#trying to sleep tonight will be like trying to juggle fish

[queertransetc]

Happy new year or whatever but stop fucking setting off fireworks. It fucks over people and animals alike. Nobody besides you is having fun. Shut the fuck up

#Lincoln logs #just heard one that’s louder than my noise canceling headphones can cover #trying to sleep tonight will be like trying to juggle fish #maybe it’s possible but I’m not skilled enough to try

[suashii]

kuroo + making dinner ﾉ a late night snack wif him in a college au ? i hope ur week treats u well bbie <3

such a cute suggestion — thank u for sending it! hopefully u enjoy :3

you’re usually better about not leaving a mess by the door when you return to your apartment, but tonight is different. you can’t help but messily kick off your shoes and shed your book bag in the growing pile at the entrance. after a long, draining study session, you can’t be bothered to keep a clean house at the moment. anyway, once you catch sight of your carelessness in the morning, you’re sure you’ll be rushing to pick things up.

“hmm,” you hum, stretching your arms above your head. the action feels good after being stuck in a chair for the past few hours and it seems like now that you’re home, just within reach of your bed, the exhaustion is finally catching up to you. “to eat or to sleep…” you ponder over your choices.

“i vote for the former.” kuroo chimes in from behind you. he replicates your movements, dropping his bag and stretching a bit before he turns and makes his way to the kitchen. “food is fuel, you know,” he tells you matter-of-factly.

“yeah, well, so is sleep. and that sounds like it’ll take a lot less energy than eating.”

he snorts at your reasoning as he surveys the contents of the refrigerator. it’s more bare than he remembers it being—the two of you are past due for a trip to the grocery store. still, he doesn’t let that stop him from trying to convince you to stay up just a little longer for a meal. “fair, but we skipped dinner. you should try to stomach something small at the very least.”

your bed is calling your name, you can hear its tempting whispers from down the hall, but you sigh and nod, joining kuroo in the kitchen to find a replacement for the dinner you missed in favor of reviewing powerpoints. the task seems like a tall one when you get a look in the fridge.

“what do you suggest?” you ask from beside him, “loose lunch meat doesn’t sound too bad.”

he laughs and pinches your arm at your unserious approach, which earns him a pinch back for ever daring to pinch you. 

“what about ramen?” kuroo proposes, lifting an arm to open the cabinet that holds your shared supply of noodles. unsurprisingly, there’s quite a selection of instant ramen at your disposal. “we’re never short on that.”

you take a few seconds to consider it before agreeing—something quick and warm should be satisfying enough.

“take your pick.” kuroo gestures to the multiple differing packages and you point at one—your favorite brand—for him to pull down. he grabs that and one for himself, closing that cabinet and opening the one that houses your pots. the kitchenware clangs loudly as they knock against each other but kuroo doesn’t seem to mind as he juggles the two, carrying them to the sink to fill them with water.

you busy yourself with opening the colorful packages and fishing out the seasoning packs while kuroo brings the pots of water to a boil. other than the gas from the stove and the occasional rustling  of  plastic, a still quiet falls over the kitchen. it’s far from tense or awkward and there’s a beauty that comes with it—being able to enjoy the company of someone without having to share words. and it isn’t lost on you how kuroo tries to take on the bulk of the work, emptying flavor packs and stirring the contents before you get the chance to grab the chopsticks.

he even pours the noodles into your preferred bowl and takes it over to your tiny dining table for you.

“i would have eaten this straight from the pot, you know,” you tell him, sliding into the chair and picking up your utensils to dig in. 

he’s known you long enough to be able to read between the lines of your speech—what you really mean to say is that he made extra dishes that you have no intention of washing. it makes him smile on the other side of the table. “i can handle the dishes.”

“don’t worry, i’ll help you,” you say in between bites. you hold his gaze, blowing on the noodles hanging from your chopsticks. “as long as we do it in the morning.”

he swallows a bite of his own. “deal.”

#omg omg omg i'm sorry this took so long >< #i had an idea of what i wanted to write but #zero time to do so #but! here it is now! so i hope u like~ #kuroo x reader #kuroo fluff

[thefanficmonster]

Never Satisfied [Chapter 9]

Corpse Husband x Original Female Character

Warnings: Language

A collaboration between Vy & Ashens

“is this what it’s like to be normal?“

After a bit of juggling of paper containers and laughter, Corpse settles into the cushions of the couch with Cora sitting close by. They ordered Chinese food and are now sitting with their feet up on the coffee table, munching away and laughing at the comedy special on the television. That’s where they stayed for a couple hours, her head resting on his shoulder. She joked about laying on his lap again but Corpse shut the idea down quickly, stating he didn’t want to be held hostage again tonight. He didn’t fail to mention that any other night wouldn’t be a problem for him though.

That's what brought them to their current situation. Corpse is standing in his bedroom, making a slight grimace at the clothes that he has scattered on the floor. He conveniently placed his laundry basket over the vomit stain from his panic attack. The mark serves as a reminder, one he’ll have to get rid of eventually to not feel his stomach turn every time he walks into his room.

He’s rather thankful she’s looking around the room and not at the floor. Her gaze, although curious, is in no way judgy. She is simply taking it all in without wondering why it seems so barren or empty like he sees it. He likes it that way and he’s glad she doesn’t have a complaint about it either.

“Would you…” He pauses, making a face as he tries to figure out the best way to voice the question he’s been thinking about. “You can borrow something of mine to wear if you don’t want to wear that.” He vaguely motions to her outfit which seems like it would be a little uncomfortable for sleeping.

“Oh, you bought me dinner so now you want me to take off my pants? I feel like we’ve been over this already.” Cora jokes, eyes sparkling as she nudges him with her shoulder. 

He blushes a deep red, looking down as his cheeks burn, “I-I meant...”

“I’m kidding, Cujo.” she laughs, delivering a light smack to his arm that felt more like a caress than anything.

“Cujo?” He repeated the nickname questioningly, tipping his head toward her. She’s called him a lot of things but Cujo is a new one.

“Yeah. I mean, we met because of a collar, and you keep giving me puppy eyes.” She teases, reaching up to run her hands through his hair with a playful, cheeky smirk.

“I do not!” Corpse scoffs defiantly, cheeks a heavy shade of red caused by the embarrassment and wild butterflies in his stomach. Even as he denies her claims he knows she’s right: he absolutely does give her puppy eyes, be it intentionally or not. But he isn’t going to admit it, of course! 

Before he could go on with his defense, she pushes up on her tippy toes and kisses his cheek, effectively shutting him up before he even starts rambling. 

“You said you had a change of clothes?” She asks sweetly, plopping herself onto the end of his bed. He rolls his eyes fondly and turns around, digging into his dresser to retrieve a pair of plaid pajama pants. He offers them to her and, when she takes them, goes back to searching, pulling out one of his favorite shirts to pair with the pants he gave her. His fingers touch the design on the front of it, looking thoughtful. 

