stilted feeling like you're choking with fear right along with Simon.

Another book that hit hard was Turtles All the Way Down by John Green. I don't re-read this one even though it was incredible, mostly because reading it feels like panic:

Now you're nervous, because you've previously attended this exact rodeo on thousands of occasions, and also because you want to choose the thoughts that are called yours. The river was filthy, after all. Had you gotten some river water on your hand? It wouldn't take much. Time to unwrap the Band-Aid. You tell yourself that you were careful not to touch the water, but your self replies, But what if you touched something that touched the water, and then you tell yourself that this wound is almost certainly not infected, but the distance you've created with the almost gets filled by the thought, You need to check for infection; just to check it so we can calm down, and then fine, okay, you excuse yourself to the bathroom and slip off the Band-Aid to discover there isn't blood, but there might be a bit of moisture on the bandage pad. You hold the Band-Aid up to the yellow light in the bathroom, and yes, that definitely looks like moisture.

Yes, that's a 99-word sentence. It's almost half a page, printed. Your creative writing teacher would have had an aneurism. It's hard to read, but in a way that's intentional, in a way that makes you out of breath even when you're reading in your head.

(Aside, I particularly like this excerpt because the rest of the book is in first person past tense, and then it just switches to second person present like it's nothing. It's pure emotional manipulation at its finest and I love it almost as much as I hate it.)

So, tell if you want. Show if you can. But if you want to pull emotions from your reader and make them feel the things your characters are feeling, write the way that it feels.

Please reblog with more examples of writing that makes you feel. What excerpt feels like rest, or like travel? What quote makes you feel like you're dancing?

#writing #writing advice #writers of tumblr #writeblr #long post #tw: panic attack

[soft-for-them]

My dear, tell me what’s wrong? - Humphrey Bone x plus size reader

Summary: You're just a shy Victorian ghost sad about your undead life, Humphrey is always there to listen to your worries and cheer you up. Reader being plus size is hardly mentioned but is there.

Comments and reblogs are much appreciated and help more people read my works.

A/n: This is some self indulgent stuff right here for I'm Humphrey brain rot at the moment. Also someone please make more BBC Ghosts GIFs, I need them badly.

To most the scene of Alison doing some paperwork in the living room whilst a whirlwind threatens to blow off all her hard sorted papers stacked on the table would be a supernaturally peculiar thing to see but to Alison it's yet another day in the ever so haunted Button house.

Alison barely looks up from her stack of bills as a Victorian ghost straight out of a ghost film or an episode of most haunted flurries around the room looking around for her dear friend’s detached head whilst muttering obscenities about how modern day people portray Victorian era ghosts.

“Oh, I must wear a night gown to bed to blend in with the Victorian ghosts just in case I die in my sleep.” You mock as you look around for Humphrey’s decapitated head, “Alison! I hate this!”

“Hey!” you here Humphrey call from somewhere in the room.

You stand straight up in all your white laced glory, the pure white gown you died in drowning your plush figure in a stereotypical ghostly glow.

“I don’t mean searching for your head my dear-“ you seemly float towards the sound of Humphrey’s disgruntled mutters, “-I mean I hate being in THIS for eternity.”

You tilt down in the most dramatic way as you carefully pick up Humphrey’s head. If you were alive your back would have clicked from dramatically draping yourself down and certainly if your friends from the Victorian era were in the room they’d tell you to use your knees instead of your back picking up your dear friend.

Who, cares though, you’re dead.

For a moment you pause. You're now fully back up, Humphrey’s head safely in your hands, his neck and cheeks softly being held by your dead hands, your eyes trained on his. It’s almost like you’re caressing the Tudor man’s face but alas if you move one wrong move then the head that is your friend will drop on to the floor.

Humphrey smiles up at you with a oh so soft smile.

Normally the other ghosts don’t treat his decapitated head in such nice ways. For the last hundred or so years you’ve been one of the few ghosts who’ve not used him as a make shift football.

If only he wasn’t at odds with his body, then you could hold his face in such tenderness without the threat of dropping him. Maybe he could do it back, maybe caress his thumb from your jaw to your lips like he always wants to do, maybe just maybe he could bend down or perch up (depending on the height difference) and kiss you on the lips.

