#even if my day hasn’t been that long compared to the other hours I’ve been working

[3d-wifey]

And They'd Find Us in A Week - Chapter 11

Pairing: Finnick Odair x Reader Word Count: 8.3k Synopsis: Here! Playlist: Listen up! Tag list: - @melancholicmelanin, @yvy1s, @glomp-me, @honethatty12, @swftlore, @hashcakes, @antoheartit, @finnickodaddy, @lilifl0wer, @antoheartit, @kermitcrimess, @persophonekarter, @aawdrea, @obaewankenobis, @xyxlyn A/N: LADIES N GENTLEMEN, THE MOMENT YOU'VE BEEN WAITING FOR! there are multiple POV changes in this, I'm training yall for the arena and Mockingjay. FYI: I was so disheartened bc this felt like the worst past I've written for this story :(((

Past (xii) - Finnick

[ 21 & 22] - DISTRICT FOUR

Finnick is sitting at his desk, probably looking as worn out and exhausted as he feels. It’s the early hours of the morning, and he hasn’t slept for the past two days. He’s been writing for hours, trying to find the right words to say. The sun had just set when he poured himself into the seat, and now, he glances to his left, the first tendrils of sunlight are peaking up.

The room is quiet, save for the sound of Finnick's labored breathing. His hands are shaking, a side effect of the stress that has been building inside him like a pressure cooker. Snow's visit has left him reeling, unable to process the implications of the deal he's been forced to make. He knows he has to write you a letter, but the thought fills him with a sense of despondency. Something that normally fills him with insurmountable excitement and anticipation fills him with devastation. It feels like, like…there’s nothing he can compare it to. Not everything feels like something else and Finnick knows this kind of grief is very rarely experienced. 

What is he supposed to do? He hasn’t opened the last letter you sent, knowing it will be the last one that won’t carry the weight of mourning. He knows that you'll write to him again, that you won’t take this lying down. You’ll write and write, and he will...he will do nothing.

It sits in front of him, innocuous and unassuming. Something devastating folded in a green envelope and wrapped in your scent like a well-dressed bomb. Does his fear outweigh his longing for you?

He picks it up, holding it gingerly in his hands.

No, he realizes, it doesn’t.

He’s careful to tear the seal on the flap and your perfume wafts up like a surprise. He takes a deep breath, savoring the scent, trying to steel himself for what comes next.

Dear Finn,

I feel like I’ve missed you longer than I’ve had the chance to know you. It's been three months now, but maybe by the time this letter gets to you, we'll both be on our way to the Capitol. I'm working on being more optimistic, but that uphill battle is becoming steeper the longer I'm away from you. 

I keep thinking about when I first met you. When I looked into your eyes, I didn't see fireworks exploding or any of that other shit they depict in those gaudy Capitol romance novels. I looked into your eyes and saw you, something far more breathtaking than fireworks. And what a sight you were.

Three years back, you said something I never agreed with, that it was hard to love you. At the moment, I didn’t get to say what I really wanted to because I was eighteen and the thought of being so emotionally vulnerable made my teeth itch. 

I wanted to say that you aren't hard to love. I wanted to say loving you has been the easiest thing I have ever done. And that's why it was so difficult. I could never let myself love you—let myself have you because how could I possibly deserve to? But that’s the kicker. It’s not hard to love you, Finn, it’s impossible not to.

Something happened recently that made me realize that I’m not the most forthcoming person when it comes to my feelings. But, Finn, know that my love for you is never in doubt. How I feel about you may be complex, but it’s not complicated. I love you desperately, humanly, simply. Without even trying, you peel me back to my core, but if you only dug a little deeper you’d find your picture framed and hanging along the walls of my soul. 

I miss you, more than I was prepared to—and I was prepared to miss you considerably.

We may not be next to each other, but we’re under the same sky, and each glowing point on that backdrop of black is a star—a sun at the center of someone’s solar system. 

In some other universe, on a different Earth, there’s a girl in love with a boy whose freckles run like constellations. On another, there’s a girl who’s in love with how her boy’s eyes squint when he smiles.

That's the one constant. There are billions of stars, billions of universes, and I love you in every one of them. 

Tears are blurring his vision before he can read how you close the letter and he has to sit back as the full weight of what he’s about to do hits him all at once. Your words are like a balm to his soul, but they burn him just as much as they soothe him. A reminder of what he’s losing just as much as a reminder of what he’s fighting for. There was never a need to put a label on what you two had, what you were to each other, because it would never be replicated. It had always just been ‘yours’ . Now, with a flick of his pen, it’ll be nothing.

Maybe , he thinks, maybe there’s a way I can explain why I’m doing this, some kind of code or something. Maybe I can still meet with her, just in secret. But Snow …It always comes back to Snow. 

Snow reads these letters, and surely he'll be more vigilant of Finnick to make sure he keeps his side of the deal. Besides, if you knew the real reason he’s doing this—that it’s against his will, that he wouldn’t even think to do this in his worst nightmare—you’ll latch on, consequences be damned. 

He’s doing this for you. He has to remind himself that it’s your life on the line here, not just his heart.

Still. 

He's careful when folding the letter back, only bending it along the preexisting lines. He sets it beside himself. 

He picks up a piece of paper from the stack in front of him tucked against the wall, twirling his pen along his fingers. His leg bounces, nails tapping on the desk. 

He writes something down and comes to a stuttering halt. It isn't good enough. He crumbles it up, throws it in the trash, and picks up a new one. 

Write, crumble, trash, repeat. 

He's stuck in a loop, unable to find the right words. The pressure is building, and he can feel himself starting to crack. He needs to get this done, needs to find a way to say goodbye.

Write, crumble, trash, repeat. 

He's lost track of time, doesn't know how long he's been sitting here. The words are eluding him, and he's starting to feel like he's lost his grip on reality.

Finally, he puts pen to paper and the words flow out of him like a dam breaking. He writes about his love for you, about how much he misses you, about how impossible it is to imagine a future without you. He writes about his fear and his grief, about the weight of the world on his shoulders. He writes you goodbye. 

When he's done, he holds your letter carefully, tucking it back into its envelope. He knows what he has to do, knows that there's no turning back now. 

With trembling hands, he picks up the tan envelope and slides his letter inside. He seals it with a kiss, feeling the weight of his decision like a physical burden. 

He takes a deep breath, trying to calm his racing heart, and places the letter on the stack in front of him. It's done. The words are written, the decision made. 

He sits back in his chair, feeling numb and hollow. He doesn't know what comes next, but he knows that he'll face it head-on. For you.

Past (xii) - You 

[21 & 22] - DISTRICT ELEVEN

Finnick's reply came faster than you expected it to. 

You plop down in your office chair, giddy as you rub at your sore cheeks. You've been smiling like an idiot since you picked up the letter from the Mayor's office. You tear into the envelope and pause. 

The words are kind of smudged, dried drops of something smearing the ink. Luckily, you can still read it. 

My heart, 

My moon and stars. 

I must have rewritten these words at least a dozen times by now. You should see the pile of crumpled paper next to me. You'd call it wasteful, but I'm sure you'd be secretly charmed by how nervous you make me after all these years. 

There's no way to dance around it, and I know how much you hate when people mince their words.

It pains me to think it, let alone write it. This will be my last letter to you. 

I know you have a hundred and one questions bouncing around that beautiful brain of yours, you'll want to know why. And the answer is, there is no why. I've decided that it's best, for both of us, to stop. Stop the letters, stop the meetings. 

It ends here. 

I don't want you to hate me. But if that makes it easier for you to stay away from me, then despise me. More than the Peacekeepers, more than the Capitol, more than Snow. Take that loathing and hold onto it like you used to hold me. 

But, selfishly, I want you to know what I'll be holding onto. 

Those little moments outside of time where you and I were the center of each other's universe, two stars orbiting each other. The balcony of my room, the floor of yours. 

I want you to know this because I don't want you to doubt that I love you. 

Because I do. I love you. I could say it a thousand times, and it still wouldn't be enough. I could say it until my tongue falls off and I'd find a way to sign it to you. 

I could live a thousand lifetimes, be a thousand different people, and I will never love someone like I love you. 

I think of your smile and I fall in love again. I think of your touch and I fall in love again. I won't leave you without you knowing this. I'd sooner stop breathing. 

There are plenty of things I should be thanking you for, but if I tried to make a list, I'd run out of paper. 

I felt...free with you. As free as anyone can be in our situation. I've never felt so close to another person before—I never let myself. 

I thought it would pass eventually, like a sand castle when it's high tide. Noticeable, beautiful, but temporary.

But I can tell you now, that was such bullshit . Since that first dance, there was never a moment I wasn’t in love with you. I loved you before I knew I was capable of it, before I knew I had it in me, and you had my heart before I even knew it was there. I saw the thorns of your past and held my hands out, ready to bleed if it meant I could touch you.

And that scared me. The very thing that gave me strength was my biggest weakness. That’s a hard pill to swallow at sixteen and it’s just as daunting at twenty-two. 

Years ago, you asked me if I could wish for anything, what would it be. I still wish I was a different person, someone you could be proud of. And I wish that person got to grow old with you. 

God, you don't know how badly I want to grow old with you.  

I have no doubt that there's a planet out there under a different sun where we end up together. Hand and hand with the two kids we always talked about. A little girl that'll have me wrapped around her finger because she'll look just like you. And a little boy that'll drive you up the wall because he's a little too much like me. That universe is where my heart lives.  

We'll find it someday, just you and me. Until then, they'll find our love written in the stars. In every constellation.  

-Yours until words lose meaning,  

Finnick O.  

You reread the letter. Then reread it again. You keep rereading it until the words refuse to sit still, letters blurring together. 

It ends here? What’s he talking about? He can't possibly mean the two of you. He can't. 

But he’s ending it. He ended it . Why would he—? He said there’s no reason, but…but there has to be. 

You try to think of anything you did—anything you said that could have led to this but you're coming up blank. 

This doesn't make any sense. It doesn't line up with the Finnick you know. 

The letter says that he loves you, and you thought you knew he loved you, but it’s pretty hard to believe that when he’s leaving you.

He promised he'd stay with you, he promised , and Finnick doesn't break his promises. Not with you. No. Not after everything you've been through together. You only have each other. 

The paper falls from your trembling hands to the desk. 

No . You only have Finnick. But, Finnick—he doesn't want you anymore, right? So, where does that leave you? What else do you have? 

A grandfather clock ticks in the background, though it sounds muted to your ears. 

You look down at the paper and find wet spots, ink more smeared than it was before. Your cheeks are wet. Are you crying?

Stupid. You wipe at your cheeks roughly—angrier at yourself than you are at him. There are a million and one reasons this could have happened and they all begin and end with you. You have no one to blame but yourself.

You know what it feels like for your body to break. What it feels like to be drained down to your skin, nerves, muscles, and bones. You've come eerily close to knowing what it feels like to have your mind broken. 

But this is new. This is what it feels like to have your heart broken. It's sudden, and it rips you apart on its way in. Not an arrow, but a knife. Quicker than you thought it'd be, but it hurts just the same. 

You’re so cold. You don't think you've ever been this cold before. Not even when you were nine and you got such bad hyperthermia that you couldn’t work for the rest of the winter. He always ran hot, you think distantly. And all his warmth has left you. 

You hold on to yourself because no one else will. You would have preferred your body breaking. At least that heals. 

“I can’t,” you weep, stuttering over betrayal and loss, “I can’t do this on my own.”

You press your forehead into the desk, your body shaking with the sobs you’re holding back. It hurts so bad. Pain sitting rooted in your chest, sharp and rigid like a peach pit. Your heart doesn’t beat, it throbs . Throbs like a festering wound, irritated and infected. 

You pull at your shirt and dig your nails into your chest. Maybe if you press hard enough through the skin and fascia and muscles you could pull out the problem.

But that’s impossible. There’s nothing there. It’s the absence that hurts, that gaping Finnick-shaped hole. You wanted to give him your heart, but not like this.

Did you get ahead of yourself? Thinking anything could last with someone who shines as bright as him? Maybe…maybe if you were a little more like him, if you shined just as bright. 

You scoff. 

You’re not a star, you’re not even the moon. How can the sun love the same darkness it chases away?

He described the ocean to you once. Vast and endless, like it could go on forever. And he told you about all the people who get lost at sea. Now you’re one of them. 

You have capsized, water rushing up past your neck and into your mouth and nose, just as salty as your tears. Your lungs burn from the lack of air, you can’t breathe and no one will come for you because you're as good as dead.

Here you sit in your study in your home that isn’t really yours, far away from any ocean, but you're drowning anyway. 

You drown and you drown and you drown and you do it alone.

Present (X) - Finnick 

[23 & 24] - THE CAPITOL

It’s a last resort, a unanimous choice between them all. A wordless decision that the victors made to appeal to the Capitol citizens. Though they’re all using different means, it’s all for the same result. That’s what Finnick has to remind himself when he’s called on stage after Beetee. 

The crowd screams at his entrance and he locks his hands behind his back. He smiles while nodding to his adoring fans as he stands beside Caesar.

“Finnick, I understand that you have a message for somebody out there. A special somebody.” The crowd hoots and hollers at the dramatics of it all and the idea of one of them being the special someone close to his heart. He chuckles and looks down. The Capitols being painfully predictable is finally paying off. All according to plan. “Can we hear it?”

He could spew some generic flowery shit that could apply to literally anyone he’s come in contact with, but…

He looks at the camera. There will be fourteen victors coming up to perform before you, so you should still be in your dressing room. Are you watching? Watching him?

"My love, my star . My heart is yours. And…and if I had to pick a place to die, it would be in the warmth of your arms. Your smile, the last thing I see and your lips, the last thing I taste. Everything I have ever done, I have done for you.”

Caesar pouts at the audience as they coo at his love letter and he wishes they never heard it. He wishes he could have said it to you directly. Those words, they’re yours and they should have been for your ears only. And, yet, here he is, relaying his heart to you through a screen. Look how far we’ve fallen, Star. 

“Oh, my. That’s very touching, Finnick. Isn’t it? I’m sure whoever it is, is listening and feeling truly loved.” 

“I hope you’re right, Caesar.”

They allowed Mags to opt out of her interview on account of her not being able to speak. How kind , he scoffs. And as he settles on the raised platform beside her, he briefly squeezes her hand. 

You okay? He mouths and she nods with a smile. 

One by one, each victor comes with their own approach to sway the masses. Oh, he knows there's no way they'll be canceling the games. Finnick is more likely to drain the ocean with a teaspoon before Snow even considers stopping this cruelty. But it’s worth a shot, he supposes. It can’t possibly make going into the arena any worse.

Besides Johanna's impassioned speech, nothing the other victors do stands out to him. Then, you're called out.  

He sinks his teeth into his lip as the audience applauds at your entrance.

From what he can recall, your outfit is a remix of the dress you wore in your first interview as if it has aged and matured with you. It’s gained a long train and the hip-high thigh slits that your stylist is known for.

You blow kisses to the crowd and they, understandably, go wild. You turn to Caesar with a smile and the overhead lights shine on you, painting your skin in soft lighting like a blanket. He takes a breath. And another, until he notices he’s breathing in sync with you.

He blinks when the crowd breaks into raucous laughter and he realizes he’s missed something.

"Oh, we all know just how shy you are." Caesar smiles, holding his laugh behind clenched teeth in that way of his that reminds Finnick of an overachieving beaver. The crowd laughs with him and your cheeks must hurt from holding that coy smile. "Now, the last time we talked, you said you were composing a new piece." Caesar pulls a violin out from…somewhere behind him and presents it to you like a gift. Finnick doesn’t know what he was expecting, but he didn’t think you’d use the violin as your strategy. Mostly because of how much you hate it. Or maybe you don’t anymore. Maybe you’ve grown to love it and he’s none the wiser. “Can you play it for us now?" The crowd clamors in ooohs and ahhhs at the idea. It has always been a privilege to hear you play. Finnick watches your face closely.

It wasn't your favorite thing to do, by far, but you took to it like a fish to water. Usually, Snow would have you play at the more "personal" get-togethers. But every once in a while, you would compose a song for Finnick . And when it was just the two of you, you'd share it with him. He'd sit in front of you in awe as you played. He doesn't have a musical bone in his body, but he can hum every piece from memory. 

“You’re kind of putting me on the spot here, but, sure. I would love to play it for you all.” You laugh. You place the instrument under your chin and position your fingers and bow.

And you play .

It's not showy like the pieces you usually play for the public. Not grand or performative, but soft and soulful. Melancholy. It feels nostalgic almost, like something you would write for him. 

The haunting melody carries throughout the silent room as if everyone is breathing with the lilting notes. Everyone but Finnick—who holds his breath. 

He looks down, squeezing his eyes shut, nose scrunching as he fights back tears. Because as much as you may hate the instrument, you play it as if it's an extension of your body. And you've always been better at showing how you feel than saying it. 

It sounds like a goodbye. 

You come to a stop and Finnick's lungs stop constricting with your movements.

When you finish, it’s quiet before Caesar clears his throat and gives you a small smile that almost looks genuine.

“That was marvelous , my dear. Truly moving—wasn’t that moving?” He asks the audience, and Finnick will be surprised if there’s a dry eye in the crowd. Even their applause sounds sad. 

“Thank you, Caesar.” You nod at the praise. “You taught me so much—all of you. If I had known this would be the last time I got to play for you—” You trail off into a sob and the crowd coos. The words may be fake, but he isn’t too sure about the tears. He wonders if you think you won’t make it out of the arena alive—not that he would let that happen. If he could just talk to you, and have an actual conversation, he could know what you’re thinking.

Caesar pats your lower back and Finnick’s eyes narrow. “And you played beautifully.”

You hand the violin back with a watery smile and, fake or not, Finnick hates to see you cry. 

You’re met with a standing ovation as you climb to your place on the platform. With the way the victors are positioned, he stands directly behind you. Or, well, strictly speaking, he’s more diagonal than directly behind you. Still, how lucky is he? He could, theoretically, lean forward and catch a whiff of your perfume—

He gathers himself, straightening up and lacing his fingers behind his back. He squeezes the space between his thumb and forefinger.

Katniss spins and her wedding dress transforms in a flurry of fire before their eyes. 

“Again with the fire.” He mutters under his breath.

The crowd is in awe as she spreads her wings, but he isn’t so easily cowed. Though, he might not be the target audience. Finnick’s never been particularly fond of birds, even if they are mockingjays.

"You know Katniss and I, we've been luckier than most. And I wouldn't have any regrets at all if it weren't…if—" Peeta stops himself, glancing around nervously.

"If it weren't for what? What?"

“If it weren’t for the baby.”

Now, that catches his attention. Gasps echo throughout the room at Peeta’s revelation. Finnick’s eyebrows almost touch his hairline with how high they raise. Caesar tries to do damage control, but the situation is quickly escalating. 