Should I really give my favorite shirt to her?, he wonders as he looks at the graphic embedded into the material he’s so used to feeling on his skin and seeing in the mirror. What if she leaves like everybody else. I won’t be able to look at the shirt ever again without thinking of her smiling face when she wore it. He exhales before gripping it tighter and turning, handing it to her. It’s a sign of trust he knows she isn’t able to read. It’s a sign he believes she won’t hurt him. Not intentionally, at least. He just hopes he’s right and he’ll have something good in his life to stay for once.

With the clothes in hand, she smiles brightly and heads into his bathroom to change. She doesn’t close the door, but she’s still out of sight. Her clothes are tossed through the doorway and Corpse can’t help but swallow sharply. 

Undressing. She’s undress- oh fuck that’s her bra. His face turns scarlet and he quickly whirls around, yanking off his jeans and changing into a pair of gym shorts before she could come back. He curses his libido, swearing at himself as he tries to think of something that would kill the flush of heat under his skin. 

Naked grandma, creepypastas, Jeff The Killer, Slenderman, fuck!

Finally, after quickly looking over his shoulder to make sure she isn’t in the room, he reaches up and slaps himself as if to wake himself from a deep slumber or nightmare. 

The impact startles him enough that he momentarily forgets why he had even done it. Turning around once again, he sees her wander into the room, the pajama pants rolled up to keep them from dragging and the shirt clinging to her...just so perfectly. 

“You alright?” She asks softly, head tilting curiously as she comes closer. Corpse nods and smiles softly, reaching out to take her hand. She curls her fingers with his and reaches up, her fingers grazing across the side of his face he slapped moments prior, her touch cool against this hot cheek. “You look like you got bitch slapped.” She muses, lips forming a small smile that was a dead giveaway of the fact she was trying her best not to laugh. 

“Yeah, um that’s...odd...” He croaks out, clearing his throat before turning to face his bed. “Um...l-ladies first?” He suggests, his other cheek slowly reddening to match the slapped one. 

She side-eyes him before deciding the best course of action would be to DIVE into the bed. She tumbles into the blankets and rolls onto her back, laughing softly as she sprawles into starfish formation to take over the entire bed.

“Where are you going to sleep?” She asks him, a mischievous look flashing across her face as she practically claims the bed as her territory for the future undecided amount of time. 

He almost says he’ll sleep on the couch if she doesn't want to share with him but when he realizes she’s joking, his eyes narrow into suspicious slits and he leaps in after her, flopping down at her side while a soft squeal leaves her lips. She laughs and her arms wind around his neck immediately, trapping him against her chest. He struggles a bit, managing to pull away just enough to tip his head up, cheeks pink. He didn’t want to make her uncomfortable by being face-first in her chest and he’s worried he might’ve. However, just then, as if sensing his thoughts and feeling the need to comfort and reassure him, she simply runs a hand through his hair, looking down at him fondly.

“Comfy?” She asks softly, thumb touching his forehead as she gently and lightly runs her nails over his scalp. He isn’t sure what the best way to answer that would be. Don’t get him wrong, he was absolutely comfortable. Does he think he should stay in that position though? Probably not. 

“Yeah...but if you’re not-”

“I can move, yeah, yeah, I know. Corpse, if I didn’t feel comfortable, trust me, you’d know.” She murmurs, cutting off his worried rambling, placing a kiss on his forehead before letting herself settle back, stroking his hair gingerly as he lays his head on her chest. She tightens her grip on him causing him to sigh contently as he listens to the rhythmic thumping of her heart against his ear. He slowly closes his eyes, shoulders relaxing as he slides his arms to wind them around her torso, curling his ankle around hers. 

Why and how is she so perfect?

How can one person completely change my life like this?

“Are you still wearing socks?” Her voice comes out of the blue, sudden and a little jarring. 

He tipped his head down, following the valley of her stomach to her legs to check. Yep, he is definitely still wearing his socks. “Uh...yeah?” He says, looking back up at her. 

“You sleep in socks?” There’s a judgmental and almost pitiful smirk on her face, eyes glittering with amusement.

“My feet get cold.”

“Get a blanket.”

“They still get cold under the blanket.”

“Get a better blanket.”

Corpse snorts softly and pulls his hands free from around her, sitting up just enough to be able to pull his socks off. Instead of tossing them away, however, he leans down and grabbed her ankle quickly. A yell of laughter leaves Cora’s lips as he struggles to put his sock on her foot, fighting with her leg like it was a restress, panicking fish. 

“Hold still!” He laughs, trying to pin it down to the mattress without hurting her by accident. “You’re gonna wear the sock! You’ll see my point of view if you just. Put. On. The. So-fuck!” He cuts himself off with a yelp when he finds himself on the floor after Cora’s leg pushed him hard enough to slide him off the bed. A low thud echoes throughout the room as he hits the ground. Before she could even ask if he was okay, he’s jumped back into the bed, grabbing her around the waist and dragging her to him. 

“Fine, no socks. But the day you start trying to get me to wear nightgowns we’ll have problems.”

“Oh, for the love of God, if I wear a nightgown please kick me out and never talk to me again.” she groans, head cocked back as she sighs dramatically.  He leans forward and kisses her softly. And so suddenly. He can’t be sure where the urge came from, he just knows he wanted to do it. He smiles softly and blinks for a moment before kissing her again when she leans into it, clearly happy with his initiative. 

“Thank you.” He whispers through another soft kiss. “Can I save my progress?” 

Cora can’t help but giggle, brushing her nose against his affectionately, “Progress saved. Thanks for using the A.S.S.”

 @vixenl  @annshit  @wineandionysus  @wiseflamingoqueen​

#corpse husband #corpse #corpse fanfiction #corpse fic #corpse fandom #corpse fluff #corpse fanfic #corpse husband fanfiction #corpse husband fic #corpse husband fanfic #corpse husband fluff #corpse husband fanficiton #corpse husband imagine #corpse imagine #corpse imagines #corpse x original character #corpse x oc #corpse x original female character #corpse husband x oc #corpse husband x female reader #fic #fanfic #fanfiction #fandom #fluff #x reader #reader

[graceslavenderhaze]

Send you my love on a wire { Luke Patterson}

This is a two part series!

trigger warnings: insomnia, sleep pills, teenage cursing,

"Are you sure this is really what you want to do? I mean we can host the meetings earlier!" Connor rambled as he held the honorary midnight society speaking torch. It was an early Saturday morning, your dad was at another fishing trip which meant you both had free realm to do whatever as long as your dad didn't find out. You grabbed a mug in the kitchen to make some coffee you barely slept before the incident always juggling school, the midnight society and your band sleep paralysis paradise, now the little melatonin sleep you got was plagued with nightmares.

"It's called the midnight society for a reason, besides you knew eventually this was gonna happen." You said as you grabbed the sugar and creamers. You turned, Connor still at the table his partially eaten pancakes in front of him and the torch in his hand. "Yeah but you started this it feels wrong." He shrugged as he took a sip of his coffee.

"I'm moving up not on. There's a distinctive difference little brother. One that you'll understand when you're older." You said smugly. He rolled his eyes at you, "You're like two years at best, older than me." He said as pulled out his phone.