Alison does not interrupt these intense interactions that normally happen between the two of you, she doesn’t move out the room to give you both space, it happens too much for he to be bothered.

To most of the other ghosts they don’t realise Humphrey and you have a close relationship, most of the ghost don’t even know you exist. Even if they did Julian would be joking about it every five minutes or Fanny would be judging you both.

Alison doesn’t know much either about the two ghost in front of her looking like an ethereal version Hamlet but what she does know is that she is routing for the two of you to get together.

At first when Alison came to Button house (and subsequently started seeing ghosts) she didn’t know you were even there, let alone that you normally walked around with the decapitated head of Humphrey.

( A high pitched sound that can only be described as an eek had left Alison’s lips as she tried to get to the kitchen for a midnight snack.

It was the first time she’d seen you, a glowing ghost wearing a flowing over the top nightgown and a slightly sad look to her face.

“You were not supposed to see me.” You had said in an anxious voice, “I- well-I was just looking for my friend, he’s called Humphrey.”

“You’re a ghost.”

You had choose to ignore that statement, both because it seemed rhetorical and you were very shy at the time, instead like you always seem to do, you had begun looking around.

 “Why haven’t I seen you before?” Alison asked.

“I like hanging out in the basement and attic.” A muffled and quiet call of the name (y/n) had been called out none other by Humphrey which had gotten you to float away, “Also I died in the garden.”)

Now that Alison knows that you reside where most of the main ghosts don’t go, that your resting place is in the plants and grass instead of the brick walls of the manor, she’s been trying to get you to introduce you to everyone.

That and she’s been trying to get you to confess to Humphrey but either one would be very nice.

Alison carries on watching the two of you lovingly look at one another.  It’s sickly sweet, so sweet until the bickering of ghosts gets closer.

Alison, like the good friend she is, finally gets up and says “I’ll short this out” before leaving the room.

You pause there like a dear in head lights as your hear Alison heard the two ghosts, the Captain and Julian you think, away from you and Humphrey. You’re still ready to bolt even when the voices fade and Humphrey tries to grab you attention.

“There’ gone now.” Humphrey whispers.

You look down at your friend worry still chiselled on your face. If a ghost could cry, then you’d be close to crying. With eyes magnified by salty water and your sweet sweet smile turning down into a soft frown Humphrey just wants to hold your face like you’re doing to him and comfort you.

“Sit (y/n).” his voice is neither harsh or demanding it is only soft and kind, if it was anyone else you’d not listen but you sit down. Paper surrounds the two of you, the spot where Alison once sat warm making you feel almost alive.

“You’ve been down all day.” Humphrey begins his voice soft as he speaks, “You don’t have to but do tell me what’s wrong?”

His head still held by your hands, his stump neck balanced on the soft curve of your thighs, Humphrey look up to you with pleading eyes.

“I-“ you pause not knowing what to really say, “-Humphrey my dear?”

You voice just a whisper graces his ears like a sweet song, if Humphrey could he would have nodded at you but instead he just whispers back a small ‘yes’.

“I-I’ve been feeling down lately. I-well-I never really had someone like you when I was alive, someone so kind and patient with me-“

Your head hangs low partly of sadness but partly to be closer to the decapitated head that is your friend.

“-I’ve been thinking a lot about my death and how sudden it was, how I never got to do many things with my life despite all I had.”

You head almost touches Humphrey’s as your voice becomes a whisper in the wind. You want to tell him everything you ever wanted to do with your life, how you wanted to get a job despite being a woman, own a fancy dress and go to a ball, even fall in love but all you are now is a woman covered in layers of unflattering white cotton with your hair a mess and feet bare forever destined to end up sleeping in the shrubbery.

You want to say that to Humphrey but instead you just press you forehead to his and sigh.

“I don’t think I ready to speak just yet my dear-“ your eyes connect with his, “-but for now I’d like to be in your company if that’s ok, I find you a comfort.”

“As do I”

Eye still connected and soft smile on each other face you peck the smallest and most chaste kiss on to Humphrey’s cheek before going back to leaning forehead to forehead, somehow there’s a subtle warmth on your undead face, Humphrey’s own face even going a bit pink.