“Call off the games!”

“This is cruel!”

He purses his lips around a growing smile, but he can’t hide it for long when the crowd starts shouting. That’s…that’s certainly one way to get the audience riled up. He catches the slight smirk on Peeta’s face as he watches the commotion he caused and Finnick’s a little jealous. 

Chaos unfurls in a way he never thought the Capitols were capable of. They’ve always been so docile; sheep shepherded into any direction Snow leads them. But it makes sense. The romance act was meant to fool the Capitol and fool them it has. He hides the vindictive glee he feels at the riot breaking out in the name of the victors, but only barely. He would kill to see Snow's face right now. 

How does it feel, he wonders, to see your people rebel in support of the savages you tried to paint us out to be?

He looks over, brows furrowed, as Mags takes his hand with a proud smile and he glances down in time to see you take Chaff’s hand. He pauses for a moment before taking the hand the woman from Five offers him. In sync, the victors all raise their hands in a show of solidarity. 

“Stop the games!”

“Call them off!”

Finnick grins big at the mayhem unfolding before him and they keep shouting long after the lights cut out.

Present (X) - You & Finnick

[23 & 24 ] - THE CAPITOL

“Star!”

It didn't take long for the tributes to be escorted off the platforms and as he chases after you, Finnick realizes that he vastly underestimated just how many people stood between you and him. He isn't sure if he's too far away for you to hear or if you’re actively ignoring him.

”Star!” Finnick pushes through the crowd of victors and stage crew to get closer. Chaff glances at him and now he knows for sure that you’re ignoring him.

“Stubborn.” He mutters as some of his fellow victors let him pass, glancing at him before continuing their conversations. But, as he’s said before, he’s just as stubborn as you. He racks his brain for something that’ll catch your attention before he loses what might be his last chance with you. “ The message was for you! ”

You pause at the entrance of the elevator at Finnick's shout. You're so close to getting away, so close. Your escape is a hair's breadth and a footstep away, but you remember how you felt sitting in your dressing room watching Finnick's interview. Was there a pang of jealousy over the possibility of the message being for someone else? God , it couldn't even be categorized as jealousy. 

You look over your shoulder and his lungs stop constricting. He’s got you. Now, for the hardest part: keeping you.

There are dozens of eyes on him, people milling around as if they aren’t honed in on whatever this is. He can’t blame them for being curious, he’s a little confused himself. He went into this with no plan, not that he would have been able to stick to one with how you’re looking at him.

“What?” The lingering crowd fully parts for him as he approaches, and you regard the gathering audience warily. 

“What I said, the message—it was for you.” He repeats. 

He can’t afford to be coy, that hasn't worked the last dozen times he's attempted a conversation with you and it definitely won't work now. He knows if he doesn’t catch you now, there won’t be any more chances.

Peeta dropped a baby bomb, and, somehow, this is the most dramatic thing to happen tonight. His eyes are locked intently on you, either unaware of all the attention he’s captured or just uncaring.

You look over to Chaff for some kind of help and he smirks at your growing embarrassment. You watch in disbelief as he walks away using the excuse of finding Seeder to escape. 

“Finnick, this isn’t the time.” You glance between him and the floor, tracing the threading in his boots instead of the desperation in his eyes. 

"Can you please just,” he shifts his weight on his feet, "can you look at me, Star? Please, just look at me." He lifts his hand like he aims to reach out to you, but hesitates. 

This situation is developing into something far more intimate than your current company should allow. More intimate than you should allow. You can always just walk away, turn your back to him and get on one of the idle elevators—let it end here once and for all. The only thing stopping you would be the completely unfounded guilt. 

You don't owe him anything, let alone your time. 

And, yet. 

Maybe you can get some kind of closure and set clear boundaries before you go into the arena—and that reasoning sounds weak even to you.

Both of you could die tomorrow and truthfully, you don't want to walk away from him; you've never wanted to.

Besides, it's not like he can hurt you any worse than he already has. 

Finnick jolts when he feels your hand wrap around his wrist, a sensation he should be accustomed to but has grown foreign. 

You pull him aside away from eavesdropping ears, but not from nosey eyes. You feel like a spectacle, with how front and center Finnick has made this, but when haven't you?

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” You question him in a harsh whisper. “I don’t know what this is or what you think this is, but it is not the place for it. What if this gets back to Snow—”

“I don’t care.”

“—There’s already so much…what?”

“I don’t care.” He shakes his head, and for once, he’s not lying. “I don’t care if they hear us, or—or if this gets back to Snow.”

Your jaw shifts as you narrow your eyes up at him and there’s that anger he’s been expecting.

“Please, Star. Just…just let me speak.” He begs. Your face goes blank, a mask slotting into place like a lock with a key that Finnick has long since lost the right to. He blocks out the chatter around him. 

“Not here.” For a moment, he thinks he’s being rejected until you grab his wrist and drag him behind you. The elevators are filling in droves and you just so happen to pick the one housing some of the last people he wants to witness this. 

Haymitch takes one look at your faces and the grip you have on his wrist and raises his hands in defense. 

Haymitch turns to Katniss and Peeta. “Nuh-uh, believe me. You do not wanna be locked in here with them.” He shakes his head and steps out without a backward glance and you contemplate going with him. “I’ll meet you guys up there.”

Johanna steps on in his place, elevator doors closing behind her. She looks between the four of you and whistles. Finnick sighs.

“There’s the happy couple.” You glance at Peeta and Katniss because she certainly isn’t talking about the two of you. “You caused quite the stir out there. Why didn’t you tell us you were expecting? We could have thrown you a baby shower.” You sigh through your nose. You don’t even have it in you to intervene in this conversation.

“What the hell is a baby shower—”

“We didn’t know how everyone would take it.” Peeta cuts Katniss off. “We’re already the newest victors. The baby might’ve painted an even bigger target on our backs.” He says without stuttering once.

“That’s a fantastic answer, Peeta.” Johanna crows sarcastically. “Did Haymitch prep you on that one or did you come up with it on your own?”

“No. No, it’s all me.” He assures with a downward smile. It certainly is all him. He’s the mastermind behind all of this, right? Ironically enough, Finnick doubts Katniss had any real part in making this ‘baby scandal’.

Finnick opens his mouth to make a quip but thinks better of it. You’re already aggravated at his presence and he honestly doesn’t want to remind you that he’s here. His only consolation is that you’re still holding his wrist, all five pads of your fingers are searing points on his skin.

Peeta gives you an imploring look, eyebrows raised as if to ask if you’re alright and you nod and—when did that happen?

It’s quiet, with no other sound than the nearly inaudible woosh of the elevator going between floors. No one makes an effort to break the steadily growing awkward silence. Finnick does, however, make the mistake of making eye contact with Johanna. She mouths you’re dead at him over your head and, yeah, that definitely fills him with much-needed confidence. 

Present (X) - Finnick

[21 & 22] -  THE CAPITOL; TRAINING CENTER; ELEVENTH FLOOR

“Alright. You wanted to speak.” Your dress flutters around your legs as you settle into a big green chair. That same giant green chair you sat in three years prior. You’ve both grown considerably since then. Just in two completely different directions. What a juxtaposition. “Speak.” 

He stays where he’s standing a couple of feet away. He probably should have figured out what to do on the elevator ride, but, again, he’s without a plan. “Did you hear my message? When I was up there with Caesar? I know you were still getting ready—did you hear it?”

“I might’ve.” You shrug and cross your arms, still so stubborn. “Great strategy by the way. I’m sure you’ll reel in plenty of sponsors.”

“God, Star, it wasn’t for them. It wasn’t even for the fucking movement.” You raise a brow at his words but give no further outward reaction. He moves to stand before you, each step more unsure than the last. Your glare is scorching, but there’s been enough space between the two of you to house the sun. “Do you remember when you said my poetry was a gift? And—and that I shouldn’t waste it on them? You said you would never be tired of anything I do. Do you remember that night? What I said?” He implores. It was a special night full of promises and you gave him more than he deserved.

You look him over with a critical eye long enough that he’s sure you’re just not going to answer. Especially when you turn to stare off to the side before sighing out of your nose.

“My heart, who am I to deprive you of what's yours by right? The air in my lungs, I breathe for you. The blood in my veins pumps for you. A leaf can’t stop itself from falling and neither could I. Everything I do, I do for you.” It only takes him half a second to recognize the lines and he’s stunned, transported back to that garden under the stars. “I remember all of them…I remember everything you’ve made for me.” You give him fleeting peripheral glances and avoid his gaze like you’re ashamed of that. 

He nods, frantic and eager. He’s making headway. He honestly didn’t think you’d let him get this far. Your eyes widen when he drops down into a kneel before you smooth your face into a blank mask. “They’re all yours. And they’ll keep being yours even if you still hate me when I leave this room. Everything I’ve written since I met you has been for you.’’ He confesses, hands moving to grip the arms of your chair, but is it really a confession? The Capitols love his poetry because they adore the idea of Finnick Odair being devoted to them, longing for them and, for that, you’ve always been his inspiration. 

You stare down at him, giving no indication that anything he’s said has swayed you. He grits his teeth through the sting of rejection and sighs, arms falling to his sides.

“I can’t tell you how sorry—”

“Why now?” You cut him off. “It’s been two years. You don’t owe me anything, Finnick, so if this a guilt thing—”

“I–It’s not. I mean, it is, but it’s not…it’s not why I’m here.” He sits back on his haunches, running a hand through his hair. “We could die tomorrow. And I don’t want you going into that arena thinking that I don’t love you or…or that I wanted to leave you.”

You squint at him, face twisting into a sour scowl.

“You said,” you drawl, slow and drawn out like you’re explaining something fundamental to a child, “you thought it was best if we ended it.”

He shakes his head. “I lied. I had to and I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I know I hurt you and I know saying sorry won’t be enough, but please know sending that letter was the last thing I wanted to do. Leaving you was the last thing I wanted to do.”

“What? What are you talking about? You said—”

He holds his hands up, stopping your completely warranted stream of questions.

“I know. I know what I said and I never would have said it if Snow hadn’t shown up at my house—”

“Snow showed up at your house?” Your arms unfold and you lean forward so suddenly that he almost flinches back. “When?” 

“Uh, a few weeks before I sent the letter. He’s the only reason I even sent it.” He scoffs, remembering the state he was left in after Snow offered the ultimatum. He doesn’t need to try to remember the words written in the letter he sent you because he’s never forgotten. They’re tattooed on the back of his eyelids, seared into his memory every time he blinks.

“What did he want? What did he say to make you…” He watches you try to articulate your confusion. What led to this ? What could have possibly been worth giving you up? 

“Snow he–he was convinced that our relationship would somehow lead to—civil unrest. His solution was to get rid of one of us, get rid of you . I couldn’t let that happen. He never explicitly said it, but you know how he is, how he speaks …I was scared. I was. I didn’t—” His voice cracks and you stare down at him with stunned, wide eyes. He wants to shuffle closer. He wants to sway into you and take some kind of comfort. But he doesn’t. “I didn’t know what to do and I couldn’t just tell you because you would have tried to find some kind of loophole and we couldn’t afford to make him more hostile than he already was.”

You look to your left out of the wall-length windows and smirk, completely throwing Finnick off. 

"Star?"

You stand. He watches as you pace the length of the room before turning on your heel and walking onto the balcony. He can do nothing more than follow you. 

“He came to my house too, you know. Around the same time, I think. He wanted to remind me about how privileged I am.” You snort and that sick feeling is developing in his stomach, organs twisting to make room for the settling dread. He isn’t sure what he thought you’d do in light of the revelation, what he expected you to say, but it’s not this. “Went on about how thankful I should be that he was allowing us to be in a relationship and…and that as long as I kept myself in line, I could keep you.” You sigh, propping your elbows on the railing and placing your face in your hands.

He doesn’t know what to do. Speechless doesn’t even cover it. His anger is there, and he doesn’t see that ever leaving him...but he’s been angry for so long and he’s been tired for even longer.

“We played right into his hand, Finnick. He gained something from this, bastard that he is.” You scoff. You turn and sit with your back against the glass railing. "That's all that matters to him."

Finnick stews on it and many things are starting to make sense. In the months leading up to the event, the two of you started seeing each other less and less. Long periods where all he had was your perfume and words to keep him company. And considering Snow was the only way either of you were allowed to come to the Capitol…Of course. It all seems so fucking obvious now .

"I should have known better. Snow was never gonna kill you, he's too fucking— God .” He stops and shakes his head. All of the lost time, the unnecessary pain. 

“Come sit down, Finn.”

Finn. 

He hasn't been called that in a long time. He takes a second to stare unseeingly at the stars before sliding down beside you.

It's quiet. He doesn't know what to say, doesn't know if there's anything he should say, and he's sure you feel the same. But he does know if it was up to you, you'd both sit in silence for the foreseeable future and he has two years' worth of confessions to make. 

“The mo—” he stops, overwhelmed by how much he wants to say, but nothing feels good enough, “I loved you the moment you laughed at my stupid joke the first time we danced together and I have loved you ever since. Even when I wasn’t there to show you, even when I—I left you. I’ve loved you the entire way, Star. There are billions of suns out there, billions of universes, and I love you in every one.”

Your head whips up.

“I remember everything you’ve made for me too.” Your mouth twists, brows furrowing as you stare at him and he can’t express in words how good it feels to be seen.

"I don’t hate you.” You shrug a shoulder, smiling small and quick. “You said ‘even if you still hate me’, I don’t hate you.”

“...You don’t?” 

“I tried to. For a while, I thought I did." He shouldn’t be surprised by that. He shouldn’t be hurt by something he explicitly told you to do in his letter. Finnick shouldn’t be a lot of things that he is. “But I just… couldn’t . I didn’t even want to, after a while. I was just tired.”

His head thumps against the railing. He closes his eyes. There's a question on his tongue, an answer he shouldn't need but wants regardless. 

“Is that why you stopped sending letters?” When he opens his eyes again, he’s relieved by the fact that you’re still facing him.

Your face twists like you’ve tasted something sour, something rotten. “I just…I was fine waiting for you, Finnick. It was hard, but it didn’t hurt. Not too bad, at least. I would’ve waited a thousand years because it would have been worth it to hold you for a second. And I could get through that because I knew you were waiting for me too. But, I realized you were never coming. And, eventually, I realized…you weren’t waiting either." You whisper, wrapping your arms around your legs as you pull your knees up. He stiffens, freezing in place as he tries to slow his heartbeat. 

He drops his head, brows furrowed as he tries, and fails, to stop tears from forming. It's just, it's cruel . The one thing he promised himself he'd never do—leave you, hurt you—he had to do for you. 

He wipes his face, pressing the base of his palms into his eyes. 

"Star, I…I would never…It killed me to write that letter, you have to know that, right? Right ?" He implores, voice rough while his breath hitches repeatedly. His throat feels tight and swollen as he stutters over the words in his chest. The words you have to hear, the words he needs you to hear. You stare forward, refusing to look at him anymore and he turns to face you full-on, refusing to look at anything but you. "How can I let you know that? What can I do—to prove—that I'm sorry ?"

He thought you both had changed, changed too much to be fluent in what you two used to have. He thought it was a different language, but here, up close, he can see that it’s not so much a new language as it is a cipher. You just had to let him get close enough to understand again. He had always thought you had such an open face, it was a wonder to him how you were able to lie so eloquently when you could never lie to him. But it wasn’t until he was shut out that he realized you were letting him read you, subconsciously or otherwise. He reads you now, eyes tracing your face eagerly—hungrily, and finds…remorse?

"I know you’re sorry. I know. And logically, knowing the truth should make it easier to get over it.” Your mouth opens and closes, hesitating. “But you left me." He nods hard enough to hurt his neck. "I did." And he's sorry, he's sorry, he's so sorry. He doesn't think there's enough air on the planet for him to tell you just how sorry he is. "You left me, Finnick. I know it isn’t rational to feel this way knowing you didn’t want to, but…” You lick your lips, resting your cheek on your knee. When you look up at him, actually look at him and not somewhere over his shoulder, the glossy state of your eyes has him digging his nails into his hands to ground himself. "It’s just—it’s more than a little hard to dissociate you from that hurt." I’d take that hurt from you if I could, he thinks. I’d grit my teeth through the pain and wear it proudly if it meant you’d have a moment of relief. He doesn’t say any of that. Instead, he says, "I'm sorry, Star." Because, really, what else is there to say? There’s no way to describe everything he’s sorry for.

"...I'm sorry too." You say and he wants to tell you there’s nothing to apologize to him about, but you lock your pinky with his and it’s entirely unexpected and truly enough to make his throat tighten, and all he can manage is a wistful sigh at the feeling of coming home.

Far below them, the sound of the city is dampened by the distance but no less heard. He goes to speak but spots a flash of blue out of the corner of his eye. It’s your ankle. Or specifically, what’s on your ankle.

“You wore it?” He asks, touching the fraternal twin of his own bracelet. He appraises what he thought was lost reverently. Tracing the grooves of the shells, the divets in the charms, the rough twine of the rope—it all feels like a live wire under his fingers.

“I never took it off.” You slip your heel off, loosening the straps of the bracelet and wiggling it down your foot. “I just thought it might be a little sad to parade it around when you didn’t want me.”

“There will never be a moment on this Earth of me not wanting you, not while I still have air in my lungs. Not even after.” 

“And how’ll you manage that?” You ask, your eyes crinkling in that old mirth you used to wear around him like a beauty mark.

“For you? I’ll find a way.” He promises.

You hum, appraising the jewelry for a second before passing it to him. He can’t help but smile when you lift your hand, silently prompting him. He places the bracelet on you, tightening it on your wrist. It feels like muscle memory when he lifts your hand to place a kiss on the center shell.

The corner of your mouth twitches up and you nod. “Okay.”

He leans in, placing a hand on the base of your neck and pulling you towards him and he’s still in awe that you actually let him. He holds the back of your head as you bury your face in his chest, wrapping your arms around his slender waist. 

"I'm not asking for forgiveness, it wouldn’t be fair to.” He murmurs into the crown of your hair. “But after we do this, I want the chance to make it up to you." He'll spend the rest of his life mending what he tore apart if you let him.

“I think…I’d like that.” You speak into his chest and he feels your voice more than he hears it. “It was for you too.”

“What was?”

“The song I played onstage. I wrote it after it all happened. Honestly, I couldn’t touch the violin without thinking of you, Finn. You were the only person I ever wanted to play for.” You whisper and it feels like he’s been punched in the stomach. Finnick’s taken by the sudden need to look in your eyes more than anything, to see and know you and be seen and known in return. He pulls back enough to look down at you.

“ Star .” He begs you beseechingly, and there’s no hesitation when you look up at him and he grins. It feels like it’s been years. “There you are.”