"Still those two years were the quietest of my life." You said placing your hand on your chest to act as if you were fondly remembering something. He picked up the dish towel that was tossed onto the table and threw it at you. "Speaking about quiet, you know that girl Gabby has been seeing, Flynn?"

You nod as you take a sip of your coffee, the caffeinated drink enveloping your taste buds. "Well her best friend is in this band called Julie and The Phantoms. They were supposed to play at the last dance, before the glow dance."

"Yeah, didn't they not show or something?" You asked not remembering much of the dance being as you were off in an abandoned classroom talking with your bandmates about anything to avoid the high school scene that you hardly fit into.

"Well, they're playing the orpheum tonight to open for panic at the disco and flynn managed to save a certain amount of tickets for your band and the midnight society!" He said as you jaw dropped, the orpheum was the starting point for every band that wanted to be something big. It was your short term goal for long term success since freshman year when your band formed. You couldn't lie when you said you were envious that they'd gotten the gig and your band hadn't.

"Holy shit, how did she do that? I've been trying to score opening for the unknown bands for months and struck out!" You said eyes wide, He shrugged, "I don't know, but she told us to never doubt her power. Whatever that means."

After the show you and your group found yourself at a diner a few blocks down. Buzzing with excitement about the show. Your mind casually floating back to the cute guitar player in blue, whose sleeves were non existent.

"Not to shamelessly self promo, but do you think Julie would want to collab with us or something?" Kora, one of your best friends and bassist of sleep paralysis paradise. For a quick second, Flynns poker face faltered at the question. "I can ask but Julie might be busy, with school and everything." She said trailing off in the last part.

"She also just played the orpheum, she's not gonna wanna slum it." Danny , self proclaimed guitar god, said as he stole a fry off your plate. "Whose the slum? Because last i check, i give it my all." Taylor, your drummer, said as they threw a ice cube at him. You rolled your eyes. While taking another sip of your milkshake. The stretched table sitting the midnight society, your band, flynn and nick.

"Oh really like to see you try the riff of now or never? Objections? Didn't think so." Danny said shrugging playfully. "You know sunset curve?" Flynn asked skeptically, which cause her to receive several stares from the table.

"Duh, my uncle was in the industry or something in the nineties. Found this whole box in his garage this summer when i was cleaning, after his funeral. All cassettes of bands that were playing the strip around that time. His husband and their partner just let me have it." He said as rambled before pointing up at the sky, "Uncle G you're a legend!" Causing several of the other late night diner's to look at your table once again.

Flynn's attention turned from the conversation to her phone and she suddenly needed to be excused. "I'll call you later." She said to Gabby before she disappeared for the night. "That was weird." Connor commented, everyone looking around in agreement.

"Danny probably scared her off." Luke said as he bite into a nacho. "Danny scares me on a good day." Jai said nonchalantly, Danny flipped off Jai.

"She probably forgot about her curfew." Hanna suggested as she threw an ice cube at Jai. "Speaking of curfews, whose riding with who?" You asked as you thanked your waiter for bringing the checks to the table.

"I gotta drop the car off to my mom for the night, so i can't drop anyone off. I'm sorry." Gabby said as you all shrugged it off telling her that it wasn't a big deal.

"I can take anyone who lives around my house and the school." Danny said as he pulled his wallet out. "I'll take anyone who lives around the pier or if you're coming over." You said leaning onto the table. "That leaves anyone who lives by me and like farthest is the park." Kora said shrugging on her jacket.

"Ok, so Danny has Jai and Hanna. Kora has Nick and Taylor. I have Connor and Luke." You recapped as you grabbed the money on the table and brought it hostess at the front of the restaurant, before returning to the table. "Lets rock and roll, homies!"

1 week later,

"Hey!" Julie exclaimed as she sat down at the table you were sitting at with your friends. You all exclaimed various greetings. "You're sleep paralysis paradise, right?" She asked with a smile that you were sure was formed with starlight.

"Yeah but usually people don't refer to us as our band name twenty four seven." you laughed slightly, "I'm Y/n, the singer and keyboardist. This is Kora, our bassist. Danny, "guitar god" as he prefers to be called and Taylor our drummer." You said as your friends threw up various hand signals. Kora a small wave, Danny a peace sign and Taylor a two finger salute.

"I'm Julie and my phantoms are not here at the moment." Your face contorted. "That's not them over there." You said as you pointed to the three in the far corner of the cafeteria.

Julies face faltered, "You can see them?"

#are you afraid of the dark #julie and the phantoms #ayaotd/jatp #connor stevens #luke mccoy #jai malyas #hanna romero #gabby lewis #julie molina #flynn nolastname #nick nolastname #luke patterson imagine #reggie peters #alex mercer #jatp imagine #julie and the phantoms imagine #ayaotd imagine #are you afraid of the dark imagine

[bowieandqueen11]

You and Me / Will Graham Imagine

Request: hi hi! if you have the time i was wondering if you could write a fluffy fic of reader (gender neutral) comforting will graham after a nightmare <3 

This is really sweet! It’s always nice to see the Will Graham asks pop up! <3

Comments and reblogs are much appreciated!

Being a special agent, working for the infamous Behavioral Analysis Unit was never going to be an easy job. Or one that would ever let you off the clock. 

That’s how you found yourself slouched over one your boyfriend’s chairs, a slice of pizza in one hand, and another half holding a case file, and half trying to scratch the ear of the mountain of dogs laying and stomping over your legs. Trying to wiggle your shoe out from underneath one of the puffy dog beds that lies, warming you up by the stone arch fire, you decide to abandon it to poor Winston. He only glances up at you with a sleepy sigh, twitching his ear as you stand up and jump past the litter of dogs to head towards the kitchen.

‘If I have to read another word tonight, I think I’m going to lose my mind.’

You stop by the window, your foot sliding to a stop on the crimson rug and your forehead thumping onto the wooden frame. Shivering, you watch the silvery flakes drift down onto the porch past the net curtains, glittering under the peaking moonlight. You were glad to be inside, in the heat of this little fairytale home, as the thick blanket of snow settled by the stream outside. The ghostly wind broke your contemplation, swaying the walnut trees and reminding you that you had stuffed a tin of hot chocolate underneath Will’s sink for cold nights like these.

Nights, where you and Will should have been curled up together with the dogs, spending the midnight hours doing nothing but revelling in each other’s warmth and talking about everything and nothing.

Running a hand over your head, you head into the kitchen to make two cups of hot cocoa, making a mental note to curse Jack Crawford tomorrow for not giving Will a break. You had told him. You had warned him. Keeping Will going on this track was going to burn him up from the inside out. You had been there through it all - you had seen the way he retreated into himself during his lecturing days, the way he would come home and it would take you at least an hour of sitting by his side and rubbing your thumb over his knuckles until you could get him to at least look you in the eyes.