Alison walks into you both silently looking at one another and she smiles. Without disturbing you both she sits back down and carries on with her paper work, the house quiet for just a moment more.

#not proofread #bbc ghosts #bbc ghosts x reader #bbc ghosts humphrey #humphrey bone #humphrey bone x reader #x plus size reader #plus size reader #x chubby reader #chubby reader

[lauraroselam]

i wasn't sure if you would read the tags i'd leave if i reblogged your reply to my ask so i decided to just send you another ask! ha! i'll bullet point them this time bc i have quite a few things to say:

1. you can definitely keep my asks public, i really don't mind :)

2. never have i ever been so excited to open an email, and that too first thing in the morning. seeing your reply, especially that little treat at the end (!!!!!!!!!), had me smiling and kicking my feet in bed. i'm, impossibly enough, even more excited for Emberclaw now.

3. having more than one narrative position in a book is certainly ambitious and one that i haven't encountered in any other book so far, but it grows on you, fast (at least it did on me), and can be an acquired taste to some who are willing to give it a chance. i think you might just be the first author who has changed my mind completely on first person narratives and i owe it to your flawless delivery, of course (i'm biased, i'll admit). also, "narrative positions" was exactly the word that wouldn't come to me in my fit of excitement while writing my last ask; it was a tiny brain-fart moment on my part when i said "pov choice" instead haha.

4. this is more of an aside really but it once took me 400 pages (of a 800+ pages) to get into a book, so imho, 50 pages isn't asking for much. fantasy novels tend to be a little demanding! also, it was my first proper foray into epic fantasy. i then went on to finish the series despite the really, really, really slow start. the slowest. i think a reader can tell when the wait will be worth it though, almost like a gut feeling.

5. multi-pov is another polarizing aspect of books, but then again, it can be enjoyed if done well. i once read a book with 14 povs and gave it 5 stars. it wasn't even a fantasy novel, but a contemporary one! in comparison, your book with its 4 povs is pretty tame, and i think, even the norm for epic/high fantasy novels. personally, i enjoy being in the head of different characters! especially when you've got a big cast of them. also, that surprise 5th pov toward the end took me quite by surprise!! jaw, meet floor.

6. i do have a GR account! and i certainly have plans on leaving well-deserved, glowing reviews on both the book and audio :) it's the least i can do!

7. this one is more of a suggestion to those who might find the narrative positioning a little jarring: listen to the audiobook instead; it warms you up to it much faster!

i think that just about covers it. again, i cannot say this enough, but Dragonfall would not be the story i fell absolutely in love with had you not made the narrative (ha!) choices you did. i hope more people come to appreciate and love it as much as i do, and are willing to give it the fair chance it deserves <3

much love 💖

I think I'd see the tags! I'm so out of practice with Tumblr, but I have enjoyed coming back to it as I feel in some ways I can be more authentic over here rather than the more traditional promo over on tiktok and insta. Not that I'm inauthentic elsewhere it's just...here you can be a bit more off the cuff, I think?

1. Whew!

2. Aww yay! Interacting with readers is honestly one of my favourite things. I'm so excited when I hear from someone who got what I was trying to do. Releasing art for public consumption can be excellent but also hard. Dragonfall is probably my most personal book, so it being marmite made me so self-conscious. I always think about that Don Marquis quote "Publishing a volume of verse is like dropping a rose petal down the Grand Canyon and waiting for the echo." It's nice when you get the echoes back. :-)

3. I was inspired to be experimental after reading The Fifth Season, which is a masterpiece. I've heard good things about The Spear Cuts Through Water which also does cool narrative position trickery, I think. I also really love framing devices of people looking back, like in Assassin's Apprentice by Hobb (my fave author, as evidenced by the dedication). I'm glad I could open you up to all the opportunities of first person! I taught a class on narrative positions when I was a creative writing lecturer so I'm just very passionate about how form can marry function, hah.

4. Yes, four (technically five) is tame compared to some! I did seven in Seven Mercies and whew, that was a lot, even though technically my co-writer and I mostly split it up. My next projects will be 2 and then 1 as a bit of a breather. It is harder to balance multi POV, but I love the "heteroglossia" potential of storytelling.