You smile. It's small and heavier than he remembers, but it's there and he is as whole as he will ever be.

A/N: IMAGINE POURING YOUR HEART OUT AND EXPRESSING HEARTFELT INTIMACY TO THE LOVE OF YOUR LIFE JUST TO GET DUMPED yeesh. fun fact: "...but if you only dug a little deeper you’d find your picture framed and hanging along the walls of my soul." I actually texted this to my beta reader about Finn from Adventure Time after seeing an edit bc I love him so much, but then I converted it into Finnick love. also, Finnick's letter was one of the first things I wrote for this story months ago. That balcony talk was inspired by Hozier's Unknown/Nth WE IN THE ARENA NEXT CHAPPY

#3d wifey talks #3d wifey answers #finnick odair x reader #hunger games catching fire #finnick odair #and they'd find us in a week #finnick #finnick odair fanfic #catching fire #the hunger games x reader #hunger games smut #hunger games fanfiction #finnick fanfic #thg finnick #finnick x reader #finnick x you #finnick imagine #hunger games finnick #the hunger games

[gorgonwrites]

bound to you (part 1)

diluc x fem!reader

authors note: hi! im gorgon and this is my first fic :) i am definitely NOT a writer, but i had an idea and i decided i wanted to do it myself >:)) this is turning into a slow burn type of thing i am so sorry haha. i usually like getting right into the thick of things but i just kept writing sos 

wc: 1,864

cw: uuuuuh none for now, no smut in this one! mutual pining, diluc is dumb and is trying to ignore his feelings for reader, fem!reader, arranged marriage trope, diluc learning to be a good husband blah blah 

It’s been six months since you came to the Dawn Winery. You’ve come to love Mondstadt and you adore the staff who share your home. The only person who was still warming up to you is your cold shouldered husband. Master Diluc wasn’t known to be an affectionate man, and he kept himself busy with business or stayed late at Angels Share. Even though you’d been married for months, you could count on one hand how many times you’d actually spent a moment alone with him. He avoided you, and quite frankly, you avoided him. You knew you’d never get a chance at marrying for love since you were the eldest daughter of a well known Lord in Fontaine. Your marriage was purely political, but you lived an easy life here. The stillness that you experienced most days was a relief compared to the constant partying and being paraded around at events like you were an item to be auctioned off to the highest bidder. You were, however, incredibly lonely. Adelinde tried to remind you that Master Diluc was a very kindhearted person, he just needed time to adjust. 

“It hasn’t been that long since you arrived and married the Master, Lady y/n. Just give him time, he shows his affections in… his own way. You’ll see.” You sighed. Another six months of avoiding each other may drive you mad. You were an independent woman, and not being allowed to lift a finger in your own home was driving you past boredom towards insanity. 

“Do you think I’ll be able to help with the grape harvests soon? Master Diluc will be away on business for at least another month and I’m happy to provide another pair of hands.” You phrased it as a question, but as the Lady of the house Adelinde wasn’t in a position to refuse. She giggled as if you had asked her something rather mischievous.

“I know we could use the help. Besides, you could put that vision of yours to good use and keep everyone cool, I’m sure.” You didn’t get many chances to use your cryo vision anymore, and you jumped excitedly at the thought. Your husband can hardly stand the cold, and you’ve tried to limit how much you use it out of respect for him. He may avoid you, but he hasn’t been unkind. You try to afford him the same treatment, even if it was difficult at times. You were directly going against his wishes by offering to help with any harvesting work out in the hot summer sun, but what your husband doesn’t know won’t hurt him. 

“I’ve got more frozen lemonade, boys!” You yelled out to the men working tirelessly in the vineyard. Adelinde held an umbrella out for you to shield you from the afternoon heat, but you were feeling perfectly cool after using your vision to make a huge batch of frozen drinks for your employees. 

“Thank you, Lady y/n!” Each man said one after another, quickly snatching their drinks from the tray you brought out. You all had been working for hours at this point, your nose and cheeks were tinged pink from the sun. 

“Alright, after this we’ll get back to it. I’ve got a bit of energy left!” you said cheerily. 

“You most certainly will not.” a familiar gruff voice asserted behind you. Your eyes widened before you slowly turned to come face to face with your husband, speechless. He was home more than two weeks early. You stood before him in a thin undershirt and underskirt to combat the heat, sweaty, sticky, and sunburned. Embarrassed, you whispered softly,

“Welcome back, Master Diluc.” You averted your eyes from his gaze, suddenly feeling exposed in your current state. 

“Adelinde, please see y/n to her chambers and have her rest. I’ll help with the remainder of today's harvest.” he spoke as though you weren’t even there, and you were close to snapping. You can’t though, not for everyone to hear. Adelinde began to shuffle you back to the winery, and you chanced a glance back to look at your husband. He had already shrugged his coat off and began unbuttoning his shirt. He looked up to see you staring, and you swore you saw a small smile appear on his face. Surely not, you thought to yourself. And you let Adelinde take you inside to bathe and relax after a long afternoon in the hot sun. 

After your bath you sat alone in your room, wondering whether or not you wanted to find your husband. The harvests of the day had long since ended, and the skies were stained pink and orange as the sun set. You had a perfect view of the vineyard from your window, so you sat to watch the sky as you got lost in thought. You began to mindlessly braid your frizzy curls, and became so engrossed in the thought of your shirtless husband that you didn’t hear a quiet knock at your door. 

“Y/n?” You jolted at the sudden intrusion, only to see the subject of your wandering thoughts in your doorway. You looked away quickly, wanting to hide the flush creeping up to your cheeks. You felt hopelessly exposed again, only donning your summer nightdress. Your husband was a handsome man, you knew that. But you didn’t know him. After six months of marriage you knew nothing about the man in front of you, but you were finally ready to find out. 

“I did knock,” he smiled sheepishly, “I wanted to… see to you being well rested before I retired for the evening.” You furrowed your brow in confusion. This was the first time Diluc had visited your chambers, and he wanted to make sure that you were resting? You quickly changed your mind about getting to know him, and you could feel agitation creeping into your skin. 

“I am very well rested, thank you Master Diluc.” you replied flatly. His expression fell slightly, and you scrambled to find something else to say. 

“I told you not to call me that. I’m your husband, calling me Diluc will suffice.” You scoffed at him in response.

“Some husband, who has hardly spoken to his lonely wife in six months. Hardly even seen her as well! Leaving her to entertain herself day in and day out. I think if I become any more restless I may die from the madness!” You clapped a hand over your mouth as soon as the words left your lips. Wide eyed, you glanced at the man in your doorway once again. He’s nothing but a stranger, you reminded yourself. Even so, you didn’t mean to sound so harsh.

“I apologize,” you immediately whisper, “I didn’t mean for that to sound so unpleasant.” He smiled gently in response. Even if you pushed the limits of what you could do, even with your fiery quips and sarcastic comments, he only ever showed you a softness that no one else witnessed. Maybe you were the one giving him the cold shoulder and hadn’t realized it. You crossed your arms in response to your own thoughts.

“Don’t apologize for saying things I need to hear. I know I’ve been exceptionally busy since you came to Mondstadt. After the harvests are done, I’ll have a bit more freedom to do as I like with my time. I’ll see to it that I spend some of that time with you. Sleep well.” He quickly turned on his heel and was out of your room, leaving you speechless. You couldn’t help but notice your heart pounding, and you clutched your chest in hopes of calming it quickly. The sky was almost dark now, and you watched as crystalflies floated through the vineyard. Your heart had slowed its pounding, and you sat in your window again to go over what your husband just said to you. 

Diluc quickly made his way across the winery to his own chambers and let out a sigh when he closed his door behind him. His heart threatened to beat out of his chest after the short interaction with you, and he couldn’t deny the bulge growing in his trousers after seeing you in your thin nightdress. 

“Damn it.” he breathed. No matter the distance he kept between the two of you, the yearning he felt became clearer and clearer. He wanted you, and badly at that. Kindness flowed out of you like water, your fiery personality was intoxicating, and you were undeniably the most beautiful woman he had ever laid eyes on. He resisted growing close to you because he worried about putting you in danger. Anyone close to him could be used as collateral against him, and if anything happened to you his relationship with the Lords in Fontaine would crumble. Is he worried about that, though? Or is he more worried about any harm coming to you? He shook his head and pinched the bridge of his nose, cursing at himself. 

Spending time with you would change nothing. He was sure he could easily entertain you once or twice a week when the Winery’s busy season came to an end. He took a breath and slowly began to undress for the evening. He huffs at the chilly night air flowing in from his open window, kissing his tanned and freckled shoulders. Diluc didn’t like the cold. It reminded him of what his life became after losing his father, and preferred to keep his body and home warm despite how hot it became throughout the summer months in Mondstadt. He thought of your cryo vision, and wondered if your body stayed cool in the same way that his body stayed hot due to his own pyro vision. Do you even like the heat? What was your favorite season? Would you ever tolerate being touched by him? His mind was racing again. Stripped bare aside from his shorts, he flopped onto his bed and dug the heels of his palms into his eyes. 

Gods, she’ll lead to my ruin if I’m not careful. He stretched his arms over his head, seeing stars from the pressure of his palms. He smiled. Maybe any ruin you lead him to could be worth it.

AHHH okay that's it for now sorry there wasn’t much ~flavor~ but i had to set the scene okay. like i said im no writer so feedback is always welcome! im so soft for this man i can hardly stand it LMAO 

#diluc x reader #diluc ragnvindr #genshin x reader #genshin impact #diluc fluff #diluc smut #diluc headcanons #diluc genshin x reader #diluc genshin impact #genshin fluff #genshin imagines

[sentinelpri]

Burnt Out

Working at Princeton-Plainsboro Hospital is brutal, to say the least. As the head of the cardiology department and a member of Gregory House’s diagnostic team, your job is not only hectic but also underappreciated. You spend most of your days cycling between helping your patients, helping your coworker’s patients, pouring over paperwork, being scolded by Cuddy, and being shat on by House, who insists that you stay on his team while constantly dismissing your ideas and implying that you’re an idiot like he does with damn-near everyone else he works with.

So, yeah. Life is great.

Currently, you’re sitting in the diagnostics conference room at the corner of the table. Chase, Cameron, Foreman, and Wilson are also sitting with you. Meanwhile, House is standing at the whiteboard, bouncing his tennis ball with one hand and using the other to write down your most recent patient’s symptoms.

“Eleven year old caucasian female, admitted two days ago after falling unconscious during her first ever track meet. Her family’s medical history is totally clean from what we can tell and she’s had no problems prior to this, though they seem to be way behind on taking her and themselves to the doctor for regular visits. However, since being admitted, she’s only displayed more symptoms and seems to be getting worse,” House explains, seemingly unenthused. You wouldn’t be surprised if he’d already figured it out. He likes to do that- to pretend that he has no idea what the patient’s affliction is and then rag on everyone else for not being able to figure it out. “So far, we’re dealing with high blood pressure, a one hundred one degree fever that refuses to break, hives, bloodshot eyes, and swelling across her entire body.”

“Rheumatoid arthritis?” Cameron suggests, eager to be the first one to get at the new case. “I know she’s young, but she could’ve developed it early and had it go undiagnosed.”

“Before we start discussing the possibility of chronic diseases, shouldn’t we test for strep and scarlet fever?” Chase questions. “If her parents are so bad about getting her medical care, it could have just been a minor illness that’s developed into this.”

“What about you two? (y/n), Foreman?” House pipes up, calling the two of you out since you’ve been totally silent since he started. You can’t help but notice that he doesn’t do the same to Wilson, who hasn’t said anything either. “Nothing to say?”

Foreman shrugs.

“This isn’t my ballpark. I’ll let you figure it out, House. I’m sure you’re just playing with us anyway. Compared to the last few cases, this seems like child’s play.”

Seemingly satisfied with that answer, House turns to you.

“And you?”

“Kawasaki disease? She has some of the symptoms,” You half-heartedly answer.

“Just because you’re a cardiologist doesn’t mean that every patient that comes through these doors has a heart disease, you know,” House scoffs with a roll of his icy blue eyes. “And she only has some of the symptoms for that. She doesn’t fit into the main demographic for it either. That’s the worst answer I’ve gotten out of you for a case all month. Are you even trying anymore?”

When House first hired you, you were excited- always trying your best and working after your already long hours to solve cases. As the years have gone by, though, you’ve lost your enthusiasm and frequently find yourself dreading the mornings where you and House’s paths have to collide. You know he’s only so cruel because he has problems of his own and because he has a motive (just like he has a motive for every other crazy thing he likes to do), but the fact that he picks on you so often when all you’re doing is trying your best gets under your skin.

A couple years ago, you might’ve tried to argue back with him. Now, all you can do is avert your eyes and stare at the table as if it’s the most interesting thing in the world. You’re praying for a hole to just appear underneath you and suck you into the vacuum of space- or at least for everyone to continue chatting until the embarrassing situation is long forgotten- but instead, Cameron pipes up to defend you. 

“Dr. House, was that really unnecessary? They’re trying their best and you’re being needlessly cruel.”

“What, are you jealous that I’m paying more attention to them than I am to you?” House snarks back at her. You hold your head in your hands and sigh. “Because next time, I can include you, too. Now do any of you have any better ideas than the crap you’ve just given me or am I going to be handling this case by myself?”

With that, the meeting continues. House ends up deciding that he’s going to order labs to see if the patient has strep or scarlet fever before doing anything else, leaving you to finish out your work day. 

You rush out of the office the moment he dismisses you all. Cameron tries to catch up to you to ask if you’re okay, but much to your relief, Chase stops her and tells her that you probably just need your space. You rush to your office, shut the door, sit down in your chair, and- for the first time in a long time- bawl your eyes out. 

House being a dick to you is typical, but on top of everything else that you have to deal with at your job, it pushes you over the edge. With the ungrateful patients, admin, and coworkers, the long hours, the physically and mentally draining work, and all of the drama that happens in the hospital, it’s almost impossible to keep going. The only thing- or, person- that makes it somewhat worth the turmoil is your partner, James Wilson, who you’ve been dating for some months now.

He’s a great comfort to you, and he’s always kind, unlike a lot of the people you find yourself surrounded by at Princeton-Plainsboro Teaching Hospital. Your relationship is surprisingly healthy despite the amount of problems between the two of you. You don’t want to miss out on more time with him than you already do, though, so you find it hard to quit or even ask to be moved off of the diagnostics team. 

Conflicted and tired, you bury your head in your arms and cry even harder, glad that the walls are soundproof until you hear the sound of your doorknob turning.

And that’s when you realize that you forgot to lock the door.

You pop your head up, tears still covering your cheeks and welling up in your eyes. You probably look like shit and your partner has just walked in to see said display.

There, right in front of you, in the entryway of your office, stands James Wilson, looking at you like a deer caught in the headlights. The worst part is that you’re sure you’re looking at him the same way. The happy expression he walked in with has fallen completely.

“Did I come at a bad time?” He tentatively asks.

“No, sorry,” You answer and rush to wipe your tears away. You try to make yourself look presentable, probably to no avail considering the look of disbelief that James shoots your way. “What do you need?”

“Are you sure? I can leave if you want-” James starts and steps back towards the door.

“Don’t,” You interject, shaking your head. “Please. I know we’re at work right now, but…”

James sighs, then shuts and locks the door behind you. He quickly approaches your desk and sits on the edge of it, facing you.

“House really got to you today, didn’t he?”

“Yeah, I guess he did,” You shrug. “I don’t even know what to do about it anymore, James… I’m considering just quitting and going somewhere else. I feel so burnt out. It’s not even just House, it’s everything else, too. He’s the least of it.”

James nods.

“...I understand.”

“Do you really?”

“Well, maybe not in the exact same way. I’d be lying if I said I didn’t notice that House is a little less harsh on me than he is on the rest of you, but him and I have been friends for a long time. He knows what I’m capable of. The only reason he pushes your buttons so much is because he’s testing to see what your limits are. In a weird sort of way, he’s trying to get to know you,” James explains, though both of you know that isn’t much of a comfort to you. “I’m sure things have been difficult for you lately. You do a lot, and it goes unappreciated, but I promise you that you’re doing a good job and that there are people who appreciate what you do.”

At that, you smile. You don’t feel completely better, but the weight on your shoulders does feel a little lighter.

“Thank you. That means a lot to me.”

“I love you,” James says.

“I love you too.”

Hours pass. You work on paperwork while James responds to patient emails for you. The two of you knock out most of what’s been piling up on your end, much to your relief. You try not to think about the fact that James has probably neglected a lot of his day’s duties to help you out with this. 

“Should we head out?” You ask, looking at the clock.

“Probably… It is getting pretty late.”

Just then, the doorknob turns, only to go back since James had locked it just moments before. A second later, you hear obnoxiously loud knocking. Wilson goes to open it. Standing there is House, who’s holding a stack of papers.

“All the other tests came back negative. You were right,” House admits, looking straight at you. “It’s Kawasaki disease. Good job.”

Then, as fast as he came by your office, House leaves, just as elusive as ever- and all you and James can do is laugh.

#james wilson x reader #House #house md #House M.D. #House M.D #gregory house #reader insert #self insert #gender neutral reader #oneshot #oneshots #fluff #drabble #drabbles

[stormgardenscurse]

Vil + Late night calls please! Feel free to delete if you wish and remember you can always say no to requests. Some writers feel pressured, I know I do. Take care of yourself. 💜

Summary: Vil calls you after a long day of work, and while he'd rather you sleep earlier for your health's sake, he has to admit that seeing your familiar antics lightens his mood.

Notes: Reader is somewhat sleep deprived here (not in a serious way, just in a 'stayed up until late hours reading' type of way)

Wordcount: 900+

When Vil gets the ‘okay’ from you to call despite how it’s pretty late at night, he more or less expects it to be a regular greeting and doesn't plan to keep you for long. He’s just finished filming for one of his jobs, it’s the holidays so you’re probably trying to relax, and he was feeling a little tired himself (but wanted to hear your voice again anyways).

He’s in for a surprise when you pick up, and before he can even say hello, receives a rustling noise from your end of the phone paired with a muffled ‘hold on a sec!’

His phone screen starts to flicker to life, revealing a close-up of you while you try to adjust the angle of your camera. You’re so focused that Vil forgets what he was about to say, instead mindlessly matching your actions by turning on his own camera, giving you an odd look. “What are you doing?”

You blow an imaginary strand of hair out of your face, ever the dramatic. “Isn’t it obvious? I’m trying to position this so I don’t have to hold it.” More rustling, something falls off the table which immediately elicits a curse under your breath. “Wait, hold on a second– I just need to… Okay! There. Finally.” You give him a smile and a wave through the phone screen. “How was filming? Did you manage to eat yet?”