The nightmares were more frequent now, which was the worst thing. Ever since the Minnesota Shrike case, you found yourself sleeping over at Will’s more frequently, having to try and shake him up and out of his cold sweat. Some nights were worse than others - the nights when he could barely open his eyes he was shaking so badly. The nights when he could barely look at you, choosing instead to hunch over himself, awkward and anxious still, unable to tell you how afraid he was of losing himself and hurting you. The stiffness in his shoulders on the nights you would have to lead him back in from his sleepwalking escapade out onto the roof, the barking of the dogs the only noise as he covers his face with his hand and digs into the skin of his forehead, unable to remember who he was.

It was rough, but you were always glad to be there to support him, and although he had a rough time expressing himself, you always knew he was pleased you were with him too. Picking up the mugs, you try to juggle them as you wander back into the living room with a smile. You made things easier for him, more manageable, more in control. That’s why tonight, you were surprised to see that your boyfriend had fallen asleep already.

‘Will, shall we give up for the night? There’s a super exciting documentary about fly fishing I recorded for us to watch, and I can reheat the leftover pizza from yesterday if you’re still hungry. I think, after the mess of a day we’ve had, we deserve it.... Will?’

Turning your head round, your eyebrows furrow as Will twitches from his seat by the bookshelf, his fingernails scraping over the manchettes. It only took a second, but it was all you needed to realise that part of the whistling wind, was instead, the heavy breathing coming out of Will’s heaving mouth, the sweat glistening on his forehead.

‘Y/n... no... I ca- I can’t-’

He begins to murmur to himself, harsh syllables that hardly escape his lips before his head starts shaking again and his features twist into one of unimaginable pain. Dumping the cups on the table, it took you only a moment to jump past the table and land, on your knees, by his side.

‘Will, come on love, it’s just another dream. Just another dream, that’s all. I’m right here.’

You place one hand firmly on his shoulder - familiarly, comfortably, but harsh enough that you can feel Will’s muscles flex against your touch in retaliation. The other comes up to cup his cheek, pointer finger splaying just to the left of his nose, palm itching against his stubble as you turn his face to look at you.

‘Come on, Will, wake up. I’m right here - you’re not hurting me. It’s alright, you’re safe. I’m safe. It’s just you and me.’

You finish your muttering by leaning forward and pressing a kiss against his slightly chapped lips. For a brief moment, you can feel his whole body shake against your chest, but then you can feel his eyelashes slightly brush against your skin as they blink quickly open. He pulled slightly away - only slightly - your foreheads resting against each other, as his breath begins to slow against your cheek. You dance your hand up the side of his face, until your fingers brush the sweat drenched hair away from his forehead.

‘Good morning’, he manages to shake out, his cheeks still twitching but he tries to give you a rough smile.

You chuckle, reaching up to press a kiss against his forehead.

‘More like good evening, actually. It’s still today, love.’

He blushes red as you take his hand and pull him up, leaning one arm around your waist. 

‘I must look quite a state. Frightful, in fact’, he starts, glancing down at his crumpled, wet dress shirt and loose, askew tie.

‘Well, I’ve seen you look worse.’

‘Hmm, what’s in the cups?’

‘Hot chocolate. I did have a nice evening planned, but someone had to go and fall asleep and ruin it’, you joke poking him in the chest and making him duck his head, his forehead burning by this point.

‘Sorry.’

You only tug his hand in response.

‘Come on, you’re burning up.’

Dragging him by your side, you each fumble up a cup as you head towards the front door, a flood of fur rushing out onto the porch in front of you.

Pushing him down onto the bench, you curl up into the tired man, your head resting against his cheek, smushing it slightly.

‘I think if we stay out here for long, we’ll freeze.’

‘Just drink your cocoa, Will Graham.’

He chuckles as he wraps his arm around your shoulder, taking a sip with the edge of his lips. The two of you, for a moment in time, are one. Two souls bound together, lost in the breeze that caresses your faces, and the snowflakes that dance to the ground in the surrounding landscape. The wood starts to become cold under Will’s trousers, and so he shuffles closer to you a little, both of his arms enveloping you, comforting and warm.

‘Do you think we can just take the day off tomorrow?’

‘If you want to face the wrath of Jack, then that’s your call.’

Your gaze slid to the side as he pulled you tighter against his chest. His nose tickled your ear as you gasped slightly at the intensity of his grip. Feeling his lips softly graze your neck, gently, like the tickle of a feather, almost not at all, you smile as you lift your chin to place it against his shoulder.

‘For you, I’ll do it.’

The edges of his lips twitch as he glances down at you, his gaze steady and intense, for the first time in a while. 

‘I love you’, he whispers, like a confession into the swirling frost, like a secret truth that belongs only to the two of you. ‘I love you, Y/n, so much it terrifies me.’

#hannibal #hannibal imagine #will graham #Will Graham imagine #Will Graham x reader #Will Graham fluff #will hannibal #will hannibal imagine #Hugh Dancy #Hugh Dancy imagine #hannibal fanfic #hannibal fanfiction

[soft-for-them]

the bau bet ♡ spencer reid x reader

anon: hi friend ( i hope is okay i call you friend bc i call everyone friend ) i would like to request something for Spencer from Criminal Minds with a reader who has plps? you already wrote about it and did so well so i'd love to read more on that. maybe something wholesome where Spencer and the reader live together (can be romantic or platonic i really don't mind either) and it's just domestic fluffiness with the little hindrances of the disability? I would love that! thank youuuu

the reader is gender neutral and has plp but apart from that any person can read this,

sorry this request is a bit late! not proof read.

There was a bet going on within the BAU to do with their fellow behavioral analysis Spencer Reid and his long time friend and room mate (y/n) (l/n).

It was a simple bet that Derek Morgan and Penelope Garcia had started way back in the early days when Gideon and Elle were still around. Everyone knew that (y/n) and Spencer would eventually end up together, people were just betting on when they would realise there love for each other.

Even with members of the team leaving and new members arriving, everyone joined in on the bet. Even Hotch had money on it.

Of course Spencer knew of the bet. 

However, he couldn’t fathom the idea of him and his best friend romantically together. Maybe it was because Spencer had been friends with them for so many years or maybe it was because he was already in love with them without even realising it.

Regardless of what it was, someone was going to win the bet and a lot of money was going to be won.

.

.

You lie across the sofa, your right leg numb, on the tv is a repeat of a show you like. Your neck aches as you watch the flashing screen.

The flicker of the screen covers your face in pale light in the darkening room. The sun is setting and your work clothes are still on,

The click of the front door to your shared flat catches your attention, your roommate and longtime friend Spencer Reid walking through. 

‘(Y/n)? Are you ok?’ Spencer calls as he neatly arranges both yours and his shoes in row, he flicks on the main light of the flat.

‘Just my leg.’ you lift your arm up, waving above the sofa for Spencer to see.

Place his belongings down on a side table he walks over to you to sit on the sofa. You shift your body upwards, sitting up, he sits down close to you.

‘Having fun watching Sabrina the teenage witch?’

‘I was watching (show) but now it’s just Sabrina, I don’t mind it though.’ you voice is hoarse and tired sounding.

Spencer can tell straight away that something has happened at work.

‘What’s happened?’ He makes you look at him as he asks.

You mutter something which Spencer doesn’t hear the first time around.