6. Thank you!

7. I wish I could listen to the audiobooks of my books! I get too self-conscious or want to edit. I can say that Philip and Rachel did amazing jobs from the samples I head, though, and I was super excited they hired a nonbinary voice actor for Arcady. This was also my first time having more than one voice actor, which was neat.

And yes, I hope so too. <3

#writing is about connection #asks #dragonfall

[dragynkeep]

I think he saw your posts.

Why hasn't he blocked you yet?

oh he has me blocked, i guess he just can't take responsibility for himself. however big tw for transphobia / nbphobia, ableism, victim blaming & rape mention because actually looking at the post is a major yikes.

i don't care that you made an anti rwde post, crimson. i care that yet again you're using ableist terms & phrases, once again proving that alongside your "apology" for doing so was utterly conditional but that you also just. can't take responsibility for your own actions. no one is forcing you to go into the rwde tag or see our "cold takes", you need to manage your social media consumption better. no one is going to do it for you.

but also by reblogging a post dripping with radfem rhetoric that directly impacts those with bpd, especially genderqueer people with bpd, you've shown that so long as the views are right, you will platform terfs. & considering that you couldn't even believe that i was the target of the transphobic bigotry from the confessions blog you reblogged & not my trans brother, & you accused me of co-opting that when it was never directed at him in the first place, you need to realize how harmful your words & assumptions can be. you need to stop doubling down when you're proven wrong.

people like me are not why borderlines, not "bpd", get so much hatred. we're hated because neurotypicals & non cluster b neurodivergents think that we're fundamentally "non human" because of the way our disorders exhibit. there's multiple instances of just how these attitudes harm us & kill us, we're killed as a result of this ableism.

i haven't blamed anything on my bpd, i've actually been quiet about my mental health diagnosis outside of instances where i felt it helpful or supportive. you're the one pulling the "i have a black friend" in regards to your brother, friend & mother. i am not them. if you've met someone with bpd, you've met one person with bpd. we are not all the same & it's abhorrant you would use this as an opportunity to further stigmatize those with bpd after being told that the post you reblogged from a terf was from a neurotypical transphobic woman who exploited our experiences for money. you can't divorce the terf aspect from your "support" for the ableism, they're entwined.

also "stick your head in an oven" is certainly something to say to a jewish person but i'm definitely not going to assume any antisemitism & just ascribe it to the far more likely instance of you telling me to go kill myself. thank you for the suggestion but i'm fine.

this one was almost kind of funny because i was waiting for a self proclaimed rwby fan to use the instance of me having to flee my house in the middle of the night to escape a situation of domestic violence from the man who was supposed to love & raise me. the man who's same abuse was part of causing my bpd. right now i am homeless because that same bpd, alongside the physical disability i have that prevents me from moving for long periods of time, is the reason i don't "have a job."

you would think that someone who "had to relearn how to walk" would have more sympathy in this type of situation but once again you are proving that just because you are trans & disabled, does not mean that you cannot perpetuate transphobia or ableism. these screenshots & your vile words show that.

it's also hilarious that all 11 notes on your post are further comments of these vile words. it's all you, no one else wants to pay witness to this downward spiral of disgusting bigotry & hatred.

thank you for being inclusive in your unhinged tirade of insults, it really warms my heart after you reblog ableism from terfs against borderlines & prove that your "apology" a few weeks back was completely spineless.

i'm not engaging in your attempts to bring up any "rape smut" i have written, i implore you to see beyond whatever bubble you've trapped yourself in & actually read some literature on how these kinks occur & just how sex, gender & trauma play into it.

your brain damage does not allow you to perpetuate ableism against other disabled people; that's not how power reclamation works. this is not 'pc shit', these are legitimately harmful views you're espousing because you hate me that much, you think you're validated in doing this because i'm a "bad person." because i "deserve it." which unfortunately is the same technique of invalidation & dehumanization that plenty of bigots use, & will use against you.

i'm not angry with you, or pissed off. i was when all of this started weeks back & you invalidated the transphobia i faced, when you called into question my status as a rape survivor & when you refused to take any accountability for your ugly words.

now i just want you to find some peace & learn coping mechanisms that allow you not to blow up & harm other marginalized people whenever they bring up something harmful that you've done. all of this came from one ask that pointed out that you had reblogged harmful rhetoric from terfs, & all of this hatred came from it. what if i was in a worse place, like i was a week ago? what if i actually had killed myself? would you be able to live with that?

i don't think so either. do better.