“I’ve eaten, yes.” Vil is trying to keep his expression neutral, but a smile tugs at his mouth from your chaotic greeting. “Everything went smoothly, but I’d rather talk about something that isn’t work.” After all, he's much more curious about what you’re doing. “What are you up to? You know sleeping too late isn’t good for you.”

“I’ll get to sleep soon,” you’re both well aware that’s a bold-faced lie, “but I was just sorting out some of the stuff I have in my room, and would you guess what I found?”

His brow raises in recognition; it’s a leaflet of a movie he once tried to introduce you to. Tried being the keyword, but it wasn’t the type of genre you liked - and he wasn’t too invested in it himself since it was just a recommendation from a costar, so Vil hasn’t tried to convince you about it since. To his surprise, you pick up the notes you’ve been working on to show him, filled with arrows and highlighting and question marks all around. “You’ve been… studying it?”

“Studying the origins behind it.” You clarify. “Sure, the movie was kind of boring—“

“You and Epel were quite desperate to leave once it ended…”

“—And compared to the other stuff that we watched together, even you didn’t seem that interested.” You pause. “Rook complimented it, but he always sees the beauty in things.”

Vil allows you to continue on your tangent, resting his cheek against the palm of his hand. In all honesty, he’s just kind of glad you’re this energetic at all, even if he’s half-sure you don’t know what you’re saying yourself. It’s a contagious sort of fervor, but also balances out with how he's physically drained from working all day.

You point towards the table (where he assumes your notes are) with the look of a very invested detective. “It’s based on a very interesting book, with an even more interesting plot! No wonder it didn’t work as a movie, they had to cut so much out, and…” With a moment of triumph, you give him a teasing look. “The author never finished the trilogy. No one’s heard of them since the release of the second novel.”

Vil snorts, already knowing where this is going. “So you’ve been up until now researching conspiracy theories?”

“Holidays are holidays, I might as well do whatever comes to mind.” You’re well-aware this curiosity will only last as long as your adrenaline, so you try to make it as fun as possible for both you and your now increased audience of one (1) Vil Schoenheit. Folding your hands atop each-other, you lean forward as if to tempt him into joining you. “Wanna hear what I have so far?”

With an amused quirk to his lips, Vil leans forward, as if to listen better… Before turning off his camera and sending you a picture of himself he took at set earlier. He’s waving at the camera, which is quite appropriate for this situation if he does say so himself.

“Sorry, but I’m not about to fall into insanity with you tonight.” Maybe next time, his unspoken words tease. At the sound of your indignant protests, Vil shushes you with a smile. His tone turns soft, effectively quieting you. “…While I must thank you for paying me company, my dearest potato, I do have to go if I’m to be at my best for tomorrow’s schedule.” The smile is evident in his speech, but Vil was never one to hide his expressions from you. “But if you’re able to update me through text, I’ll give it a read and share my thoughts in the morning.” Or maybe tell you that you’re delirious, whichever one fits.

You both exchange your goodnights, and as a last-minute remark Vil reminds you again to not stay up too late. From what he could tell on his phone screen, it seems like you haven’t been getting enough sleep - he can’t magically kiss the dark circles under your eyes away, you know? So try to take better care of yourself. It’ll make him happy, if you require the joy of your queen to motivate you.

#vil schoenheit #twisted wonderland x reader #twisted wonderland imagines #twst x reader #vil twisted wonderland #twst vil x reader #twst vil #twst writing #twst x you #twst fluff #twst imagines #storm writings

[blizzardsuplex]

“like watching art in motion” (an essay on ZSJ and wrestling)

CW: discussions of gatekeeping

I didn’t have internet for over three days, and so in my total boredom I opened up my Microsoft Word and began tinkering with a “casual essay” on my favorite wrestler, Zack Sabre Jr. But I can’t talk about Zack without talking about how I feel about and my experiences with pro wrestling as a whole, so over 3.2k words later, here we are.

(I didn’t mean it to get so long...nor, in truth, get so personal. I’ve been carrying this with me for a long time, though, so I guess it had to come out eventually. Things like that always do.)

Title from a comment I saw on Reddit about Zack in 2016. Content under the cut. Special thanks to @heartsinablender/Izzy, who encouraged me to write and eventually post this in semi-public. :)

~~~~

My absolute earliest memories of professional wrestling are of reading next to my favorite uncle while he watched early to mid-2000s era Smackdown on one of those old, boxy TVs, but my first formative memory related to it is talking to one of my classmates, an enthusiastic prowres fan in the way children can be, on the stands by the soccer field during P.E. I don’t remember how the conversation started, but eventually (as it usually did) it landed on the object of his interest.

“I watch wrestling, sometimes,” I threw out, having at that point probably paid attention to a grand total of less than an hour of WWE. His eyes grew wide, then narrowed.

“Yeah?” he said. “Name ten wrestlers.”

He’d said it in a way that felt final, like he was sure that I wouldn’t be able to answer his challenge. It lit a fire under me, and I said “The Undertaker” as quick as a slap. He was unfazed, however, and all too soon I faltered: “The Great Khali, John Cena, Triple H, Booker T…uh. The Great Khali—“

“You said him twice,” my classmate said smugly. He turned away from me, back to the soccer game.

I don’t remember what I replied to the side of his face or what I did immediately after; it didn’t matter. I’d already failed the test, and no matter how biased its giver was, the fact I’d proven him right sucked.

~~~~

This is an essay about how I feel about the professional wrestler Zack Sabre Jr. This is also, if the above hasn’t clued you in, an essay about my personal history and relationship with professional wrestling. These ideas are not only closely related but intertwined, two vines. As with anything alive, both have their periods of growth and withering, fecundity and barrenness, somewhat independent of each other but in the end—as with any ecosystem—affecting the very same, sometimes in dramatic ways.

But even the strongest vines need something to wrap around if they ever hope to reach the sun. Where did these find their base?—my very body, frail as it is compared to the kinds of people who take up the path of the wrestler. That’s the funny thing about entertainment, I’ve found: the people you watch, whether on stage or in ring or on a screen, seem like invincible titans…as long as you’re watching them. The minute you turn your eyes away, they start to wilt; when you turn your back, they wither. With enough lack of care (in every sense), anyone could tear off the leaves and stems and just leave.

I could leave. I’ve almost left. Certainly I’ve drifted away from it on occasion. But so far I’ve always come back, or maybe more precisely I’ve let those vines wind and wind and wind ‘round me again, and more often than not ZSJ—what he represents to my conception of wrestling—is to blame.

~~~~

After I had tried and failed at the task of naming ten wrestlers, I remember feeling embarrassed. Now—though for a completely different reason—I feel outright ashamed. Now, I know too intimately what eight-year-old me could only barely comprehend: why he had issued that challenge in the first place. I was a girl, and I was an unathletic twig, and I was the most bookish of nerds, and while one or even two of those traits might have been acceptable in a “real fan”…all three of those things? Never. A classic example of gatekeeping—and for a while mentally that one interaction was successful at keeping me out.

But at the time it was “just” embarrassment, and as much as I hate to admit it that feeling followed me even after I began actually watching WWE with my uncle and cousin. Dipping your toes into any new activity or hobby, especially one with the amount of layers pro wrestling does, is daunting enough without the constant fear of somehow being discovered and kicked out of that space before my time, though of course my family wouldn’t do that—or, worse, laughed at, which they might’ve. The fact that my cousin was a year younger than me but, at least at first, knew more than I did didn’t really help: she never gatekept, but how she took every chair shot and dick kick we watched in stride (it was during Christian’s feud with Randy Orton) while I was left scratching my head a bit made me feel, as with my classmate, like a poser.

Well, I didn’t want to be a poser anymore, so I went to that great well of information: the internet. Specifically, I went on TV Tropes (yeah, I know) and read the pages on professional wrestling and WWE; while I was aware that there were other promotions, especially after reading the former—I remember the promotion name Ring of Honor getting a cool! from me—I wasn’t interested in anything but the “basics” at that point. What was a heel, a face, a tweener? What did it mean when someone did a shoot on another? What even was the Attitude Era, and why did people like it so much (a question that to this day I’m not sure I can answer)?

I got those down in a reasonable amount of time. Then, something interesting began to happen: I felt compelled to keep reading more about it. I honestly don’t remember the specifics—which names, memes, and tragedies (always in a WWF/WWE context) my brain absorbed like a sponge. All I know is that, after a couple of months, I ended up quite a bit like a smark. So I did get what I wanted: no longer did I feel like a fake fan, even if it came at the cost of somewhat alienating my cousin (who was beginning to lose interest in wrestling) and my uncle.

That wasn’t the most interesting thing I got out of my wiki walking days, though. Because of my (in truth middling-depth) dive into (a very narrow slice of) the prowres ocean, 12 to 13-year-old me thought I had figured this whole professional wrestling thing out: it was bright, it was flashy, it was written like a soap opera. It was entertaining, sometimes off of sheer cringe-inducing antics and sometimes out of sheer spectacle. What counted as spectacle, meanwhile?—the flippiest of flips, dramatic kickouts, muscled people billed at two whole feet taller than me hollering at each other in the ring. It was violent (but not too much, for the sponsors’ sake) and it was slickly produced and it had the best kind of nonsensical internal logic.

Of course, that is what wrestling is…sometimes. There’s nothing wrong with that, or anything wrong with watching wrestling like that, either. My mistake as a child was putting it in a box, thinking that everything I just said was everything it could and can be. I was lukewarm on the idea of prowres presented more sport-like, didn’t know how it could be entertaining without a writer’s room’s worth of storylines. As for pro wrestling being art, or even just beautiful—those two concepts seemed so far apart that to use the word never even crossed my mind.

~~~~

So stayed my thoughts on it until, when I was maybe 13 or 14, I fell head-first into hipsterdom (in the “wanting to like things before they were cool” sense). It happened with music, it happened with video games, and it happened with wrestling. Though I still watched WWE, I began to look beyond its borders—which is to say I began paying attention to trope examples by wrestlers I wasn’t familiar with. Those entries, along with a few well-placed links to 240p YouTube videos, were how I found my first favorite wrestler…who was, of all people, Chuck Taylor (who I still love, don’t get me wrong).

But wrestling news moves fast—even faster than the editors at early 2010s TV Tropes, and especially those editors who cared about keeping an independent wrestler’s page up to date. I knew that, if I wanted to know more about Chuckie T and his Gentleman’s Club, I would have to look elsewhere.

I found two places: a wrestling forum literally just called Wrestling Forum, and a newish subreddit called /r/squaredcircle. I proceeded to lurk on both, but it was on Reddit a year or so later that I found the post that ended up being the catalyst for my wrestling fandom from that point forward—a mention that Chuck Taylor wrestled at this supposedly really cool promotion called Pro Wrestling Guerrilla during their yearly Battle of Los Angeles, and that the footage of that show was finally out.

I don’t know when I found the time to look for it. When I think back to that Saturday afternoon, navigating with no adblock to a sketchy wrestling stream archive on a desktop already considered ancient, all I remember is how curious I was when—after giving it a couple of minutes to buffer—I finally pressed play.

~~~~

The match, if you want to find it yourself, is the Friends of Low Moral Fiber (Kenny Omega, Chuck Taylor, and Zack Sabre Jr.) versus the Young Bucks and Adam Cole from BOLA 2014 Night 1. Back then, every single one of those names were established or rising players in the independent scene; now, of course, they’ve all been in multiple top-level promotions around the world. For this and several other reasons, I haven’t been able to watch that contest back before, just last year, I found it in its entirety on YouTube. The channel quickly got taken down, but not before I snagged a copy for myself; in fact, I made the effort to get it as soon as I saw it was the real deal. As someone once told me, pro wrestling is one of the most ephemeral of entertainment forms—and also I don’t have the money for both a DVD player and to ship from the US to watch it legitimately.

But I wasn’t thinking about that when I was 14 or 15 years old. At the time, the only person I really knew or cared about in that match was Chuck, and so as the introductions happened I eagerly awaited his time in the ring (even back then, I held the opinion that he was an underrated worker). Instead, his team first fielded the skinny man with the Union Jack jacket, the one who’d gotten right into the other side’s faces. Zack Sabre Jr., I recalled as everyone got into their corners. A cool name, if a little overwrought.

The bell rang. Twenty-four minutes later, I paused the video and spent hours searching that “overwrought” name everywhere, looking for more clips of him, more discussion on him—more of his wrestling.

~~~~

What can I say about Zack Sabre Jr. in the context of wrestling that probably hasn’t already been said a million times? He has an atypical build for a wrestler, especially before his recent bulk up: tall but very lean—or outright skinny if you’re feeling uncharitable. His promo style is one I have seen called “extremely British” and “hilariously unhinged” (which, considering everything happening in the UK, maybe mean the same thing). He has some pretty sick taste in indie entrance themes. And, of course, he is considered one of the best technical wrestlers in the world—maybe of all time, and certainly in this generation.

To me, though, he is (simply, encompassingly) my favorite wrestler, and upon watching that BOLA match back it isn’t necessarily because I was wowed by the smoothness of his technique (though I was) or impressed by his underrated speed (though I was) or even in awe of his flexibility (though I definitely was—and here I shout out Adam Cole for helping make Zack’s first in-ring impression such a memorable one). No; it was because, for the very first time, I realized professional wrestling wasn’t cut and dry, contained within the box I had tried to place it in.

Read what I described my younger self’s conception of prowres to be…or, if you prefer, think back to the height of PG era WWE. To my mind, wrestling was supposed to almost overwhelm, saturate the senses. Wrestling was bright, flashy, melodramatic, violent—loud.

The footage I watched that day was loud, too; even through the shitty speakers and video quality, it was clear that the Reseda faithful knew how to have a good fucking time. But whenever Zack was in the ring, it was quiet—sometimes literally, but I more mean in movement, in intent. He convinced me from the first lock up that he was absolutely focused on how he could twist his body and how he could turn his opponent’s, that he aware of and could manipulate every single joint and muscle and ligament offered to him. He convinced me that it was, at that moment, all he cared about. It was still violence, of course; all his graceful movements were in service of hurting another. But it was an elegant violence, a quiet violence.

Pro wrestling, the profession of machismo and posturing, could be quiet. Who knew? Before I saw Zack wrestle, I didn’t, and nor did I ever consider the logical question to ask after: if it could be quiet—the complete opposite of what I thought it was—what else was it? What else might it become?

Beautiful, maybe?

I didn’t know then and I don’t know now. Whether wrestling is art is a discussion I leave to people with far more time and far more knowledge of aesthetics than I do. What I do know is this: I not only put it in the wrong box, I was wrong to put it in a box. Professional wrestling is no dead thing, no solved problem—it was, and is, alive, and at its best exists as a creative medium with so many possibilities. Sure, we all have our preferences, and prowres has space for loudness, almost deafening; but it has space for the quiet as well.

~~~~

It would be one thing if ZSJ was a flash in the pan, someone who rose in the business just far enough to get a handful of PWG bookings before fizzling out. If that were the case, I suppose I could expound on the point about prowres being ephemeral, say something that would amount to “the world may have moved on from him, but I’ll never forget how he opened my eyes all those years ago”. But that would be both extremely disingenuous and, to be honest, make a worse narrative. That one match made me understand wrestling more; following Zack’s career afterwards made me love it.

A not insignificant part to this is the fact I hitched my cart to a damn good horse—if Zack was good in 2014, he got even better as the years went by. While he was always a joy to see work, once he improved at selling in particular (which I never thought he was horrible at, mind, but watching early tapes back you can tell the difference), his matches went from baseline good to great; who doesn’t enjoy watching ZSJ crumple and ragdoll around the ring these days? Yet another big reason I am genuinely grateful for his wrestling is far beyond him: ZSJ was my passport to the rest of the wrestling world. Through him, I discovered so many promotions, so many other amazing wrestlers. There was PWG, of course—tying Mike Bailey into knots in the finals of a BOLA, making Chris Hero’s finger bleed, going to war with Roderick Strong over the belt. There was him countering Will Ospreay’s top rope move into a triangle choke that one Wrestlemania weekend. It was him who put me on to European wrestling, with WxW and RevPro and everyone else. His fight with Negro Casas was the first time I’d seen a mat-based lucha match. And, of course, without him I wouldn’t have started watching New Japan, and without New Japan I would’ve never seen any of the amazing people that make up the puro and/or joshi scene.

I always, always come back to Zack himself, though, it’s true. And maybe, some might suggest, it’s at least partly out of a mix of nostalgia and novelty—he was the first wrestler I paid attention to that looked different and wrestled different from what I considered the norm. When I’m put in a hyperfocused trance by the quiet of his matches, past and present, perhaps it’s just my subconscious, somehow, paying respect to how he made that young teen feel.

My answer to that is…well, maybe a little. But ZSJ doesn’t coast by on that alone—he is continually improving, continually striving to improve, and I couldn’t be happier that he’s getting his due. And, like with professional wrestling itself, I find happiness in that match from 2014 (almost a decade ago, now!) not only out of a sense of nostalgia, or even its own sake, but because it’s proof of what Zack Sabre Jr. was and has now become.

~~~~

A trio of ZSJ-related anecdotes to round things off:

1.) When I was in late high school, I did a school project on professional wrestling. The local guy I interviewed was honestly pretty gracious, but something he said nagged at me. “Pro wrestling,” he tried to explain to me, even before I said anything about what I watched, “isn’t just like WWE.” I know, I wanted to reply. My favorite wrestler is Zack Sabre Jr. I watch mostly American indies. Why are you assuming that I don’t know that?—but it would have come across indignant, and so I held my tongue.

2.) A few months later, I wrote a post on Facebook on why I liked pro wrestling, inspired by my discovery of Barthes’ essay on it in his Mythologies. My old classmate, the one who gatekept me when we were both eight, saw it—and he not only liked it, not only commented positively on it, but even DMed me. “Who’s your favorite wrestler?” he asked me. “Zack Sabre Jr.,” I said. He then proceeded to approve, saying that he was great in the Cruiserweight Classic; he was then surprised when I said I’d been following his career for a while even before that.

3.) When my older sister and I were in the women’s section of the Tokyo Dome during Wrestle Kingdom 14 Night 1, we ended up sitting next to and chatting with an Australian lady who got into NJPW because of her boyfriend (they both really liked Ospreay). When ZSJ came down to the ring, I heard her say encouragingly to me “that’s your Zack”. I’m not sure if I’d ever say he’s mine, but that was the night, maybe even the moment, that the very beginnings of this essay were born: when I realized how much he’d influenced at least this part of my life. Suddenly, I wanted nothing more than to jump down fifteen rows of seats and shake his hand, tell him even a little what his performances meant to me.

But that was not the time for that; three years later I still haven’t found the time for it, living where I do. Instead, I ended up, and end up, just sitting in my chair, screaming wordlessly at the top of my lungs, and watching him wrestle.