‘Pardon, can you repeat that?’ he has such a kind and caring look on his face which just makes you speak up.

‘I feel over at work in front of everyone.’ your face is all scrunched up like an upset child, ‘And the new guy laughed at me.’

You start babbling about how no one had informed the new guy of your plp and how he thought it was really funny when you, as he put it, ‘comically tripped over.’

Spencer through out the rant comforts you with kind words. As you talk the feeling comes back into your leg. You stop talking and look at the handsome man in front of you,

‘Do you want a hug?’ Spencer asks knowing that you will gladly take one.

You wrap your arms around the thin man, his head on top of yours. His arms go around you and you can feel his finger ghosting over your back in comforting circles.

He talks as you’re being hugged, you can feel the vibrations of his speech as your face nestles into his neck.

There is something there between you two as you hug but as soon as you leave the hug the different feeling will disappear. 

The hug is short but it give you a good dose of serotonin.

‘Do you want me to cook tonight?’ Spencer asks despite it being your night to cook for the two of you, ‘You go and run yourself a bath.’

‘You sure?’ you ask as you get up and stretch.

‘I’m sure!’ he gives his big smile that makes you automatically smile.

Both of you leave each other's presents, Spencer locating to the kitchen and you to the bathroom, the fluttery feelings of butterflies in your stomach. 

.

.

The night before’s meal made by Spencer had filled you up making sleep much easier.

However, there was an odd feeling throughout the dinner. Something more intimate and dare say it, romantic.

A simple pasta dish paired with the buzzing of Sabrina the teenage witch in the background created a near perfect atmosphere that made both of you all gooey inside.

But now it’s the morning and you’re juggling dressing trying to keep on time.

Spencer waits by the door, he hasn’t put on his shoes yet, but he’s ready to go. 

He laughs as he sees you hobble out the bathroom frantically tucking in your work shirt into your trousers.

‘Spencer do you know where my keys are?’ you search for the allusive object with no luck.

‘In your bag.’ Spencer calmly says.

‘But I don’t have my bag!’ you hands go in your hair in frustration, you truly did over sleep and secretly Spencer did let you sleep in.

‘Here-’ Spencer walks over and gives you your over the shoulder bag, ‘I packed it for you whilst you dressed.’

A small ‘thanks’ comes from your lips as you take the bag from his hands, your fingers brush over hims ever so slightly.

‘We’re not going to be late.’ he says as you both go to put on your shoes.

‘You better be right Doctor Reid!’ you say in a funny voice as you fish out your keys to unlock the front door.

.

.

‘Spencer come on!’ you call walking in front of said man.

Both of you are walking to catch the train. It’s a thing you do most days when Spencer is off on a case.

You would get on the same train, Spencer would then walk you to your place of work and then hop on the next train to the BAU.

It was the ordinary and it always helps to have a person around when one of your limbs become numb.

You bob up and down at the bottom of the stairs leading down to the train station. You’re both trying to beat the morning rush and get a seat for yourself.

‘I’m going as fast my body can take me with out tripping up (y/n).’ Spencer calls as he descends the steps.

When he gets down to you he nudges his shoulder to yours, a small gesture that you two do to one another.

But lately Spencer has been having the urge to hold your hand. You two always stand so close and the weather has been getting colder. 

However, Spencer erases the feelings by putting a pair of gloves on.

You stand side by side on the platform waiting for your train.

‘Wait at at work today, I want to walk with you home tonight.’

‘But what if I have a case?’

‘Then you’ll text me like you normally do!’

‘Oh ok.’ His voice is interrupted but the bellowing of the train stopping.

The doors open and people flood out, he wait and allows you to get on first.

You sit down on a seat, Spencer stands guard next you ready to defend you from the idiots on the train who think you’re undeserving of said seat.

.

.

You hold you visitor pass as you walk through the BAU, familiar face greet you as the daylight begins to fade.

You’ve been thinking about it all day, it’s been distracting you from your work.

The sudden realisation of how much you like like Spencer Reid. 

It hit you like a tone of bricks whilst your boss was having a group meeting with everyone. 

Somehow something had reminded of your dear friend and that had led you to realise that you think of him too much. Thus it dawning on you that you might really like him as more than a friend.

All day you have been like a zombie but rather thinking about eating brains yo only been thinking about Spencer. And now you normally happy walk has turned into one of shame, for now you need to hide your feelings from a floor of behavioral analysis.

‘Fuck.’ you mutter as an agents holds the door open for you, they give you an odd look but you quickly say your thank yous.

You thoughts are simple; one hand you can tell Spencer you discovered feelings and ‘mess everything up’ or you can try and hind everything from him and then ‘mess everything up’ that way.

You swear some more under your breath but as soon as you entre the bullpen containing Spencer and his fellow agents you turn from sweary to smiley.

The kind of forced smile combined with Spencer looking at you with a horrified look quietens the room.

JJ and Hotch stop talking even Rossi pokes his head out of his office.

‘H-hi (y/n) you’re a bit early.’ Spencer stammers.

‘Well you look ready.’ you point to his bag over his shoulder.

Spencer stands as you get closer to him.

Both of you want the same thing, you both want walk out together holding hands.

‘I’m going to cook tonight, if that’s ok with you?’ you ask, Spencer’s hands getting closer to yours.

You look down at his hand so close to yours and you take the leap of faith and grab it. 

His fingers automatically intertwine with yours, you squeeze it with a degree of happiness. 

It’s a small gesture but it conveys your feelings.

‘Does this mean someone is going to win the bet?’ you ask with a smile.

‘You know about that?’ Spencer askes.

‘I assumed that there was one with how nosey all your friends are.’

A simple ‘oh’ comes from Spencer’s mouth as you two walk out the doors hand in hand.

‘By the way how was your work day?’

‘Finished that big assignment and only with one numb limb.’

Your voices trail off as the rest of the BAU gather around.

‘Who won the bet!’ Garcia Emily asks as Garcia searches through her laptop records.

‘Let me see- Ah- found it-’ Garcia brings up the results, ‘Damn it Gideon won!’

Grones of annoyance ring out.

.

.

.

hope this is ok and i also hope that i did an ok job and portraying plp even if it isn't the main thing.

to the people who have no clue what plp here’s how the person who requested the derek morgan x reader with plp said:

‘Basically people with PLP experience loss of muscle strength in the legs and arms at random times, usually one limb at a time. It may be triggered through sudden scares but can also happen without trigger. The limb goes numb and the person can’t use it for a random timespan, which can differ from around 10 minutes to several hours. There’s no known reason yet; doctors assume it’s psychosomatic like a tinnitus.’

this is gender neutral but if there’s any gendered language please message me and i’ll fix it.

also i like gideon and i needed to mention him and elle!

#spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid & reader #x female reader #x male read #x nonbinary reader #x petite reader #x tall reader #x plus size reader #x chubby reader #plp #criminal minds #criminal minds x reader

[a3hihi]

acts of service

one shot

omi fushimi/reader

word count: 1559

reposted on AO3!

Summary: Omi has this whole dinner planned: he’s got the food, the DVD, the timing. Then he starts feeling too warm.Omi gets a fever and you attempt to take care of him!