#rwby #rwde #crimson-caracal #ableism #transphobia #nbphobia #victim blaming #ais.txt #answered #long post /

[herstarburststories]

Dean's (secret) Wish

Kinktober day 8: Role Reversal/Spanking

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader

Summary: Usually, Dean is the one in control. Time to change this.

Warnings: spanking, sub/dom kinda, humping, Zorro mask, Dean is fragile, cute, and horny. I don't know if this is crack; DON'T ASK ME, I'M JUST FULFILLING DEAN WINCHESTER'S DESIRE.

*Gif isn't mine, tell me if you know who's the owner.

Dean should blame himself for it. That was completely his fault, not even partially. It was just totally, one hundred percent Winchester levels of dumbass. He was the one who, in the middle of a usual argument with Sam, made the unfortunate comment about women, speaking, and the Zorro mask.

In his defense, he didn't think you'd actually do that.

But in contradiction, when had you said no to new experiences? Dean still had the bruises falling from Harvelle's pool table while you two were at it, right after the bar was closed and everyone went to sleep.

So yeah. His cock was hard, throbbing, and dropping precum as he watched you waltz in wearing nothing but black lingerie and a Zorro mask.

That was on him. His cock, needy and decidedly erect, was on him. You looking this fucking good and almost making him whine to touch you, that was on him. You walking towards him with a malicious grin twisted in your black lipstick? Also on him.

Being the guilty one can be good if you look forward to punishment.

Dean Winchester certainly did. Naked in his mattress like a meal waiting to be eaten, he knew what was coming next, and the idea of it awakened goosebumps down his spine and made him wet his lips. 

Come on, Y/N. Hurry up.

You, meanwhile, took it slow, making your way there step by step towards him. There was a certain delight in the appreciation of seeing someone needing your touch like a pious man in need of his god to worship.

You sat down beside him, fingertips quickly discovering their way on Dean's biceps. He tilted his head to the side, not even noticing as he pressed himself to whatever he could take from you in that position.

He was so touch-starved for any kind of contact. Violent, he'd always be ready for combat. Or sweet, he'd always be on his knees for a kiss.

Tonight, you'd unite both.

“What's your safe word, Dean?” You placed your hand on his cheek, watching with a beam as your boyfriend leaned in. “Dean?”

“Impala,” he mumbled through his grumpy voice.

“Lay on your belly. Now,” you said, wearing an authoritative tone that you knew Dean loved. “Don't you dare hump the mattress, Dean. This cock is mine, and you won't get any relief unless I say. Understood?”

He gulped, uncertain if that should turn him on as much as it did. Dean did as he was told, changing rolling onto his belly. A soft moan left his lips when the plush of the comforter pressed against his length — he wouldn't disobey you, but this was at least some relief.

You paced around the bed. Should you sit by his side? In the middle? On his legs? There were a bunch of options, but you wanted it to be the most comfortable for both you and Dean. Ultimately, you opted for the last one, climbing on the bed and sitting on his thighs right in front of his untouched butt. All this hot piece of his body ever knew was some playful grabbing or joking slaps throughout the years — nothing truly sexual.

Honestly, you didn't know how the ones before you ever resisted giving it a quality smack.

You could see that Dean was doing his best to obey you, to keep in line as you said. He was so used to always being in charge, screaming orders and taking the responsibility. He needed this, even for just a little while. It was a moment where he could be just a little soldier, only following orders and letting someone else take control.

Your hands rested on the Winchester's shoulder blade. He was so warm, under your body and your palms. You loved it. His freckles were scattered stars amiss under your hungry eyes, and your hands were going down slowly, finding a certain amusement in making Dean sweat through anticipation.