#mel's writing tag #zack sabre jr #man if anyone reads this whole super self-indulgent thing...thanks! #and even if not... #thanks to my mutuals who've made tumblr a safe place to post this

[thenon-fictiondays]

Hirano to Kagiura light novel translation 2-3

Chapter 2: Summer preparations.

Part 3

Prev || Next

T/N: (1) Oiwa is one of the Nihon san dai-kaidan (Japan’s Big Three Ghost Stories). She is said to have haunted her ex-husband after committing suicide due to his horrible treatment of her and now haunts the places she lived and the people who perform her story in theater.

(2) Yuki onna prey on travelers lost in the heavy snowstorms that blanket the Japanese Alps in winter. They have an otherworldly beauty, with long black hair and dark, piercing eyes. Their skin is ageless and as white as snow, but their bodies are as cold as ice. A mere touch is enough to give a human a deep, unshakable chill. They feed on life force, sucking it from human’s mouths with an icy breath that freezes their victims solid.

“Hirano-san! I’m home!”

“Oh, welcome back, Kagi-kun.”

After he had finished with club and returned to the dorm, there is half an hour before dinnertime.

Most of the time, when Kagiura has just come home, he’s rubbing his stomach out of hunger, but something is different today.

Maybe he bought something to eat on his way home, Hirano had thought, but he’d heard Kagiura’s stomach rumble, so he must be wrong.

Kagiura’s so hyped up, he starts prattling away as soon as he puts his bag down.

“Did your class decide what to do for the cultural festival? My class is hoping to do a yakitori stall, but because I’m the one who brought it up, I ended up on the executive committee.”

After club practices, Kagiura gives off the fresh scent of antiperspirant spray.

He tends to worry about it, but he doesn’t smell of sweat.

“For the cultural festival? My class is planning on doing a haunted house. Some of the guys are trying to go all out for it, so the budget’s gonna be pretty tricky.”

When he continues, adding ‘the costumes and tools seem elaborate, too’, Kagiura tilts his head curiously.

Although his physique is comparable to the taller members of the basketball club, there is still a certain boyishness to him when talking to him.

Even for Hirano, who is not by any measure easy to approach, his expressions have been honest from the beginning.

“.....A haunted house is an event for couples, isn’t it?”

Oh, so he thinks so, too.

I guess it’s normal for someone going through puberty, Hirano thinks when reflecting on the unexpected words. He hasn’t heard Kagiura say things like “I want a girlfriend” or “there’s someone I like” before.

Likewise, Kagiura hasn’t asked about Hirano’s relationship status either. If you’re living with someone and you’re together on a daily basis, you’d obviously know they’re not dating anyone.

“You wouldn’t expect to come with a group of friends, right? I’ve gone to one before, too, y’know.”

“.....With who?”

“Hm?”

“Who’d you go with? To last year’s cultural festival.”

In a split second, Kagiura’s casting him a sharp gaze, and Hirano is momentarily shocked into silence.

It’s not like he had a girlfriend, and he was managing a stall, so the whole time he’d been walking around he hadn’t had a partner.

There was a lot of shuffling around, everyone noncommittally inviting each other to hang out based on the timing of their shift changes, and having a few people going out to get food for everyone.

“I think it was with Sasaki and the guys in our class, but I don’t really remember.”

“Did you promise to go with anyone this year?”

“Nah. I mean, even you wouldn’t bother explicitly promising to go with your friends, right?”

“.....I wanna go around the festival with you.”

Ah, so that’s what he wanted to say, Hirano thinks, raising a brow at Kagiura’s endearing nature.

After all, it certainly isn’t likely that he’d go with someone from another grade unless he’s promised to do so.

“Yeah. Then, when we’re not on duty, do you wanna walk around together?”

“You mean it?”

“I don’t get many chances to hang out with anyone besides committee members and people in my year. Outside the dorms, I mean. It’ll be a change of pace.”

“Then, let’s get yakitori from my class’ stand, Hirano-san!”

“Oh? Sounds good, I love yakitori.”

Hirano says to himself, there wasn’t any last year, to which Kagiura smiles proudly.

And that is that.

“But, Kagi-kun, will you make it to the second round of judging? Can you be on the executive committee while in a club? Competition for food stalls is tight, so first years are kinda at a disadvantage. There’s a loophole that’ll let you make a coffee shop with drinks as the main attraction so you can still do food prep indoors.”

If their menu consists of things that can be prepared using a hot plate without causing a lot of smoke, it’s possible for them to do it in the classroom.

Although there are limitations on the breaker loads, there is much less competition than for the outdoor-use equipment, of which there is little.

“.....But, I wanna do yakitori.”

“I gotcha. Well, good luck. First step is the application review. Ask your teacher ahead of time to let you see last year’s proposals.”

“I’ll try going tomorrow, then. I guess the deadline is pretty soon after we start working on it.”

“That’s kinda fun too, isn’t it?”

The cooperation of the class and the preparation of the executive committee make all the difference to the finesse of their proposal in such a short time. Because they are starting right after final exams ended, there will be little impact on their grades.

The event, in which students use their own budgets and make plans for revenue—albeit on a small scale—is a type of initiative that they had not had until middle school.

If a kouhai he cares for is assertively working on something, he wants to give him advice, even if it is a little nagging.

“By the way, Hirano-san, what role are you playing in the haunted house?”

“That hasn’t been decided yet.”

The lie suddenly slipped out, but as it happens, he is in trouble with the track the conversation is taking.

Since the roles of the ghosts are rotated on a shift system, several people are required to wear the same costume for each role, and Hirano has been selected for the Oiwa-san team.

It’s better than Hanako-san, is how he’d compromised.

For this rotation, the majority of Hirano’s class will be wearing drag. If they do it poorly, it might end up being most of them.

The fact that many of the major ghosts are women is a big factor, but the biggest reason is that there are a few people who really want to polish their skills at special effects makeup. They had said that last year they wanted to make a horror movie, but were shot down in the majority vote.

For Hirano as a member of the Disciplinary Committee, it is convenient for him to be one of the scaremongers, so he can keep a watchful eye out for rogues who will hassle visitors in the dark.

Which is to say, on the day of, the probability that he’ll be in drag is high.

“I bet you’d look good as a yuki onna or something like that.”

“Don’t you have homework? Do it before dinner,” Hirano gives the grinning Kagiura a light shove before rising from his chair.

“Okaaay.”

“Oh, before that, shouldn’t you change your clothes?”

“Ah, I forgot.”

He’s probably being nitpicky, but in moments like this, Kagiura doesn’t look annoyed the way he’d expect him to. It makes it worth the effort of taking care of him.

*****

Prev || Next

This update was brought to you by @jujupanic and @jeizet - I know I just said this on the last one but thank you again for your contributions!!

#yeah kagi you WISH hirano would suck out your life force through your mouth #sources on the youkai are yokai.com #don't @ me if they're inaccurate i can't justify spending any more time researching just for the footnotes lmao #although i am interested so actually if they're wrong feel free to correct me #hirano and kagiura #hirano to kagiura translation #kagihira #sasaki to miyano #harusono shou #hirano taiga #kagiura akira #hirano to kagiura #shhh no one saw that #hirano to kagiura ln

[keanureevesisbae]

↳ ❝ [a love story - 2.] ¡!❞

Hank Voight x Kazuha Takahashi (asian ofc)

Summary: It's unknown if it's a desperate flirting attempt, but Kazuha gives Hank her number.

Warnings: None

Wordcount: 1.1k

Masterlist // One Chicago Masterlist // a love story masterlist

♡.﹀﹀﹀﹀.♡

It had been difficult to adjust to a life back in the States. When I joined the navy as a cryptologic technician, I moved from one top secret location to another, mostly spending my time on bases, staring at screens and decoding encrypted messages. Adapting to a life back in Chicago, the place I will always call my home, was made a lot harder when I had to accept my fate: it was definite my parents had disowned me. An awful combination of me being the middle child, totally different from my two sisters and simply not being good enough, which made me worthless enough to throw away. 

So, after coming back, I moved into a stinky apartment where I stayed for years on end, but then I was evicted at the age of thirty three.

And that’s how I ended up living with my maternal grandparents. They are officially in their eighties now, I needed a place to stay.

It was a win-win situation.

‘And then you click on the wifi icon, grandma,’ I say, as I hold the phone in between my ear and shoulder while I’m preparing a cappuccino. ‘Remember what that icon looked like?’

‘I do. Okay, now what?’

‘Do you see the name KTJ-zero-zero-five?’

‘I do.’

‘Click on that.’

I exchange looks with Josie, my colleague, who tries not to laugh, but I can tell she finds it amusing. It’s a daily thing now. Grandma has issues with a lot of things and wifi and television are really not her forte. I give her technical advice, she helps me in the kitchen, as my best meal is instant ramen. 

It’s a fair exchange. 

‘Aha, my video is playing,’ grandma happily says. ‘Thank you, dear.’

‘Of course,’ I say. ‘You know I love helping you out.’ Even during work hours. I hang up the phone once I said my goodbyes and place the lid on the prepared drink. ‘One hazelnut cappuccino,’ I call out. 

One of our regulars Stan gets up on his feet and smiles when I place a tiny piece of brownie on the lid. ‘Thank you, Zuha.’

’My pleasure, Stan.’

I turn around to clean the machine, when I hear someone else approaching the counter. I look over my shoulder, only to see a very familiar face on the other side. ‘Hank,’ I exclaim, ‘what a pleasant surprise.’

‘A surprise indeed,’ he says, his tone husky and raspy. ‘I didn’t know you worked here.’

‘I’ve been taking more shifts as of late,’ I say. ‘Maybe we missed each other.’

‘I guess so,’ he smiles. ‘Can I have a double espresso?’

‘Of course,’ I say. ‘You work at the twenty first district?’

He nods. ’Yeah, the Intelligence unit.’

That’s quite impressive. ‘That is really awesome. I heard a lot of great stories about the unit.’ As I wait for the machine to make the double espresso, I place my hands on the edge of the counter.

It would be a total lie if I said I didn’t appreciate the way Hank looks and I have been thinking about him since he took care of my grandmother the other day. 

And it’s not helping he is wearing a brownish leather jacket that will give me enough for one of the many storylines my brain is envisioning. 

Maybe I’ve been single for too long.

‘Tough case?’ I then ask.

‘How’d you know?’

‘I’ve got antenna’s for that,’ I joke. ‘Besides, you look tired, compared to a few days ago.’

He smirks, as he places a five dollar bill on the counter. ‘Keep the change,’ he says.

‘Appreciate it,’ I say. I grab the cup and place the lid on it. There is an impulsive thought running through my mind. ‘You know,’ I say, ‘I’ve seen Hailey Upton around here, always ordering a chai latte. If you and the team ever need a drink, you can just text me and I can deliver it. We don’t usually deliver, but I can make the exception for Intelligence. If you want of course.’

Kazuha, do yourself a favor and shut up.

‘Ah, forget what I said.’

However it’s clear he hasn’t forgotten about it and will not for that matter. ‘Are you serious?’ he asks. ‘You know, we would really appreciate it.’

‘I work Tuesdays through Saturdays, eight to six,’ I say. ‘I fear I am the only one who is generous and idiotic enough to deliver.’

He smiles. ‘I’ll keep it in mind. If you want to be buzzed upstairs to the bullpen,’ Hank says, ‘make sure you bring a hazelnut latte for the desk sergeant. Her name is Trudy Platt.’

‘Thanks for the information.’ I grab a napkin and scribble down my number. ‘You know, this also comes in handy when my grandparents start wandering and straying again and you happen to see them,’ I chuckle, but that is mostly to mask my awkwardness. 

I just can’t believe that this is really happening. I thought this would backfire, though from the looks of it, it’s obviously not.

I hand him the coffee cup filled with the double espresso, place a little brownie on it and push it over the counter until it’s next to the napkin. ‘Here you go.’

‘Thank you, Kazuha’ He holds up the napkin with my number on it. ’Can I text you outside grandparent and coffee related issues?’

This is not the time to faint. I force a smile on my face. ‘Of course. Be creative though.’

‘I will try my best. Later.’

‘Bye.’

I watch him walk out of the cafe and as I’m staring, Josie pinches my side, snapping me straight out of my trance.

‘Ouch, what was that for?’

‘You’ve got some explaining to do,’ she hisses, as she puts her braids up again. ‘You know sergeant Voight? A.K.A. Daddy Voight.’

I was not aware this man had a nickname, however it’s making me cringe. ‘Don’t call him that, it really makes me uncomfortable. He’s just my neighbor.’

‘I have to know all the details.’

I shake my head. ‘No, there are no details to tell you.’ But then I hear my phone ping near the coffee machine. 

Please let it be my grandparents.

I had no idea Josie could move this fast, because she snatches the phone from the counter. ‘Oh, look at that! It’s an unknown number.’

I stand next to her and read the screen.

‘I’m going to hyperventilate,’ Josie exclaims. ‘You’re wearing a dress with little roses on it and him texting you this? That is flirting. You know, I saw it in his eyes. He never looked at me or any of the ladies here like that. You explain yourself to me, right now.’

‘There is nothing to explain,’ I say.

She scoffs. ‘I beg to differ. Come on, spill the tea or better yet, the cappuccino, since we’re coffee addicts.’

♡.﹀﹀﹀﹀.♡

Chicago PD taglist (I operate one chicago pd taglist, so one list for all one shots and multichaptered stories): @acdassenza // @wanniiieeee // @one-sweet-gubler // @sofiebstar // @diegos-butt

#hank voight x asian ofc #hank voight #hank voight fanfiction #hank voight x ofc #hank voight x kazuha takahashi #asian ofc #kazuha takahashi #chicago pd #chicago pd fanfiction #a love story

[hargrove-mayfields]

Here’s my penultimate @harringroveweek piece!

Based on the prompt: Hawkins Community Pool Shuts Down for the Day

Slight warning for mild homophobic language.

“How do you deal with this shit every day?” Billy groans, slumping against the counter at Scoops Ahoy. It’s a Monday and absolutely nobody comes into scoops on a Monday before five. Billy feels safe bothering Steve at work for the next hour and a half, and righteous too, given that the current circumstances that brought Billy to the mall on his day off are entirely Steve’s fault.

Apparently, there was a downpour on its way, and instead of hitting in the middle of the week like it was supposed to, the skies opened up early and it’s been raining for the past twenty four hours. Also, the pools don’t open on rainy days, because people are supposedly too afraid of getting wet near the water. Billy doesn’t get the way small town people think.

But the reality is that he’s off work, and that he would have spent his entire day right here at Steve’s side, if not for the fact that when he showed up here the first time, there was a gaggle of brats already bothering Steve, and they were passed off into his care, since apparently annoying your boyfriend doesn’t count as something better to do.

Steve leans across from him on the other side of the counter, resting his chin on his hand and smiling a knowing smile, “You’re doing fine.”

“Of course I am, I don’t do anything half-assed.” Billy brags, his accomplishment including complaining, because he continues, “Not the point though, this was supposed to be my day off ‘til those damned brats ruined it.”

Steve’s been dealing with them a lot longer than Billy has though, at least in terms of how long he’s known the brats in general, so he’s unswayed by his grievances, “Consider yourself lucky that they only approach you when you have nothing else to do.”

“Hey, the most you have to do for them is open a door or scoop some ice cream. That’s nothing compared to driving them around all goddamn day.”

“You’re not even actually watching them right now. Are you going to spend the whole time complaining, or are you going to make the best of the break you have?“

Billy leans more forward, raising an eyebrow, interested, “That some sort of an invitation?”

“Unfortunately, no. I only get a ten minute today because of the last time you visited. Robin still hasn’t forgiven me for flaking.“ Oops. That’s admittedly Billy’s fault, but usually he’s got work all day, and the only time he has with Steve is between the end of his shift and the start of his abusive-dad-imposed curfew, so sometimes they have to hook up in the middle of Steve working. Not the end of the world. And Billy doesn’t regret it.

So he implies, doing his damndest to be convincing, “Come on, Stevie. I’m dying here. Need something to work out the tension, you know?”

Buckley interrupts from the back before Steve can answer, always annoyed by Billy’s mere presence, but especially when he’s trying to be a bad influence on Steve, “Go away, Hargrove! He’s working!”

“Can’t catch a break.” Billy mutters, glaring at the back window, hoping Buckley can feel his angry gaze.

Steve only smiles at him, unfazed by this tough act anymore, “Just be glad that that storm came a few days early and you didn’t have to go in to work today.”

“I happen to love my job, Steven.”

“Guess it’s just me that doesn’t.”

That changes things. Billy knows what this is about, so he reassures him, making light of it at the same time, “Hey. I’ve told you a thousand times, Stevie. I couldn’t be more uninterested in those chicks. Did you forget I’m a no-good, cock-smoking, faggot?”

“Stop that.” Steve swats at him, wearing a cute attempt at a disappointed expression, “I’m not jealous, I just don’t like how hard you have to pretend. Flirting with those women.. all the time... that’s got to be more exhausting than giving up a few hours of your day to some kids who can mostly watch themselves.”

“I don’t do it because I want to. I figure, Neil knows I’m always gonna be what I am, it’s a matter of whether or not he’s beaten the will to do anything about it outta me. I might always be a queer, but at least I’ll be a queer who’s so afraid of getting with a man I’ll decide to have a go with the first woman who’s even more feminine and worthless than me and makes me feel like a real man. Even if that’s some old broad from work.” Billy explains bitterly, feeling the need to clarify, as everything he just said is the exact opposite of how he believes, “His words. Not mine.”

“I don’t see why it matters then for you to do all that pointless flirting then. If he knows you’re not going to change, why not pick one and settle?”

“‘Cause I don’t want that. I want you. And I want that smug bastard to be wrong- But it’s mostly the being infatuated with you thing.” Billy promises, feeling the need to make another joke, not wanting to get so heavy in the middle of the mall, “It doesn’t help that the only chick at the pool who’s even remotely close to not repulsive happens to be a flaming lesbian, so..”

“Wait, who?” Steve cocks his head, and Billy has to laugh at his cluelessness, “C’mon, Stevie. It’s not that hard.”

“If it wasn’t that hard, people would’ve found out about us by now, right?”

“I meant it’s not that hard for somebody on the inside. Not only are you one of like, five queers in all of Hawkins, but you’re already friends with her.”

He scrunches up his face, thinking hard. Billy wants so badly to kiss the stupid look off of Steve’s face as he works it out, “Robin came out to both of us, that’s not new. And what’s she got to do with the pool?”

“Not Robin. Think.. broader.” Billy lists slowly, ticking off the things he names on his fingers, honestly thinking Steve should know this by now, “Who’s close to Robin and works at the pool? Neither of them drive, so she’s always showing up here on time with the late bus schedules? A girl who’d be bold enough to walk up to big bad Billy Hargrove and point out that he’s a walking rainbow flag and start bitching about her girl problems without taking a breath?”