As you open your door, Omi looks like he’s about to fall over. He wears a simple jacket and pants, arms full of ingredients and legs swaying a bit. He’s a tad paler than usual, but you can’t tell for sure. Just after he knocked on your door, you had finished cramming a week’s worth of projects, quickly shuffling papers away and keeping your pencils before meeting him. You assume he’d been practicing for his play as well, all the while juggling work and school. “Hey.” He gives you a weak smile. “Hi. You okay?” you ask, wrapping your arms around him. Given the circumstances, that was more to stop him from wobbling than to hug him. “I’m fine.” He kisses the top of your head. That leads you to squawk in surprise, to his amusement.  Still hugging, the both of you continue a weird waddle into your dorm. He’s cold, fresh from walking through the grocery store. “I got the eggs.” He moves an arm to brightly present an egg carton. “Give me a few minutes and we’ll have an omelette ready.”

You nod, but you see his arm waver from carrying a simple carton. “Ah, I can carry it.” You reach up and take it to the kitchen, Omi following behind you. “Are you sure? I don’t want you to have a hard time. Besides, I’m the cook tonight.” Ever since Omi started coming over, the kitchen’s been stocked with ingredients for him. You were used to instant noodles and takeout, but after a long conversation, you agreed to let him teach you how to cook more decent meals. 

Omi walks over to the hooks on your wall, grabbing an apron with his name on it. He chuckles as you tie it behind his back. You’d have to ask him how to sew patches into it sometime. He quickly approaches your counter, takes a bowl, and cracks the egg yolks into it. You wait for him to continue, but he seems to be standing motionless. You peer up at him and you see his eyes flutter. “Is something wrong?”

Omi blinks back into reality. “Sorry. I just need to focus more.” He grabs a fork, but you catch his wrist before he starts whisking, earning you an “ah” from him. “Wait a second, please,” brushing the back of your hand on his forehead. “Your forehead’s hot.” “That it is,” he says, not moving from his spot in the kitchen. “So,” you continue, gently placing the fork down, “you should rest.” “I could whip this up real quick. I don’t want to waste any food, you know?” “Omi, I’m very sure you have a fever right now. Please stop?” You see him loosen up as he nods. There’s a weird feeling of guilt on him while he takes the apron off. “I hope this doesn't get me in the hospital,” he mumbles, scratching the back of his head. “Too expensive.” “Hey now, no one said anything about the hospital.” You touch his arm. Knowing him, he’d only want to see a doctor if it was absolutely necessary. Had you gotten at least a scrape, though, he’d rush you to the clinic right away. That was one of the things you’d learned early about Omi, and you were willing to go through that as much as possible. You cup his cheek. “And even if you needed to go, I’d come with you.” He sighs, finally resigning from the food. “If you say so.”

After you lead him to your bed, which wasn’t too far away given the size of your dorm, you rush to the bathroom for a towel. Wringing a wet towel between your hands, you run back to find Omi sitting at your bed’s corner, tapping his leg on the floor. You take a seat to him. “Um. Scooch over, will you?” “Oh, of course.” He moves closer to the edge of the bed, patting the middle so you could reach the pillows. You pat the middle as well, but he doesn’t budge aside from laying his legs on the mattress, sitting up straight like a Lego. “Omi, you’re supposed to be the one resting today.” He grimaces at that. “No, no, I’m fine just staying here.” He picks at his nails. “I should at least make you a snack,” he says, getting up before you lightly push him back down.

Had you known Omi for a short time, you wouldn’t expect him to pout, especially when you consider his first impression for most people. But his expression at the moment was unbelievably close to sulking. “Please, you’ve been waiting for so long.” He takes your hand. “How was your day?" “Well, my thesis-- Hey, don’t try and change the topic! You need to stay here and relax!” “I didn’t mean to change the topic.” He frowns. You sigh. “You’re sick, Omi.” You get up and head to the kitchen. “I’m going to make tea and you can’t stop me,” you call out. “Stay put for me?” You take his silence as permission and get to work.

"Also, can we deliver something for dinner?" You hear a long sigh before him saying "Yep!"

You fish out the calming tea-- chamomile, you remember him mentioning-- and briskly mix it in a mug he’d bought for you. Man, you really should practice this when he’s not around. It’d be embarrassing to screw this up while he’s sick. You walk back to your room and hand him the tea. It’s warm in his hands, and you see his cheeks flush as he takes a sip.

His eyes widen and you panic. “Did I screw it up--” “You didn’t make tea for yourself?” You must look pretty frazzled with the way he’s holding your arm, like he’s trying to calm you down. That wasn’t the goal right now, and it was shaking you up further. "I just really wanted to help you, I guess. I’m sorry.”

He laughs quietly. “You don’t have to apologize.” He holds your wrist softly, and you wonder what happened to his attitude a moment ago. “We can share it.” He shows you the cup, half full, before saying “No, nevermind, it’s probably not a good idea.” You both sit in silence before you snort and take the cup, setting it on the desk by your bed. You take a blanket and pat it onto his lap.

“How’d you even get sick in the first place?” you say, trying not to sound nagging. You doubt that he’d think that, though. Omi adjusts the blanket on him. “Erm,” he says wisely, “I haven’t been getting the most sleep lately.” “And how much is that?”

Omi pretends to look around the room. He purses his lips. “Mmmmmm four a night.” “Hours?” you ask. He gives you a wry smile. “Omi??”

He raises his arms like he’s under arrest. “Does it help if I was awake for school?” “No?” “Also, I was meal prepping for the theater?” “No!” He shrugs in defeat. “I promise I won’t be sick for long. I can cook dinner in a while like always, no sweat.” “It’s not about the cooking,” you grumble. “You’ll get worse for wear at a pace like this. You need to take better care of yourself, Omi.” You make a point by poking his chest. He plays along and plops his back down on the mattress. 

“Why do you keep me around?” He chuckles, rolling his eyes. You frown and lightly punch his arm. “Please don’t make jokes like that.” He snickers. “Alright, alright.” There’s a hint of gratitude to his words. Omi closes his eyes and finally lays his head down on the pillows. It’s relieving, seeing him this relaxed for once. You try storing this image in your head (for safekeeping) as you dab a fresh towel on his forehead.

“Thank you,” he breathes. Your cheeks warm. “You take care of everyone around here. It’s the least I can do.” As Omi opens his eyes to look at you, he smiles fully, and it scrunches up his cheeks. He takes your hand. “It means a lot.” While you don’t think he intends this, you now want to implode.

Omi gives your hand a gentle tug. “C’mere.” Welp, it was a good thing you both finished your assignments.

You move to the side and try to wriggle your way up to Omi’s eye level. You two joked about his height before, but you didn’t expect to take so long in moving up the mattress to meet him. It’s soft. Laying there, he smiles again, and his eyes resemble honey in the light. You’re starting to feel a bit woozy. It’s warm under the covers, especially with his fever, but not too stuffy. He wraps an arm around your waist to pull you closer. "This okay?” “Of course it’s okay, it’s you,” you murmur, letting your foreheads meet. Omi chuckles weakly, like it’s too good to be true, and you move his head to lay on your chest.