Dean had tilted his head, trying to catch a glimpse of what was happening since you sat on his legs. He had to admit it was one hell of a sight. That, plus the way you leaned in stuffed your cleavage right into his brightened eyes.

He blurted out, “Fuck, Y/N. This is hot.”

“Quiet,” you hissed, hands finally on his waist now. Attempting the first slap on his ass, you watched as his face contorted into pleasure. Good. “Count for me.”

“One,” Dean said under his breath, his usual gruff voice even deeper now. He looked so handsome like this, behaving so well for you. “Two.” And another. ”Three.” Another slap, and this time, his white butt was starting to flush red. “Five.”

He misplaced a number, too hooked on the sensation of being taken care of. You were never a selfish lover, always making sure his pleasure was a priority too, but to be dominated, to just free himself of everything and give himself to someone with all the trust he'd have in a battle — Fuck, he might cum.

Dean needed that, and you understood. You gave it to him.

“You forgot the four. Isn't you who always tells me to stay on all fours so you can fuck me good? What a shame, Winchester.” You groaned at him, sinking your nails into his tender flesh. Dean moaned louder at this, the pain and desire mixing like whiskey and ice. He couldn't wait to drink the whole bottle. “Start again.”

God, you being authoritative on him took away all of his self control, but he needed to obey. For you.

“Four. Fi—” Smack. He was interrupted by another hit.

“From the beginning.” You licked your lips, moving a little on your spot. That was hotter than you pictured. Your pussy was already soaked.

“One. Two. Three. Four. Five.” You knew numbers could mean a lot of things. Deaths, cures, quantities. Numbers could be stupid, good worrying, even all three, but you never knew they could be so dirty until Dean moaned after each slap on his now-hot ass, as if they were confirmation of such a sinful act. Math might have just become your favorite thing. “Six. Seven.” The collision of your palm on his ass, leaving a trace of yourself on his body, was the most exciting thing you had ever seen. Your touch molded his skin to your liking. While his cock grew harder and made a mess out of the sheets with his precum, at least the spanking pushed him onto the bed a bit, a single moment of friction on both sides. “Eight. Nine. Ten.”

Dean was perfect like this. He didn't even notice, but his hips were slightly arched now, inching closer in hunger for more. 

When would you ever deny that for him?

“You're doing so good, baby. Imma let you get some friction. Fuck the mattress as if you were fucking me, but don't stop counting or I won't let you come.”

Yeah, that's all on him. Fortunately, Dean knew in that moment that there was no way for him to be any happier. 

He’d be proven wrong in a few minutes after he came, but that’s on him too.

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[alicec-666]

Okay, so, I did it... I wrote my first creepy story about my oc, and... Oof, damn, I hope, I'm not too late for this yes I am late af I know

Anywaaaay, here it is ^^

Sharing only here, so, please, no reblogging or claiming your ownership on it, okay?

Thank you in advance!

And hope you enjoy :')

The Sarah's Mask (original story, pls, no copyright)

It was today's afternoon when it happened. Judging by the nine years I worked in this mental hospital, I can be certain when yelling you that the work that needed to be done got bigger every month, and most of my coworkers have coped with it as much as they could. We dealt with many troublesome patients during this period, and hardly any cases would be ofof what I could call "extraordinary". Certainly, there were many depressive individuals with an intent of self-harm or suicidal thoughts, or schizophreniacs that associated their world with ours in almost the same way, that is, with visages of silhouettes that weren't there or voices in their heads, you know the drill. Rarely so, but we also got an experience of working with the local criminals, who were on the verge of beginning a genocide on the streets or feeling joy through the sexual acts with other individuals, whether they wanted it or not, and whom we needed to check on mental stability during their process in the court. Not only cases, but the age range of our patients was rather normal too; from the young teenagers to the elderly people, whoever had troubles in their life and wanted to be cured, or were forced to by the judging society, those could join into our therapy whenever they wanted. And today was not an exception.

In the afternoon, while having a break, I was sitting onon the sofa in the rest room together with Michelle and Jim, talking about life and giggling at the fun situations, which we had before the work, similar to the ones of one being late to the job together with a manager, or mistaking a random person for your good acquaintance, you can name any of it. Anyway, it was through the laughter and sipping coffee, when I recall having heard a knock in the door. With a cheerful invite to come in from Michelle, I've seen how the door opened slightly, and behind itself revealed a peeking out face of Lucy, the psychiatrist trainee who has finished her studies over a year ago. Her face was rather worried, but I shook it off at first, knowing that the lady was known to be rather shy with the clinic's staff in general.