A long pause, Billy thinks Steve might be working it out and- “I.. seriously got nothing.”

He hangs his head and sighs amusedly, “Well, I’ve got a sneaking suspicion that since the pool’s closed, and there’s nothing better to do on a shitty, rainy day like today in this town, your curiosity is soon to be answered.”

It only takes another twenty minutes for the store's jingle to start, a sign that someone has walked in, and, like always, Billy was absolutely right. “Heather! What a surprise!”

Billy elbows Steve over the counter, making sure he gets it now, and judging from the way he’s looking between the two lifeguards with a bewildered expression, he does, “Ohhhh.”

“What is he doing?” Heather asks him, coming to stand by his side, obviously amused and not at all worried by Billy’s super obvious behavior. He gets the best friend slash coworker privilege of the benefit of the doubt, her questioning falling on Steve, who they’re probably all in agreement should know better by now.

Robin answers for them though, making her grand appearance from the back for the first time since Billy’s been here today, “Being a dingus. Just ignore him.”

She slings her arm around Heather’s shoulders in a side embrace and maneuvers her away from Billy, “Come on. I’m clocking out early as payback for Steve ditching an entire shift last week, and he’s not going to complain about it even a little bit while we go out and have a nice time.”

Her fury spoken directly at Steve, through gritted teeth for emphasis, has enough finality to it that nobody speaks up to argue.

So without any further input, unless the enthusiastic wave goodbye from Heather counts, they’re gone. Left the place with a respectable and kind of awkward distance between them that looks suspiciously similar to how Billy and Steve looked the last time they ditched in the middle of a shift. Not that anybody else would pick up on that.

Steve must realize then that watching Robin stroll off into the sunset means he’s here for the rest of the day working on his own, because he tries, “Think you could stay and help a guy out?”

As much as Billy would like to oblige, the rush is about to start, and the movie showing he’d dumped the kids at is about to end, according to the time on his watch, “Actually, it's damn near time for the brats to be done with their little movie. Then it’s driving Henderson and Maxine home, and getting a well deserved fucking break.”

“Aw, but-“ Steve tries to argue, so Billy pulls out the stops, “No complaining. You roped me into this, and need I remind you that you were the one who said you’d cancel our date if I decided to skip out on the brats?”

“Fine, fine. Go on and leave me here all by my lonesome.” The melodrama is unbearable. It’s cute too. Billy turns it back around on him by pretending to turn to leave, “M‘Kay. See ya, H.”

He gets a betrayed sounding, “Hey!-“ in response.

“Just jokin’ ya, jeez.” Billy looks both ways at the nearly empty mall behind them and presses a short kiss to Steve’s lips, a sort of parting gesture that spikes his heart rate and makes him want to get out of here faster, “I seriously do gotta go though. Don’t think I’ll be able to refrain from breaking something if I have to listen to those snarky little assholes tell me I’m late a thousand times.”

“So I’ll see you soon?”

“Tomorrow morning, first thing before my shift. When babysitting duties are passed back onto you, fucking finally, and I get to sit in the sunshine with no obligations to actually help any of the shitheads that bother me there.”

“Wait, isn’t your job literally to make sure people don’t drown?” He should know, being a four-year lifeguard himself, that the majority of the job isn’t actually work.

Billy brings that up backhandedly, “As if. I’m just there to look pretty and draw bigger crowds. It’s the manager's job to save people.”

“That’s comforting.” Steve sort of grimaces, so Billy reassures him, “Aw, Stevie, don’t worry. I’d save you in a heartbeat.”

“Gee, thanks. That’s only the bare minimum.”

“Never appreciative.” Billy clicks his tongue, a falsely condescending sound to make sure Steve’s attention is on him as he drops his voice a little quieter, “You know I’m expecting a little something in return for this.”

Steve rolls his eyes hard. It must be a requirement to work here to be a total bitch, which is conveniently exactly the kind of person Billy likes to surround himself with, “Yeah, I know. You always are.”

“What can I say? Can’t help myself around you.” To accentuate his point, Billy invades Steve’s personal space. Not touching, that’s too much out here in public, but he gets real close, looking down his nose at Steve even though he’s slightly taller.

That look and the inherent implication are enough to get Steve flustered.

“Weren’t you supposed to go get the kids?” Flushed red down to the low-cut collar of his uniform, Steve huffs.

“It's more fun teasing you like this.” Billy remarks, unphased, then again dropping his voice even lower to fluster Steve more, “Am I embarrassing you, babe?”

He won’t look at him now, being just as stubborn, “Obviously. I’m in the middle of work.”

“Hey, I offered to take you home. Wouldn’t be in the middle of working then.” Billy hums matter-of-factly, pleased with himself and this little game.

Steve happens to be unimpressed though, “Quit stalling. I don’t want to stand here and listen to some stupid jingle all day any more than you want to babysit, but that’s what we agreed on. So go.”

“Fine, fine. I’m going. Almost like you don’t even want me around.” Billy grumbles stubbornly, not actually making any move to leave yet.

Steve points out something that not even Billy, in all his argumentative and hostile nature, can dispute, “I’m not changing my mind. You seem to forget that I’m the one who has to deal with the brats every day, not just on the random days I get off work. That means I’ll be the one who has to hear them complain about today for the rest of my life if you don’t show.”

Billy barely listens, he pouts, “I love you.”

One last ditch effort in the face of being out of cards.

Steve smiles wide at him, the proclamation enough to take the edge out of his demeanor, even if it was only ever forced. Still, it doesn’t change the limitations on them. He physically shoos him away, waving him off in a playful sort of way that makes that smile infectious, “Likewise. Now get out of my store, Hargrove.”

#HarringroveWeek #harringrove #billy x steve #ft background #buckleway #literally just billy being a nuisance #ej writer #story by ej! #my writing

[cyberaxolotl]

The Snaktooth Island Disappearances: Chapter 6 (Final)

Warning: horror, major character death, non-explicit character death

AO3 Version

“The following documents are classified.

This is Mia-asma Fogwind writing for GCSI on the thirteen disappearances on Snaktooth Island. Investigators found a journal in the upstairs study of Triffany Lottablog’s home on Snaktooth Island, and after putting in research, we are made to believe that this case has been solved thanks to it. The handwriting was compared to records and it is entirely that of Triffany Lottablog’s.

The journal does not contain dates, however comparisons to previous writings by others on the island have helped to put together a timeline that will be detailed in the formal report of the case.

I will copy the contents of the journal now.”

Entry #1

I found this old, unused journal on one of my shelves, and I figured it was time for it to come to use in a situation like this.

Floofty and I have noticed over the past few days that the daylight cycle hasn’t been what it used to be. For being late fall, the sun setting a little earlier is expected, but the sun set yesterday at 6pm and had only risen at noon.

Today, it didn’t come up at all.

Floofty and I’ve decided to split the task between the two of us and research possibilities for what this is. I’ve given them all of my books on meteorology, and I have several of theirs on strange events happening in history, as well as a big stack of my own history books.

I’m going to start by looking into odd weather events. I’m thinking this might just be an eclipse of some kind.

Entry #2

We decided that this couldn’t have been caused by the bugsnax. Wambus and I were given candles to keep our hut bright with, and I really like having a soft light like it while I’m researching.

I can tell everyone is pretty concerned about all this, they’re not doing much to hide it. I’m worried too, but I’m sure we’ll get used to it if it goes on for long.

Entry #3

Solar eclipses are a rare occurrence, and it’s even rarer for them to happen irregularly. However, the book “Solar Oddities” says that they can happen suddenly, and one lasted as long as a week.

On average, solar eclipses last from ten seconds to eight minutes. In 1897, a solar eclipse started overnight, and lasted 168 hours. Given solar eclipses can happen every 2-5 years, it’s not impossible that there would have been a solar eclipse this year. If I can do the math about it, maybe I’ll find our answer… but it was never really my strong spot.

Floofty’s trying to study the fog that’s around the island as their part of this research. I hope they come up with something.

I heard that Scarla is planning on going out to catch bugsnax. I’m not sure how I feel about the idea, but I know that grumpus won’t be stopped if they really need to.

Entry #4

Scarla left to gather bugsnax today, and in the meantime, Wamby is making sure he stocks up as much of every sauce as possible. I’m surprised, he’s taking initiative about the possible food situation, and I didn’t really expect him to without anyone asking.

The solar eclipse research is real hard. I can’t seem to put it together right enough to know if it is possible, but I think I’m getting somewhere. I just wish I wasn’t so weak in grumpin’ math.

Floofty found something out though. Apparently there's fog around the island, but it’s not in Snaxburg. Somehow, the town is just… deflecting it.

But we both agreed that fog alone couldn’t be causing darkness this bad. It might be part of it, but it can’t be that alone, can it?

Entry #5

I don’t think a solar eclipse was part of this. I finally got the math right, and a solar eclipse wouldn’t have happened anytime recently. And even if it had, what are the chances that it’d be lasting this long, for only the second time in recorded history?

It’s not just fog, but it’s not a solar eclipse. I’m going to go through my history books and see if there’s any other possibilities for what this could be.

Entry #6

Wambus rationed out sauces for the first time today. Because I can tolerate it, I got a mouthful of hot sauce. Really, I like spicy foods, but sauce alone… ain’t really a thing someone should do.

Filbo says he wants to go out after Scarla. I don’t want him to, if they're lost out there I doubt he’d be any better, and I tried to tell him that, but he really wanted to. I can’t say I blame him, but. I just don’t think it’s right.

Research has gotten me nowhere. This is one of the easiest situations to hit a wall in, but I can’t just give up. Especially when I’m the only one in town able to do this research.

Wambus wants to make sure I don’t stress myself out, but I’m not gonna stress myself out just by reading. I need to get something out of this.

Entry #7

I think Filbo went after Scarla. There was no fire today, so I couldn’t talk to Floofty about anything, but I suppose it gave me more time to study.

Wambus spent all day upstairs with me, at my other table. I’m glad, I don’t want to be alone up here, but I’m wondering about how he could possibly occupy himself during this. There’s books, but in the kindest possible way, he’s not really a literary guy.

And again, I’ve gotten nothing.

Entry #8

I ended up in a section on torture methods in one of my books. It was grim to see during a time like this, but apparently, being trapped in darkness while things you can’t see are happening around you was a popular way to mess with the grumpus mind and drive grumps nuts.

Every time I look out the window, I think I… shake a little. It feels so cold to be inside with such a small candle, but I can’t waste time getting warm.

Wambus keeps trying to talk to me, I guess to entertain himself, and make sure I know he’s still with me. I appreciate it, but I really do need to focus. I can get this done faster if I focus.

Entry #9

a light went out nearby. i think it was shelda’s. i can see almost all of the town from our windows.

she was doing fine yesterday. but now her gazebo is nothing but a shadow in the darkness.

did she leave town? did something… take her?

i can’t think like that. this is just darkness, there's nothing out there.

i just need to keep reading. i finished a book today, i need to move onto the next one.

entry

i’m scared

i’m scared i’m scared i’m scared

i don’t want to be out here like this i can barely think

when i look out the window it’s like the whole world is nothing but darkness

it felt like there were eyes staring back

i’m scared

it’s so cold

i have to keep going

Entry #10

I can see Gramble across from my window. He’s been looking outside all day, looking past our hut, I think at Wiggle’s. I have to be glad that Wambus is here with me, at least I’m not alone.

Cases of extreme fog apparently have happened around the world. But the air density and thickness Floofty described to me a few days ago doesn't match what the books say.

Every time I think I have something, I end up not. I think my brain is getting severely fried.

Maybe… Maybe I’ll take tomorrow off of studying and relax with Wambus. It’s been a few days since I’ve slept in our bed and not at this desk.

entry #11

no no

no no no no i shouldn’t have

i shouldn’t have relaxed

i shouldn’t have tried to

i should’ve just kept researching

i heard someone scream

it was one of the men and it wasn’t wambus

it had to have been chandlo or snorpy, but a light in the mill is still on.

just. one. light.

i can’t rest knowing that the others are dying. if i can solve this then i must

Entry #12

I feel like the candlelight in the study is getting darker, but that’s not possible. We have lanterns in case it does go out.

I finished another book today. It didn’t give me anything useful, it just wasted time. I only have a few smaller books left and I’m praying these ones give me anything.

entry #13

Wiggle and Beffica’s huts aren’t lit anymore. I didn’t notice Beffica’s at first, but it seemed like I FELT it when Wiggle’s did.

Is this darkness.. claiming lives?

please don’t let anyone be next.

entry #14

the light in the mill went out completely and cromdo’s is gone too

i finished one of the smaller books today and it gave me nothing again. i’m so tired of reading and sitting at this desk

wambus keeps asking me to stop and rest out of this chair but i can’t

i can’t do that

entry #15

the light in floofty’s hut went out today. i’m the only one left studying this.

it’s so cold

entry #16

i think i passed out last night

i woke up with wambus and i sitting on the floor

he was holding me and keeping a lantern going

he felt so warm

it felt so good to be held

but i didn’t get anything done

i just continued to stay there

i hope it clears the mental fog

Entry #17

I felt better today. I was able to get up and start to finish two more books.

I think I’m starting to block out the world around me, maybe it’s the cold making me go numb, but I feel so. Stuck in the world around me.

It’s just me and these words right now.

I have to keep reading. For everyone else in town.

Entry #18

I only now noticed that the barn is empty, and so is Lizbert and Eggabell’s hut.

I think we’re the last ones left. Wambus and I.

I need to get something soon. Please god let me get something soon

and let it tell me how to fix this

Entry #19

I finished all of my books that I thought would help

I have nothing

It gave me nothing

All the reasons I have for this are fog and nothing else and it’s not only that. I know it’s not.

I’m desperate for an answer

i need something t

“The line for the “t” on the previous page extends all the way to the bottom of the page.”

Entry #20

i passed out again. wambus is scared for my safety and my health.

i spent some time talking to him today about this. about anything.

he wants me to come downstairs and just rest. i think that’s what he’s been doing the most recently, trying to sleep. trying not to think about this.

but. i don’t feel safe going downstairs. i don’t know why.

but the study feels safer.

he said he’s okay with that. he said he can bring up the blanket from downstairs and we can just stay up here.

i love him so, so much.

Entry #21

I’m starting to read the book “Spirits of monsters and monstrous spirits.” It’s documents about cryptids and the sort, and so-called sightings of them. I know it’s unrealistic to think, but. Maybe this is something otherworldly. Just maybe.

Gosh, Floofty would be horrified to know I’ve turned to this. But what else can I do? I’ve done everything else that I can.

I don’t know if it’ll give me an answer. but i know it’ll keep me alive.

“The following entries are all covered in various tear stains.”

entry #22

i. i found my answer.

it is so. so much worse. than just being weather.

they’re called a couple of things: shadow walkers is the main one.

the first occurrence of them happened to a bunch of veterans while they were in a forest. it was dark, they were surrounded in pitch blackness, and suddenly, they all were gone.

they latch onto fear to make themselves exist, and once they do, they take lives to make themselves stronger. one grumpus’s fear of the dark is enough to make them appear, and even their presence makes the darkness terrifying to the bravest of people.

they show up in your nightmares. they make everything so cold. they coax you into walking into the darkness, and once you do, they take you too.

and the more lives they take, the more power they have.

at first, they’re nothing more than shadows and darkness.

with one death to their name, they make the fog. they black out the sun.

with three, theyre strong enough to make breezes, blow out candles.

four and they can take any life that enters their territory alone.

they only get stronger and stronger the more they kill

and they.

they’ve taken everyone but us.

they become capable of physical abilities at five lives and they’ve taken eleven

it’s just wambus and i. alone.

with those things.

the front door is shut, we’re upstairs, and the trapdoor is as tight as it can’t be

i won’t die.

i can’t die.

entry #23

i won’t die.

wambus is here with me. we have a candle. we have a lantern. we have fuel.

we will survive. i don’t know how long until they might disappear but. we can’t die.

entry #24

i won’t die.

entry #25

i won’t die.

entry #26

i. won’t. die.

entry #27

they.

they got in.

i heard the front door opening

tell me they can’t unlock locks

they can’t

they couldn’t possibly

they’re just shadows

i wont die to these damning things

entry #28

wambus has his arms around me and he won’t stop holding me

we can hear those things downstairs

let this end

let the sun rise

please

please let this be over

entry #29

i won’t die i won’t die i won’t die i won’t i won’t i can’t

entry #30

wambus won’t stop mumbling to himself

i can’t sleep

he can’t sleep

we can still hear them

they’re knocking on the trapdoor

they know we’re in here

they know we’re alive

they want us to come down

i won’t die here

i can’t die this way

not like this

entry #31

it’s so cold

we’re both shaking

wambus still hasn’t let me go

but the warmth isn’t enough

it’s like a fucking morgue in here

neither of us are warm

neither of us can be warm

but it’s still something

entry #32

wambus held me a little tighter today. i can hear him breathing. i can hear him mumbling.

don’t let me go. please.

survive with me. please.

ENTRY #

THATS NOT WAMBUS

“That was the final entry in this journal.

The investigation team has researched these shadow walkers and have found dozens of cases that could only be explained by their existence.

We do not know how they appear, why, or who they target. But we know that they are lethal and capable of not only causing a person to bleed to death, but killing them themselves by unknown means.

Elizabert Megafig, Scarla Echoyear, Filbo Fiddlepie, Shellsy Woolbag, Chandlo Funkbun, Cromdo Face, Beffica Winklesnoot, Wiggle Wigglebottom, Floofalie and Snorpington Fizzlebean, Eggabell Batternugget, Gramble Gigglefunny, Wambus Troubleham, and Triffany Lottablog have all been recorded as dead with no bodies discovered.

Due to wariness of hysteria, every document related to this case and to shadow walkers are now confidential. Distribution or copying of the documents is prohibited and legal consequences will be made if they are found.

This has been Mia-asma Fogwind writing for GCSI, closing off the case of the Snaktooth Island disappearances.

Don’t look at the corners.”

#bugsnax #tori’s art tag #tori’s writing tag #triffany lottablog #wambus troubleham #mia asma fogwind

[thebigshotman]

Hello once again everyone! Still been busy IRL, between working on newspaper articles now that I’m a freelancer and helping get our pool finally up and running as well as other yard work. I’m fairly certain I’ll be actually able to come back within the next couple of days, however, so stay tuned for the threads I owe and a few other things! Hopefully no bad surprises happen 🤞🏻

In the meantime, remember those movies I was reviewing that I saw in film class that I just…completely forgot about? Well, under the cut you’ll find my paragraph long thoughts on the rest of the ones that I saw! Kind of a little thing I’ve been meaning to do for a while to hold you guys over til then. If anyone wants my full thoughts just ask and I will gladly give them.