The blanket’s light and thin as you pull it over you both. “I’m not going anywhere,” you whisper. “I know.” “I’m staying.” You play with his hair, and it’s soft. You’re about to drift to sleep, and he’s on the same page. Here, nursing an awful headache, Omi feels safe. “I’m happy.”

#a3! fanfic #omi fushimi x reader #omi fushimi #fushimi omi #a3! omi #hihiwrites #MADE MY OWN OMI FOOD LETS GO #quiche is ready

[amelialincoln]

Could you please do a cute family trip to the beach like a babymoon but with scout or something like that?

Hotel California 

“Give it to me.” Link stuck an outstretched palm into her sight of vision. Amelia pulled back as he tried to snatch the phone as a result of not receiving a reply.

“It’s Tom, this patient is critical. He asked for advice.” Amelia leaned away from her frustrated husband.

“Okay, and I’m sure Tom is completely capable of handling it on his own.” Link finally grabbed the phone from her hands, glancing at their conversation. “You’re unbelievable. He didn’t even text you, you were just being controlling and asking for updates.”

“It’s my patient! He should be sending me scans and keeping me informed.”

“Uh no...he should be doing the opposite of that because that’s what I asked him to do.” Link rolled his eyes and leaned back on the beach lounger. “Let it go, Amelia.” She sighed, looking out onto the beach and fixating on Scout who was building a sandcastle a couple meters away.

“He should have sun--”

“I’ve applied it twice in the time that you’ve been obsessing over your phone,” Link teased. “I thought this babymoon was going to destress you but maybe we just should’ve stayed home.” Amelia grinned at him as he beckoned for her to join him on his chair. She interlaced her fingers around the bottom of her bump and slowly moved to sit in his lap. “Man, you’re huge.” Link faked a struggle as she laid back on his chest.

“Shut up,” she laughed. “You're giving your seven month pregnant wife a little too much grief today.”

“Almost eight,” he ran a couple of kisses along her neck as clipped the salty curls out of her face that were getting tangled in the warm breeze. “Did you take your BP this morning?”

“Link,” Amelia groaned. “Can we just relax about everything for a bit?”

“You’re the one checking your phone constantly. The whole reason we’re taking time off from work is to try and get it down.”

“Don’t worry, Carina has made that very clear.” Amelia awkwardly crossed her arms over her swollen stomach and pouted. “It’s weird, I never had a single blood pressure issue with Scout.”

“Probably because you weren’t chasing around a two year old while working full time at the same time as growing a baby.”

“I don’t want to have the conversation about working less again. Mer works full time and she has three kids.”

“Fine,” Link sighed, running a hand through his shaggy hair. “I just want you both to be healthy.” He wrapped his arms around her abdomen, providing a bit of relief by pulling up a bit. “I don’t know how you carry this around all day,” he laughed.

“I haven’t moved from this seat in the last three days,” she leant her head back to meet his eyes. Link didn’t have Amelia’s naturally tanned skin and had gotten quite the sunburn on the first day. It had gotten better but his cheeks were still tainted crimson. Link grinned as her deep, blue eyes stared up at him and pressed a lingering kiss to her swollen lips. 

“Maybe we should move to California. I wouldn’t mind seeing you in a bikini all day.”

“Been there done that,” she laughed. “Addie would probably melt if we told her that she could actually see her godson on the daily.” 

“Jake’s a nice guy. I wouldn’t mind having them around often,” Link mused, glancing at Scout and giving him a wave.

“Dadda! I made a hospital in the sand!” Scout hollered. “For you and Mommy!”

“Good job, bud!” Link shouted back, shaking his head with amusement. “That boy is your son through and through.” Amelia grinned as she glanced at Scout, who was resembling her brother more and more every day.

“Does it bother you?” She teased.

“Not at all. The next one’s gonna be all me.” He soothed a couple of kicks that were beginning to flutter over her bladder.

“I need to get up and walk around or she’s going to get restless,” Amelia sighed, placing a hand over his. “This one is going to be hyperactive for sure.” Link ginned, nodding and picked up the newspaper beside him as Amelia put on a straw hat and sunglasses and strolled over to their son.

“Hi Mama,” Scout babbled, handing her a shell. “I finded this for you.”

“Thanks, baby,” Amelia smiled, opening her palm towards him. “We can add it to the collection.” Scout had insisted on giving Amelia almost every shell he’d found on the beach. The “collection” consisted of almost a hundred pieces of shells, barnacles and sea glass at this point. “Can we go see auntie Addie again tonight?” Scout asked absentmindedly, digging a hole with his pudgy hands.

“No bud, we’re going to visit Charlotte and Cooper this evening. We’ll see your auntie tomorrow though.” Scout let out a large sigh but nodded.

“Okay.”

                                                         [][][]

“Aw, look at ya!” Charlotte’s outstretched arms greeted the family from the doorway. “Come here.” She pulled Amelia into a gentle hug before kneeling down to Scout’s height and ruffling his dark brown curls. “Hey, mister. Want a popsicle?”

“Charlotte, you’ll ruin his dinner,” Amelia groaned but Scout was already squealing happily as Georgia led him into the kitchen.

“Look at you acting all motherly. I remember you basically smuggling Mason candy every time he came to the practice.”

“Is he here tonight?” Amelia asked.

“Nope, he went with Coop on the trip. They feel bad about not being able to see ya but we had no idea you were even coming.” 

“Our bad. It was all very last minute,” Link replied, breathlessly leaning over to give Charlotte an awkward hug while juggling a couple platters of appetizers.

“I wanted to help him bring stuff in.” Amelia rolled her eyes. “Apparently, I’m too fragile.”

“Fragile and Amelia Shepherd aren’t two words I would put together in a sentence often,” Charlotte joked, welcoming the couple into the entryway. “Addison mentioned that y’all were having a bit of a struggle with this pregnancy.”

“Oh, of course she did,” Amelia eyed Link with exasperation. “I’m fine, everyone’s been making such a big deal.” She grabbed one of the plates from Link’s hands spitefully and practically marched into the kitchen. 

“Well, isn’t she just a ball of delight,” Charlotte chuckled. “Come on in, Link. It’s nice to see you.”

                                                         [][][]

Saying their goodbyes was hard as always. Amelia would do anything to try and convince Charlotte to come work at Grey Sloan and Charlotte would do anything to try and get Amelia to move back to California. Finally Scout’s grumpiness, as a result of his bedtime passing, meant that the couple had to leave and Amelia’s poor attempt to hold back tears failed as they finally got into the car.

“Hormones.” Both Link and Amelia said in sync as they met each other's gaze. Amelia craned her neck to peer back at Scout who was fast asleep in his carseat, soft snores coming from his mouth. They pulled into their hotel as the sun disappeared from the horizon. Amelia went to pull Scout out of his carseat out of habit before Link tugged her aside and picked their sleeping son up into his own arms.

“You got the hotel key?” He asked.