- Excuse me for interrupting, but if you don't mind, I would like to ask Mr Owen to come out for a moment, - her voice was trembling, and II noticed how she looked at her feet in embarrassment, but quietly appreciated her efforts of coming herehere by herself, which already made some progress in willingness to cooperate with others instead of always being on her own. Surely, in her 23 years, Lucy was one of the youngest workers here, nonetheless, she was very gifted with a wish to learn and improve.

- I will be just a second, - getting off the sofa and giving an assuring smile to the staring colleagues, I raised up and with a nod came up towards the young trainee and out in the hall, closing the door after myself in the process. Looking the woman up and down, I leaned towards the wall behind me and smiled softly:

- Is anything the matter, Lucy? As far as I'm concerned, you have been assigned with a patient this morning, correct? So, have you found out what is the case there?

- Yes, sir... I mean, no, sir-- I-I mean, - there was a folder in Lucy's arms that I noticed her clenching to every now and then, the folder with a printed surname on it "Junior". It was a patient that I have heard about only the previous evening, when a man from the register said that some odd looking adolescent came up to them and registered for the therapy for this morning, and, after leaving copies of her documents, has left shortly. From what we knew about this patient so far is that it was a female of age 20 with the blue tone coloured hair tied into a long pigtail, purple sports clothes and red shoes. However, what interested me the most from the register guy's description, was that this woman the entire time, through coming up to him and signing up for a meeting, has held an obnoxious foaming mask together with her. Long story short, we accepted her to have a meeting with Lucy, since both of these women were at their last years of forming their identity to the society, and could have something in common. That is why I was truly surprised when Lucy, now sobbing before me, said shakingly, - I... I can't do this, sir! She is not like any patients I needed to deal with before, she scares me.

- She is younger than you by almost four years, Miss Cadavre, - I said in a firm voice with a sigh, - And she is hardly any different from any other patients we had here so far, even though she does have quite... An extraordinary sense of fashion.

- You don't understand, Mr Owen, she is just something I don't think I can cope with, - noticing just now that her eyes kept filling up with tears, the trainee quickly wiped them with her sleeve, and looked at me again, - And it's not only her physical looks, she seems to be so... Unnerving. With her quick change of behavior or her murmuring something about hearing that "annoying voice" in her mind... Not to mention dozing off and talking to herself while I was trying to chat with her.

- I'm pretty sure there is nothing to worry about, my dear. Honestly, it may be nothing as serious as schizophrenia. - I shrugged, being fairly disappointed in the trainee's words, - It would be odd if you missed the classes about this disorder during your studies, Mrs Cadavre.

- I didn't miss any, sir! But I do swear to you, this girl is not like those patients I've dealt with before, - she was shaking at this point, and she was right at some point; as she was a newbie, we didn't want her to deal with any extreme cases yet, so the most of her patients were depressive teenagers or elderly people with the trauma after losing their kids or grandkids in an accident, - I cannot explain it, but I can't work with her one on one in there! So, I was thinking if I could be replaced by someone else

- Absolutely not. Unfortunately, miss Cadavre, you are the only one left among those who have been given tasks with the new wave of patients, since everyone else is busy by now. - I made a small pause, and after seeing how her gaze dropped on the floor again, thought to self for a mokent, after which spoke up again, - If you're so worried, however, I could come to her together with you, as an observer. This way, I will note what your trouble with her may be, and could help you out.

The trainee quickly raised up her head staring at me with her shining gray eyes, which clearly showed the gratitude, after which she nodded with a delight, and a quiet "thank you" came out of her mouth.