Quick PSA because there’s another Woody Allen movie down there (yeah my teacher likes him despite everything I guess 🤷‍♀️) please do not come after me because I judged it objectively and separated the art from the artist while viewing. With that out of the way, here they are!

And also a very happy belated birthday to @hxzelwallflower before the cut 🥳🥳 Sorry I’ve been busy IRL and I couldn’t send anything with Spaul to celebrate. But I hope you had a very happy birthday nonetheless!

Network-The one with the “mad as hell” and “you will atone” rants! Everything about this one just kind of broke me, especially as some one who’s going into broadcasting/media herself. Back then, it was a satire, but now it’s practically a documentary; everyone was amazing, and the story had no trouble keeping me entertained. My only gripes were a couple of scenes that reminded me of the more…interesting scenes in Annie Hall that didn’t age well. I highly, highly recommend renting this one! You will not be disappointed; top 5 movies that I saw in this class for sure.

Apocalypse Now-The one with “the horror”; this one also broke me, but not in a good way. This 3 hour long half-action film half-snuff film goes out of its way to brutalize you with the horrors of the Vietnam war and war in general, and it’s something else, alright. I’m not going to get political, but this thing makes me hate war and needless conflict more than I already do. I would never watch this thing again, at least not for fun. However, if you’re interested, I watched the theatrical cut, so check it out if war films are your thing. TW for violence and an animal killing on screen towards the end, though: This movie pulls no punches.

Crimes and Misdemeanors-The one where a guy orders a killing and has an existential crisis about it until he suddenly doesn’t…yeah, this is the Woody Allen one. My feelings are more conflicted about this one compared to the other one of his we watched; on one hand, both of the stories it presents are compelling and compliment each other. One is the drama and the other the comic relief, with the lead of each meeting during the ending in a moment that genuinely felt like a superhero crossover for me and a lot of other people in the class; however, the transitions between them aren’t exactly smooth, leading to frequent whiplash. The aforementioned existential crisis is very well done, though. I’m a sucker for jazz, so the music choice was stellar, and the comedy was pretty good but a few jokes did not age well.

If you’re even vaguely interested in watching this thing I will link you to a YT playlist of it in 15 parts-please do NOT, under any circumstance, support this man by renting it and giving him your money. All in all, though, it was alright! Definitely not as good as Annie, though.

Everything Everywhere All At Once (we were supposed to watch Schindler’s List but we didn’t)-The one I won’t shut up about 😅. Third time’s the charm with this one; what can I say about it that I can fit in three sentences and hasn’t been said already? Every single actor is remarkable, the special effects are amazing and throughly believable for being made by a team of seven, the story is wacky, raunchy, and goes to a million different places, but it’s also a story about a mother and a daughter. Jobu is one of the best antagonists I’ve seen since I first discovered JJBA, and I relate to her and Joy’s struggle to be seen and accepted. To say anymore would spoil it: Please, no matter what film Twitter or anyone else says about this thing, go and at least attempt to watch it. Assuming you aren’t overwhelmed or turned off by the humor-which is perfectly okay-I promise you will love it.

“Please, be kind. Especially when we don’t know what’s going on.”

That thing is going on my tombstone lol 🤣

#(I will be back soon!! in the meantime enjoy the movie reviews 🍿) #(if anyone wants to dm me for my full thoughts about these or any of the other movies I saw in class please do!) #(I need an outlet to ramble about them now that I’m home for the summer) #STRING PULLER-out of character

[milobyelo]

Anybody that sees this, ignore this post please it’s not good and I don’t want everyone to think my writing is like this I swear I’ve written better

-

He can hardly remember what their fight was about, something along the lines of Jake always forgetting to do something around their house -he likes to think it’s both of theirs at this point but it’s really Bradley’s family home- and he doesn’t know why it had escalated to such a degree over something minor but it resulted in a screaming match; something Jake hasn’t personally been involved with since his days in small town Texas in a ranch where neighbors were far enough away to not hear the constant yells of a man who never learned to talk normally and instead took his frustrations out on his family.

Jake grew up thinking yelling was how you argued, so too much of his teens were spent yelling at his dad and his mom and anyone who made him feel a little too much; it’s something he’ll always regret putting his poor mother through and even though she forgave him long before he moved her and his younger siblings out far from Texas 3 years into his job at the navy, he swore he would never put someone he cared for through that ever again.

Bradley had left the house that night with a last argumentative statement on his tongue and slamming the door, leaving Jake with the after argument silence in the middle of a house that had never felt so unwelcoming before. Memories of Texas flashed through his memory before he shook his head and went to distract himself in the shower getting ready for the group outing at the Hard Deck.

It’s been a year since the mission where they all miraculously came out only a little banged and bruised so the group decided months in advance to take a couple days off to celebrate in San Diego before heading back to their own deployments thousands of miles away from each other.

The Hard Deck was full and bustling with both Navy and civilians alike, but the people he was really here for were nestled half at a booth with beers leaving condensation rims on the hard wood and half spread out playing pool or darts or getting a refill at the bar.

He was the second to last person to arrive it seems, Bradley still having yet to arrived.

He made his way over to the group with a wide grin despite still feeling so shitty, sliding in to sit next to Coyote who slapped his shoulder as he sat down.

Phoenix looked behind him clearly anticipating to see the slightly taller man behind him but looked back to him confused when no one had been there, “Hey bagman where’s your partner in crime, heard he flew in a couple days ago”.

He just shrugged before getting up and making his way over to the bar deciding that he needed a drink before he could do anything else for the night.

Penny gave him a smile promising to hand him his beer once she was finished with the group crowding the other side of the bar. He took a seat and took out his phone, though making sure it was far away from the actual bar surface not wanting to break his account for the over 150 strangers who took refuge at the bar on this Saturday night. Rooster hasn’t texted him since yesterday when he asked him to bring a towel which means he’s still pissed and would probably avoid him for the rest of the night.

He hates being ignored, always made him feel useless in a way that burned sometimes harsher than words, but he knew Bradley always hated talking right after a situation, always the one to pull away for a few hours to calm down and collect his thought before quietly sinking into their bed with a kiss and promise to talk tomorrow. It hurt but he guesses it’s better than the screaming, the screaming meant he was really mad, it’s only happened twice in their whole relationship. The first was for a valid reason, Jake hadn’t wanted to tell people about their relationship in the beginning because as progressive he thinks the world is compared to when Maverick first joined the NAVY, he still grew up in rural Texas where people flew flags with bloody histories and friends that threw around slurs as jokes. Deep down he was still a scared closeted kid in Texas and was too scared to tell anyone about anything in his personal life.

Rooster understood though that hadn’t been the problem, the problem was that when anyone would notice Jake with a hickey on his neck or smiling a little too much at his phone he would tell people about a pretty girl he took home. He let people think he only liked women, that he wasn’t off the market, and that the moment a woman approached him he’d take her home. So when someone asked him if he was still single in the rec room infant of Bradley and a dozen other pilots he froze before laughing it off and telling them that no woman could ever tie him down, that he’d be a bachelor for life.

That argument had been more serious than the one they had this morning, him having to leave and stay at his actual housing for a week because being at the house had always set off an argument and he had to leave before they actually broke up for arguing so much.

He zoned back into the real world as droplets of water fell down his hand and onto the hardwood countertop earning himself a small glare from Penny. He swallowed down the last half of his beer before ordering another thinking it was probably best to make his way back to the group before they got suspicious, but the doors up front opened before he got the chance, and in his peripheral he saw a green Hawaiian shirt and brown hair walk past him without so much a glance and make his way to the group at the booth.

He sighed and sank back down onto his chair deciding that maybe a couple more minutes wouldn’t hurt him. Apparently Penny had finished hanging out drinks for the rush and leaned onto the pillar crossing her arms and giving him a raised eyebrow clearly inviting him to explain himself.

He briefly looked back to Rooster who had his head tilted back laughing at a joke payback must have said before looking back at her and just shrugging.

Clearly unsatisfied she kept his new beer in her hand behind the bar seemingly holding it hostage until he started talking.

“We just got into an argument Penny really it’s no big deal I just don’t feel in the mood to argue anymore today, but we’re fine you know how we are, Hangman and Rooster always at each others throats arguing”

Penny could read every regular in her bar like an open book but decided to leave it alone and handed him his beer before giving her attention back to the other waiting patrons.

He had only been sitting at the bar for another minute before someone slid into the seat next to him with a smile, and as much as he didn’t appreciate the sign of a new conversation he smiled back anyway.

The guy was still in his uniform so clearly he was deployed here unlike their group who came in civilian clothing, “Hi Im Daniel, and you are…?”

“Jake but I go by Hangman”

Th guy was a little shocked to hear he was also a pilot but had smiled after the initial shock left his face and a smile took it’s place.

“In that case I’m Yankee then” he laughed a little at that, he knew the guy had a bit of an accent but couldn’t really place where it was from.

“You from New York by any chance or just a Northerner who won’t ever let us forget we lost that war”

“Brooklyn born and raised baby, and though I would definitely make fun of you for losing the war if your from the South, I got the nickname cause my year in training decided to head out to the park by the academy and play some baseball and I was so bad I got hit in the face and got a black eye and someone told me I’m supposed to be Yankee so they couldn’t believe I’d be that bad and the name just kinda stuck; it bothered me in the beginning but now it just reminds me of home so I kinda like it”

He laughed at the story and even though his argument was still in the back of his head he couldn’t deny that the guys story didn’t cheer him up, “Yeah man that’s totally understandable I’m from Texas but played baseball as a kid instead of football so when I got to the academy and got invited to play football with some of the other guys there cause I’m from Texas and they assumed I would be good I actually pulled my friend aside and made him teach me in secret so I wouldn’t embarrass myself”

“That’s sweet he sounds like a nice friend”

Jake looked over to the pool table where coyote was currently hustling Fritz for all his money in a competitive string of pool games and smiled at him when they made eye contact. Jake was definitely the best out of all of them but he can admit that Coyote is a harsh opponent if he isn’t paying attention, “Yeah he really is, you here with your friends then too?”

“Yeah my guys are finishing up at the base, they should be heading in soon since it’s getting dark but I came in earlier than everyone else to get a drink because even though I’ve already been here a week for training the TopGun instructors always have us training outside and I have made no progress in adapting to this heat”

Jake smirked before finishing up his beer and ordering a drink for his new friend and himself, “Ain’t that just so predictable of a Northerner, listen we may have lost that war but at least I don’t melt the moment the temperature is over 80”

“Yeah yeah brag all you want just don’t complain to me when it goes below 60 and it’s too cold for you”

“Agree to disagree?”

The guy chuckled before waving at a group still in uniform that just walked into the bar, “Sure, so you here alone then? You said your friends are here but yet here you re having conversation with little ol me instead of them”

Jake suddenly remembering why he was sitting at the bar alone in the first place sighed and looked back to his group that were all huddled up in the corner talking. All of them were clearly immersed in passionate conversation and looked at complete ease with each other; any other day he’d be sitting in the middle between them but when he suddenly made eye contact with a smiling Rooster who’s smile dropped when he saw Jake instead of getting wider like it usually did he turned around back to his company, “Yeah I guess I am”

If Bradley wanted to pretend he didn’t care for Jake then fine but he’s not going to let him ruin his night. He’ll go back to the group soon but it’s best he gave them some time with Rooster before he came over and ruined the mood.

And Daniel in his glistening tan skin and kind brown eyes just smiled softly angled him away from the bar to his friends. Jake knows full well that his personality isn’t the best, that it drives most people in his life, that the only ones that stayed so far were the group he was currently avoiding. Realistically he knew Daniel’s friends would most likely not become his but younger pilots always appreciated his deployment stories so he might as well enjoy the wide eyed looks he’ll get.

When they made their way to the booth Daniel’s friends were situated Daniel had said hi before looking at him to introduce himself.

“Hi Lieutenant Commander Jake ‘Hangman’ Seresin nice to meet you”

The group of younger pilots all scrambled up to salute him shaking the table and bending over the table at an awkward angle in their rush to stand up despite a table being in the way. Daniel himself had actually looked shocked as well as he stood up straight to salute him as well.

He just laughed at the sight of the younger pilots and quickly saluted back before he shooed them to sit back down, “We’re not at work no need to salute me y’all are good”.

Their whole group was promoted some time after the mission and other various successes in the year since then, he himself had been introduced to a couple admirals by his commanding officer who took a liking to Jake while he was deployed in Virgina and decided to take him with him as he went to various political meetings. Although it couldn’t ever compare to flying he had to admit being allowed into a room full of important people who’s names he’s heard on plaques in the TOPGUN rec room was surreal and definitely inspired an important conversation between him and Rooster about promotions and what their relationship would look like if he decided to go down the more political path of the NAVY.

A blonde girl sitting at the end of the table just turned to look back at Daniel in his seat, “What the hell Yankee at least give us a warning that youre bringing someone that outranked us over”

Daniel just lifted his hands in mock surrender chuckling as he sat down and ushered Jake to do the same, “In my defense I didn’t know he outranked us until right now too”, he looked over at Jake then and raised an eyebrow, “You definitely could have mentioned that while we were at the bar”

Jake showed no sign of remorse as he took a drink of his beer and grinned cheekily at them, “My bad forgot TOPGUN students are lower ranked than I am I always forget how you guys get so used to tripping over yourselves to salute someone even the tiniest bit higher ranked”

A brown haired man sitting opposite of the first girl lifted an eyebrow and sat up a little straighter as he leaned over the table in his direction, “What’s that supposed to mean man, you make a habit of hanging out with students younger than you?”

Daniel look scandalized over the insinuation but Jake just waved him off, “As much as I appreciate the concern no need to worry I’ve just been to TOPGUN twice so I know a fair bit about the people there”.

That seemed to catch everyone’s attention and they encouraged him to continue talking about his time at TOPGUN and eventually stories of his deployments and people he’s meet and soon enough Jake had gotten real comfortable at his seat at their booth. He was always excited to talk about his job it was probably his greatest love in life only being challenged by Rooster but he doesn’t want to open those can of worms right now. He’s been multiple times that when he talked to people younger than him about his job that he had a certain sparkle in his voice and enthusiasm that drew people in, a TOPGUN instructor at a meeting a few months ago even told him that he was impressed by him and that he’ll remember his name and he’ll be waiting for a time he can call him back to teach a class or two which had positively put him on cloud 9 and he immediately told Rooster the moment he got back to his assigned housing.

In the end, an hour past of just him talking animatedly as the younger pilots nodded along.

Sometime in that hour the group must have noticed his absence because eventually he felt the pressure of two eyes watching him from across the bar and eventually Coyote made his way over looking for his attention, “Hey man it’s been an hour you said you were just going to get a drink and suddenly you replaced us?”

Jake stood up from the table throwing his arm over the shorter man and grinning at his new kind of friends, “My apologies Coyote but the younger better versions of you guys were just too fun to talk to that I guess I lost track of time”

Daniel stood up from the table grabbing the attention of both of them before Coyote could pull him away from the table completely for a round of pool, “Hey um before you go could we exchange numbers we all really enjoyed talking to you especially me I’d like to talk to you again if you’d like as friends or more whatever youre comfortable with I don’t know if youre… yeah”

Jake may be an asshole but he’s not heartless or an idiot, he knows the younger man was interested but he had liked talking to all of them so he grabbed his phone and typed in Hangman as the contact and and his number before handing it back to the blushing kid thinking he’ll just let the kid down over text, “Sure, send me a message and everyone else’s contacts maybe I’ll give you guys a tip or two if you ask nicely”, He winked and laughed as Coyote pulled him over to the group who were standing around the pool table.

He smiled and waved at everyone as they muttered variations of “finally joining us” before meeting eyes with Rooster before quickly looking down.

Coyote laughed along with the rest of them and shoved his shoulder as he looked at the group, “this guy was too busy making TOPGUN students fall in love with him, I mean can you believe it he’s been here and hour and already has someone blushing and asking for his number”

He got a mixed reaction of laughs and jealous boos from everyone except Bradley who just looked and him before looking away and Phoenix who crossed her arms and looked up at him from where she was leaning against the wall, “And did you actually give him your number?”

Bradley decided that only then he would give Jake the light of day which fine fuck him then, “Sure why not Daniel was nice and I need friends besides you assholes plus I told him to give me everyone else’s numbers later so I could give them advice and shit nothing deep”

Rooster scoffed and set his drink down before he stood up straight and crossed his arms glaring at him, “Daniel? You guys on first name base?”

Jake glared right back at him, he couldn’t be fucking serious, “Yeah we are, we met at the bar and introduced each other with our first names since I didn’t have my uniform on so he didn’t know I was Navy so what”

The other suddenly got quiet realizing there must be something going o n that they’re not in on.

“No I just think that’s so typical of you Hangman to lead people on knowing you don’t intend to do shit, always leaving someone hanging aren’t you”

Rooster rounded the table to come face to face with him looking down at him in a way he hasn’t since before the mission when they constantly did their best to hurt the other as a stupid game, “What the fuck is that supposed to mean asshole and why the fuck do you suddenly have an opinion after deciding to ignore me all fucking day for no reason”

What the hell was Bradley doing all of a sudden starting an argument like that when he hasn’t done shit to deserve it. He knew he was mad but they haven’t intentionally tried to hurt the other in a year having had a serious talk when they first started dating about it and swearing not to pull that kind of shit ever again. Jake himself hasn’t done anything like that since Bradley told him why what he said about his da was so hurtful and he spent the night apologizing and making it up to him.

“Nothing it doesn’t matter youre not worth an argument right now”

He distinctly heard his friends in the background offended on his behalf and calling for Rooster to drop it but all Jake could focus on was the hate in Bradley’s eyes that he hasn’t seen directed to him in so long he forgot how much it hurt.

He felt the tell tale sign of tears pricking his eyes and could tell Bradley did as well when his face suddenly softened and his hand started to reach out for him when he stumbled out of the way of his hand and slammed his beer down on the pool table immediately ready to leave.

“Fuck you Bradshaw enjoy the rest of you're fucking night I’m leaving”

He could hear his friends calling out for him to stay as he made his way through the crowd of patrons on his way out, he’ll apologize to them over text later for ruining their night when it was meant to be a fun celebratory get together, but he couldn’t stand to stay in the bar any longer.

Having only drank 3 beers all night he decided he was fine enough to drive and made his way back to Bradley’s house.

He had no intention on staying there that night even more so when he saw pictures of them throughout the year in various locations hanging on the wall in the entryway.

Originally the area only had 4 pictures: one of the Bradshaw family and Maverick in the Hard Deck in the 80s with a 4 year old Bradley sitting on the piano wearing a cowboy hat, a picture of Nick Bradshaw in his uniform smiling at the Camera, A shot of Goose dipping Carole and kissing her in front of the altar as Maverick cheered in the background, and a picture of a 10 year old Bradley and Carole eating an ice cream on the beach.

He had heard the stories of every picture from Bradley the first night he moved in and Bradley had told him only his most important photos he hangs up there.

So throughout the year every time he’d come home from a mission out of state and saw a new photo of himself and Bradley on the wall he’d just drop his bags and run to find the man waiting for him somewhere in the house with a smile.

Right now when he sees the happy picture of him kissing Bradley on the cheek or them tanning together at the beach sharing a private smile and holding hands it only makes him choke up in frustration.

He grabs the extra suitcase he leaves in Bradley’s closet for any vacation they might go to for a weekend and starts packing all of his belongings.

If the argument from before didn’t already cause the end of their relationship the one from the bar definitely did and he wanted to get his shit before Bradley came back.

He was in the middle of packing all his clothes and grabbing his toiletries from the ensuite when he hears the front door open and close and quietly cursed to himself. He know that Bradley knows he’s here because he took off his shoes in the entrance way, knowing how much Bradley hates if any dirt gets tracked in from outside since he likes to walk around the house barefoot and gets mad if he feels dirt or sees that his foot was getting dirty from the floors, and his BMW is parked on the street outside.

He sighs and puts his suitcase on the floor and sitting at the foot of the bed knowing there’s no way he’d be able to finish packing and make his way out before getting caught by Bradley.

He waits there for a couple minuted before Bradley starts to make his way upstairs clearly having wanted to collect himself before bracing the argument he would be walking into by facing Jake upstairs.

The door handle turns as his boyfriend opens the door and waits in the doorway when he makes eye contact with Jake.

Bradley’s shoulders were slumped down and his hair a mess sticking up in all directions and it made the heat of anger inside of him falter. He knew the other man had a nervous habit of running his hand through his hair when he was stressed and had helped him on multiple occasions fix it in the bathroom because the other man felt too frustrated to fix it himself. But seeing him look all over the place made him feel even worse so Jake would take his hand and lead him to the bathroom where he would have Bradley stand in the mirror and watch as Jake’s calloused hands carefully dampened his curls and brushed them out back to their natural state. Those moments between them were always so intimate especially when Jake would bend down and kiss the back of his neck and Bradley would turn around to face him when he finished and just hugged him in the middle of the bathroom until he felt ready to go back to wherever they had escaped from.

Jake can’t imagine seeing Bradley and his messed up hair and not being able to pull him awayto fix it, he can’t imagine any scenario where he can’t be with Bradley, but here they are.

Bradley had yet to move from his spot at the doorway clearly not knowing what to do in the situation. Is Jake supposed to let Bradley start the conversation, to explain why he did what he did at the bar, or should he start it by just screaming at Bradley for everything he’s done all day. Frankly he would rather leave than do the second option but if he did then that itself would be the end of them and he can’t get himself to do that no matter how deserved the reaction would be.

In the end Bradley makes his way from the doorway and sits down next to Jake, looking down at his half packed suitcase then to him and finally back to the suitcase.

“I’m sorry”

Jake had no idea how to respond, unlike Bradley he did prefer to talk about an argument right after it happened usually saying something he regretted taking a deep breathe and just apologizing so they could take a step back and reevaluate how the argument got there and fix it, but right now talking about the issue seems like that last thing he wants to do.

“I know you are but I don’t want to talk about it right now sorry”

“Okay”

Bradley looked back to him waiting for him to make the next move.

Fuck Bradley was so considerate and it just pissed him off even more that he could still be such a good person in Jake’s thoughts even after everything that happened today.

With one last sigh Jake tugged off his socks and jeans and scooted back to the left side of the bed, his designated side, before finally tossing off his shirt and tilting his head down to the spot next to him signaling for Bradley to know he was allowing him to lay down next to him.

Bradley got up to turn off the overhead light before following after him in undressing and laying down under the blanket, throwing the other half over Jake’s and facing him but keeping space between the two of them not wanting to push at whatever boundary Jake wanted right now, simply content at just being allowed to sleep in the same bed as Jake after everything.

Jake wanted to stay mad to yell and push and kick him out to the couch or even the house because it’s what he was raised thinking arguments should be like but he knew better now, had spent a year with Bradley learning otherwise; knew that he always felt worse sleeping without Bradley than he ever did sleeping with him even after an argument.

So instead of facing away and blocking Bradley out for the night and leaving him to wallow in discomfort, pain, and regret; he closed the gap between the two of them and laid his head against Bradleys chest.

Tears were rolling silently down his cheeks because all he could think about is never being able to sleep against Bradley’s chest again, so he couldn’t find it in himself to care that he knew Bradley could feel his tears on his chest, instead grabbing Bradley’s hands with his own and moving them to rest around his waist so he could hold him. He could tell Bradley was hesitant to push him too far when the moment was so delicate. He felt the way this his hands hovered around Jake’s hips not wanting to relax and pull him closer in the off chance Jake would push him away. So Jake made the first move and tucked his face into the crook of Bradley’s neck and softly kissed the side of his neck to let him know they were alright.

He felt Bradley’s arms tighten around him and pull him closer to his body, his head coming down to lean on top of Jake’s head and gently kiss his golden hair.

The night was quiet, the only thing you could hear was the distant sound of cars on the street, and Jake could feel his eyelids slowly shutting when Bradley suddenly speak up.

“I’m sorry Jake”

“I know Bradley, I forgive you”

“I love you Jake”

Jake felt himself smile and lifted his head to look Bradley in the eyes.

“I love you too Bradley”

He thought that that would be the end of it, that the two could go to sleep and in the morning it would be awkward for a couple minutes before Bradley would kiss him and he’d know they’ll be alright but when he looked at Bradley the other still looked conflicted.

“Jesus Christ Bradley what’s wrong?”

“I really want to kiss you Jake”

He smiled before leaning into Bradley’s space and felt their noses knock against each other before smiling, “Then kiss me”

And kiss him he did.

-

You’ve been warned mate you did this to yourself also I did not proof read it again so ignore the grammar and spelling mistakes @d3v0t3dv1rtualch33s3cak3

[umichenginabroad]

Exhilarating First Week

Hey readers! I’m Aidan McKiernan, and I’m studying abroad in Ireland with the Big 10 STEM and Irish Studies program with UCD. I’ve just finished my first week here and it’s been sweet. It might well have been the most eventful week of my life. With orientation, field trips, and hitting the city, there hasn’t been a dull moment. Of course it’s been a ton of fun, but there’s been challenges as well. The biggest has been missing loved ones back home (xoxo). Anyways, I’ve got a ton to talk about, but I’ll do my best to keep it concise.

Day 0

After disembarking from the plane and making it through customs, I hit my first roadblock. My plane had problems with our checked bags, causing an hour-long delay. Fortunately, this gave me time to exchange my leftover dollars for euros at the nice airport rates. Unfortunately, this meant I missed the bus sent by UCD to collect us. Eventually I got my baggage, and was forced to get a taxi to campus with a couple other members of the program. 

We got dropped off at the campus Centra, a common convenience store in the area (think 7/11). In the same building was the front desk where I picked up my brand-new UCard for room and campus access. After that was sorted, I lugged my stuff to the housing accommodations, made my way to my room, and started unpacking!

My first thought was- “Nice.” Compared to oxford housing where I lived last school year, this was elite. There were four private rooms for four people, each decked out with: a desk with lamp, bed, full-body mirror, and nice closet space. Even two bathrooms! I barely believed it, but sure enough, the doors labeled 1 and 2 led to two full bathrooms and not more private rooms. The kitchen was awesome too. A counter with a stove, a whole dining table, two couches and tons of cupboard space. Not to mention two minifridges, a toaster, and microwave! One of the minifridges happened to be a freezer, but… we don’t talk about how we found out.

Day 1

After getting a much needed full night of sleep, I headed off to orientation. This was my first chance to get a good look at campus, and wow- it was pretty. The architecture is clean and modern, but it still feels very natural. There was a duck couple relaxing in the grass, greenery everywhere you look, and multiple ponds integrated in the campus, teeming with wildlife.

A pond on campus, if you look close you’ll see one of the swans!

Orientation went well! I got to meet the instructors, coordinators, and media team, as well as the rest of my class. For lunch we went to Pi Restaurant where our lunches and dinners will be provided during our weeks here. As much as I don’t want to admit, the food is near or above UMich dining hall level.

Later that evening, after some exploring, we had our orientation dinner. We were told not to dress up, but doing so left me feeling out of place. We visited the UCD Club Restaurant, where we were served a full three course meal- drinks included! This marked my first pint of Guinness… it was pretty gross. As a side note, the drinking culture in Ireland was pretty shocking. There's even a UCD campus bar! I'm lucky to be of drinking age here!

Grabbing a pint with the guys: Carson (left) and Dominick (right) (he doesn’t usually look like that)

Later that day I faced my next battle. I totally locked myself out of my room at night. The worst part was, I left my glasses, phone, and shoes in my room. I had to borrow a roommate’s phone to call the front desk. After a quick midnight stroll, I got helped back in and got some more much needed sleep. I’ve failed to mention so far, but practically everyone I’ve met in Ireland so far has been really welcoming and helpful. It makes an experience like this all the more enjoyable

The rest of the week wasn’t ultra-interesting. We had some lectures and labs and a few smaller activities. I don’t want to bore, so I’ll leave some of the more mundane class activities for a less eventful week. Let’s talk trips!

Trips!

On Tuesday, we had a trip to the EPIC museum in Dublin. EPIC, short for “Every Person is Connected”, details stories of Irish emigrants throughout history. I learned a lot about reasons for emigration, and that an absurd amount of people have Irish roots. It was a short and sweet trip, but the real kicker of a trip was a bit later. 

This Saturday was our trip to Glendalough. Spoiler alert: Saturday takes the crown for best day this week. Getting up at 7:30am wasn’t easy, but it was certainly worth it. First stop was a sheepdog demonstration! A farmer taught us how sheep farming worked and how they train dogs to help. We even got to pet some lambs!

Meet Marty! He was a dubiously soft little buddy.

Our next stop was a small town called Hollywood. This town in Ireland is actually the indirect name origin of Hollywood in the States. The townspeople here were super friendly, and helped guide me and some friends up to a familiar sign…

Me with the Hollywood sign in the original Hollywood. (photo by Nate)

The view down from the Hollywood sign ft. random sheep.

I must note that the scenery the whole trip was awesome. We were also fortunate to have really nice weather the whole trip (most of the week for that matter). We had to have a quick stop for a photo op just before Glendalough. 

Me enjoying the scenery and weather. See the lake in the distance! (photo by Simon)

Finally we made it to Glendalough, the last stop. We got to enjoy our packed lunches and explore! The old monastic site was picturesque, at I was really enjoying the company of my new friends. We had a nice walk in the surrounding valley, and finally headed back to UCD.

Chillin on a tree in Glendalough with Noah (left) and Callen (right). (photo by Carson)

The day wasn't over yet though! After a quick rest, we took a bus to town. We chose a bar known for cheap drinks, Wetherspoon-apparently there are like 7 in Dublin! We met up with a sizable group of other members of our program there and had lots of fun (responsibly)!

I oughta stop rambling now, that's about all for this week. I hope you'll join me for my next post!

Aidan McKiernan

Computer Science

Big 10 STEM and Irish Studies at UCD

#umichenginabroad #ipeireland #ipesummer2022 #AidanMcKiernan

[crystallisedentertainment]

Switching from Substance Painter to ArmorPaint!

It’s hard to believe that it’s nearly been 4 and a half years since I upgraded Substance Painter to 2019! This was just after Adobe bought Allegorithmic and everyone (including myself) were afraid Adobe would pull the Substance suite from Steam and force you to use their CC-subscription service to gain access to it.

Obviously that hasn’t happened (yet), but I have stuck with 2019 and actually have done nearly 200 hours worth of texturing, most of that I suspect is from 2021-2022 in all honestly, and it has performed valiantly! But it is coming to that time again where I consider upgrading Substance Painter - But 2023 isn’t doing it for me as it has progressively gotten more buggy over the intervening years based on what I heard, and Adobe has increased the price on Steam for the privilege of a perpetual license.

Mainly because I dislike Adobe, I’ve turned to alternatives to fill in that gap for non-chibi related texturing... Like a common theme with the rest of the workflow: I’ve chose an open-source application called “ArmorPaint” that offers everything I wanted from SP2019, but some nice additions that I believe not even 2023 offers! It’s technically free if you’re willing to compile the program yourself; but I’m too dumb for that... So I bought it for a pre-compiled version at a very agreeable £18 - which is massively cheaper compared to Adobe’s offering, plus I get lifetime updates for free! I’m basically got my cake and I can eat it.

So yeah, this marks the end of the 7 years I’ve used Substance Painter as it is now a “legacy” program in the workflow; something I only install if I need access to those project-files, but no longer will be used actively.

(News on the “prerequisite“ project down below)

In other news: The “prerequisite“ project isn’t finished yet and I’m still working it; but that unfortunately what happens when life finally catches up with you and you can only allagate the minimal amount of time per day on hobbies... It is what it is! Wish I could say it is nearly completion, but the opposite is true and I still have a long way to go, espiecally if I want things up to my standard... I’m now aiming to get it done by September - but I’m unsure if I’ll even get it done by then. ^^”

#CrystallisedEntertainment #channel update

[veebs-hates-video-games]

I like that I can just type "hate" into my browser and it brings me right to the page for making a post on here even though I hadn't been making very many for a while.

I spent like another 160 hours replaying XCDE (because I'd only played the Wii version before) and Future Connected, but I don't really feel like writing another entire post about that right now. The short version is that it's still great, and all the alternate meanings of things and foreshadowing and stuff that are obvious when you know what's going to happen but that I missed the first time around are fun. Also having played the other games already it's really obvious now how much stronger the character writing and development is in those compared to the original, and Future Connected does it better too.

And I guess I've been making vague progress on a few other things when that hasn't been consuming all of my game time.

The House in Fata Morgana is pretty great so far, but I've only finished the first three chapters. Still no idea how everything's going to come together, but I'm looking forward to finding out.

Titanfall 2 is...ok I guess? It was three bucks and people I know had said it was fun. Some of the environments are pretty, and the movement is pretty good. I don't really play FPSes much these days though and I'm pretty sure I kinda suck at them at this point. The non-titan weapons just aren't particularly interesting or fun so far either though. We'll see how long I last with that one.

Super Mario 3D World is probably my least favorite/most disappointing Mario game since SMB3. It has a lot of neat ideas, but for every one of those it comes up with it does something else that makes it just not fun to play for me, and all the stuff I don't like is the stuff that makes it like SMB3. Why in the world would you bring back a finite lives system, especially when I'm never going to run out of them anyway? It just feels silly. And the fixed camera is kind of awful and makes depth perception so much worse. And my feelings about having a timer again are entirely negative. It has some neat powerups and level ideas, but every time I start enjoying those things about it I find something else frustrating. No idea why so many people say it's one of the best Mario games ever or their favorite or whatever.

Luckily Bowser's Fury is included with it in the Switch version, and while I haven't played much of it yet I like it a lot more. It feels more like Odyssey but with SM3DW powerups instead of the hat, and basically all the things that annoyed me about SM3DW are gone completely.

(just for reference, Super Mario World is still my favorite of the 2D Mario games, and it's a tossup between Odyssey and the Galaxies for the 3D ones, but also there are a few I've never played at all)

#xenoblade chronicles #the house in fata morgana #titanfall 2 #super mario 3d world #bowser's fury #xenoblade #xeno #super mario #mario

[blahandwhatever]

Gripes

Much as I’d like to refocus on the positive, I woke up on the wrong side of the bed again, and I will go ahead and dump a bunch of gripes here first.

1. I really need Google and major stores to get their fucking shit together regarding holiday hours, and hours in general, and stop fucking misleading me.

2. I hate my skin without argan oil and always overestimate how long the last bit in the bottle will last me, and I placed an order at Sephora days ago and it hasn’t even shipped yet, and I tried to obtain it at a physical store today and failed on account of early closing times combined with the internet’s lack of clarity about some of them and my own fuuuucked up schedule.

3. Fuuuuuck me for fucking myself up so much, so unnecessarily.

4. I got some new, overpriced icicle lights from Amazon and opened the other box of the ones I already had and tried to compare them both to the ones hanging on the balcony and had a weirdly hard time discerning the difference (or lack thereof) in brightness, maybe in part because these ones are still kind of bundled up and that distorts the appearance of the light. Next to each other, they somehow seem to look the same, even though I would think the Target ones would be dimmer just like the set on the balcony. Maybe I need the help of a camera.

5. How ridiculous that, almost three months after I was due to replace my driver’s license, I still haven’t done it. Get your shit together. I’m tired of vaguely worrying about getting stopped by police without a license again.

6. Really thought I would finally go to the dentist this month, but it was busy and disorganized and I didn’t. So, that awaits in the near future.

7. Also didn’t manage to go to Chicago. Did go to Oak Brook on the warmest day this week to return some stuff at the mall, so that was something, though again I was a little off.

8. I miss the maple pecan salad from Whole Foods so much. T_T I have tried various other salads and never loved (or craved) another like that. Every other packaged salad they have now has some shit in it I dislike. They do have some good ones in the salad bar, but I am almost always too late for those to be fresh.

9. I kind of miss the sense of community I felt a bit more of online last year. I’ve somewhat intentionally detached from the MBTI community I was more active in for a while because it was never something I was going to have such a sustained strong interest in, and Frank James in particular came to annoy and frustrate me far more than than he entertained me. I’m kind of feeling like engaging more online again, but I’m not sure in what context. Passive television watching and passivity on the internet have both become less satisfying than they used to be.

10. I also still miss the AV Club as it once was. I don’t know if there will ever be another site like it, complete with the strong commenting community it once had.

11. Still need to get an iPad keyboard, and I’ve been horrified to learn that there are no keyboards for current iPads as perfect as the one I have for my old one. I don’t know why. Is it something about how the sides of the iPad are shaped now that makes it impossible get a fit with that type of keyboard? I’m sure there is a way?! Not only are most of the current keyboards uglier and a texture I don’t like, but they don’t double as a nice silver cover that matches the back of the iPad. And to the extent that they do double as covers, they also cover the back of the iPad instead of just magnetically attaching on the side. WHY. Another fucking downgrade to fucking hate.

I’ll add more if I think of anything; I’ve had plenty I didn’t get around to complaining about this month.

[tedcruzisthezodiackiller]

how are adults expected to go to work and then come home and keep their living spaces in order and cook real meals and spend time on their hobbies all in the same day. I come home from work and MAYBE have enough energy to do one chore before wanting to go right to bed

#even if my day hasn’t been that long compared to the other hours I’ve been working