After some twelve minutes passing by, both of us came into the room 042, the Lucy's cabinet, which contained of two chairs, a small sofa, a table and some shelbes on the wall where several documents and the trainee's personal belongings took their place. On the sofa or, rather, by it, there was a female in her dirty sports clothes, with a greenish-blue hair and hazel eyes, who was holding an odd black mask in her hands and rubbing it slightly. Even as we came in and Lucy sat down on one of the chairs, the patient was asas if unaware of our existence, being distracted by her own doing, and murmuring some odd sentences, somesome of which I could hear as "I know that you don't like it, but I want it to end once and for all", "We can't be friends anymore, you do understand it, right?", "Please, stop saying such horrible things to me...". Looking down at the worried trainee, then back at the female, I cleared my throat, trying my best to gain the adolescent's attention, and once I did, I peoceeded in greeting her:

- Greetings, you must be Sarah Junior, right? My name is doctor U. N. Owen, and this, - I gestured to Lucy, who gave out her best comforting smile to the patient, - is my colleague and the best therapist, miss Ca--

- I am well acquainted with miss Cadavre, thank you, - glancing at me, the adolescent sat right on the couch this time, putting the mask beside her on the small decoration cushion, and spoke up again, - It was the first thing we did on this meeting before... She ran out of the cabinet for some reason.

Junior looked at the trainee rather apathetically, after which proceeded to stare after me with her cold eyes, as I managed to get myself straight, not turning away from her. In my 47 years lived in this society, I was well aware of how most of the patients here and manipulators in general tended to keep an eye contact with their "prey", trying to break their interlocutor's confidence, and get an upper hand in the conversation. Looking back at Sarah, I continued:

- Right, so... Getting to the main point, miss Cadavre is going to ask you some questions about your life and troubles since you must have come to us for a reason. And, let me tell you, it's very... Appreciated of you to be seeking for cure on your own, especially since not many people can be managed to get to the thera-- Excuse me, but are you listening right now?

- She isn't, sir... - replied Lucy, both me and her staring at Junior who was now looking at the ceiling while hardly blinking, - It's just as I said before, this girl tends to be spacing out from time to time, so I couldn't talk to her normally.

Glancing at the trainee, and then back at Sarah, I noticed how something black begun arising in the air beside the female... The smoke? As it began rising higher, I just then noticed how the mask, lying like before on the cushion, turned it black as its eyes and mouth's holes began glittering with a weird yellow lighting, and I could swear that on the same mask, the mouth hole widened in an awful grin, after which the smoke, as black as was this piece of Sarah's inventory, has slowly spread through the closed cabinet. Unable to sense a thing, except for some odd smell of mixed gas and cotton candy, the only thing I remember is coughing while trying to breathe through the suffocating fumes and seeing how the Sarah's silhouette, beginning to get off the couch as if nothing happened, put the mask on her face, and stared back at me, with an amused laughter tricking out of her lips, and as its volume was increasing, I lost my balance sue to inhaling too much of the smoke and had a hard fall on the floor, falling into slumber.

Since that moment, at least three hours have passed for sure, since now, looking at the clock on my wrist, I can without a doubt remember when I came into this cabinet. Oddly enough, instead of lying on the cold floor as I think I was on before, I found myself on the same couch that Junior once was on. Not only that, but there is a track of almost dried blood on the floor before the Lucy's table... Checking myself on any wounds or bruises, though, not without a relief, I found out that didn't have any savage wounds or, furthermore, any bleeding spots. Miss Cadavre, on the other hand, wasn't so lucky. Right now, while writing to you about all of this story, my hands are trembling, as I can't keep my eyes from glancing at the pale lifeless body of this poor trainee. I don't know if that adolescent is still in the clinic now or what she had against Lucy, but one thing is for sure, I shouldn't have been so reckless to let the newbie take this woman in the first place... Especially not after what I found on her desk.

After reading this entire letter from her, it's clear to me that not only has she got a major peek of mental instability, but she is also needed to be secluded from society no matter the costs. This is why, even if I can't do much for you from my current spot now, please, I beg of you, be very wary. And if you ever meet an obnoxious girl in the sports costume with the dyed hair, and the foaming mask - don't come close to her, not under any circumstances. Or the consequences of this encounter may be inevitable.

#creepypasta #crrepypasta oc #sarah junior #creepy story #I'm learning to write #hope you enjoy #pls don't copy #I tried my best here #honest #my writing #alicec 666