“Yeah,” she replied with a yawn.

“Tired, babe?” Link turned to glance back at his wife, who was waddling slowly behind him and tried to hide his amusement. Amelia nodded, catching up to him as Link slowed down. “Sounds like it's bedtime for everyone.”

“Apparently not,” Amelia groaned, rubbing the underside of her belly as the familiar flutters started back up again, receiving a sympathetic look from Link as she unlocked their hotel room. Link placed Scout carefully on the hotel’s king sized bed without a sound and began to fish through their suitcase. “His pjs are in my bag. I wasn’t sure if we were going to put him down at Charlotte’s or not.” She took off the heels that she heavily regretted wearing and rubbed her swollen feet.

“Probably would’ve been smart. Poor guy is exhausted.”

“We can sleep in. Flight’s not until one,” Amelia responded softly, brushing her son’s hair out of his face. Scout didn't even flinch, dead asleep.

“She still kicking?”

“Not as much anymore.” Amelia ghosted a hand over her abdomen. “Had me worried for a sec.”

“Don’t jinx it.” Link grinned, finally finding Scout’s pjs in Amelia’s bag and throwing them at her.

“No kidding.” She pulled their son’s popsicle covered t-shirt off and motioned for Link to run it under water in the sink before taking off the rest. Link came to sit beside her as she finished buttoning up Scout’s dinosaur onesie and rubbed her back gently.

“Can I take your BP now?”

“Link, I just want to go to bed,” Amelia sighed, leaning into his touch and closing her eyes.

“I know, babe. It’ll just take a second.” He grabbed the portable monitor from his suitcase and secured the strap around her arm. Link watched the screen intently as the strap inflated and began to deflate before the final number came up on the screen. “One twenty-nine over eighty.” He bit his nail, glancing up at her. “I mean it’s a bit better.” Amelia looked away, shaking her arm out of the band and trudged into the bathroom. “Amelia,” Link sighed, following her and waiting as she splashed water on her face before picking up her toothbrush.

“One twenty-nine over eighty is crap,” she mumbled, through a mouthful of toothpaste. “This whole thing is stupid. The more that people freak me out about numbers and bad outcome statistics and birth plans the more I get stressed.”

“Who’s talking to you about bad outcome statistics?” Link demanded with a hint of anger in his usually calm voice.

“Addie.” Amelia spat in the sink. “She’s worried about placental abruption. She thinks our best bet is C-section.”

“Okay, well Addie is not our doctor. Carina said that as long as we monitor you closely, a natural birth is completely safe.” Amelia shrugged, turning back into their bedroom. “I thought that’s what you wanted?”

“I want our baby to be safe,” Amelia affirmed. “I think Addie should do it.”

“Carina is perfectly capable of delivering. She’s been through this with us the entire time. She knows your condition better than anyone and Scout turned out okay,” Link pressed, watching Amelia trace a protective hand along her bump absentmindedly. She glanced up at him, seeming to give into exhaustion.

“Can we talk about this tomorrow?” She begged.

“Yeah.” Link nodded, giving in to his tired wife. “Of course we can. Let’s get you to bed.” He unbuttoned her dark blue dress that complimented her eyes perfectly and unclasped her bra before handing her one of his oversized t-shirts.

“My boobs are huge,” she complained, crawling into bed.

“I know. You were in a swimsuit with me all day,” he teased, undressing until he was in his boxers and slipping into bed beside her. “Hey,” he chuckled, as he received a pathetic slap from a pillow. “I wasn’t complaining.”

“My pregnancy with Scout was so easy.” She shook her head, trying to think back to if her ankles were the size of grapefruits back then.

“You were probably just distracted by all the drama,” Link joked. “I remember some good complaints. The braxton hicks were bad.”

“I don’t have anything to compare those to yet,” Amelia nuzzled her head into Scout’s who was lying fast asleep in between the couple and yawned.

“Go to sleep,” Link’s hand found her hair and he ran his fingers along her scalp gently. “My babies all need rest.” Amelia nodded, slowly nodding off to the soothing effect of Link’s fingertips and the crashing of the waves from outside their hotel room.

#amelink #amelia shepherd #atticus link #atticus lincoln #amelink fanfic #amelink fanfiction #greys anatomy

[liloelsagranger]

Night shift - Chapter 2 (Rocketshipping)

Chapter 2:

The whip already raised for use, Jessiebelle reared up in front of James, who was cowering on the floor all intimidated. “Where have you been? Do you realize how worried I was?” She swung the whip and gave James a blow. James cried out in pain, beads of sweat forming on his forehead. He knew that this little excursion into freedom would have consequences. Today Jessiebelle carried out the punishment with her favourite tool and throttled her fiancé without batting an eye.

“You have to be chastised, otherwise you might get ideas and leave me, and we both don’t want that, right James?”

The young man was trembling with pain. He grabbed his arm with the gaping wound. Sometimes he wanted to die, sometimes he wanted to leave this world, thoughts that had plagued him since he was a child. But the urge to be free and to be able to live his own life had prevented him from doing anything stupid until then and thinking of the waitress Jessie gave him new hope. Another lash!

“Please, Jessiebelle, stop!” he pleaded. “I’ve learned my lesson, I’ll never sneak away again, but please, have mercy!” Tears streamed down his face. Jessiebelle knelt beside her fiancé and gave him a small kiss on the cheek.

“This is the only way you will learn to be obedient and please your future wife. Sometimes you have to take harsher measures to open someone’s eyes to how much love is involved here. I love you, James,” she breathed into his ear. James cried bitter tears. If this is love, what does abysmal hatred feel like?

She left him crouching on the floor, alone in his pain and thick tears of despair. James was breathing heavily, he could barely move, but he had a mission and nothing and no one, certainly not Jessiebelle’s abuse would stop him. With the last of his strength, he tried to get to his feet, left the torture cellar and sank into his pillow, tired and exhausted. Tomorrow night he would see her again, Jessie. He imagined her smile, her sapphire blue eyes, and slipped into a fitful sleep.

The day dragged on endlessly. James counted the hours until he could sneak out through the service exit. When evening came, he waited for the right moment to dismiss the property. The servants covered him, they were on his side and could no longer watch this tragedy of a relationship.

“I hope the wound heals quickly, James. This tincture is a recipe from my grandmother, it is supposed to work wonders. Look how Jessiebelle is ruining you. You are a shadow of your former self.” Maria became quite emotional at the sight of those deep cuts. She had cared for James since he was a little boy every time his parents were traveling the world again. Seeing him like this, abused, beaten and mistreated, broke her heart. James put a hand on her shoulder. “Don’t worry about me, Maria. There’s someone worth living for,” he put on a weak smile. “And I really need to see her,” he pressed on the tourniquet and disappeared into the night.

As James walked along the Strip, he noticed the many carnies and performers. Some were painting portraits of the tourists; others were juggling ten balls at once. Others sang and played music and thrilled the guests with little show acts. It wasn’t long before James spotted Ash, who was holding the crowd spellbound with his Pikachu. He had many tricks up his sleeve and his little Pokémon was exceptionally well trained. They were a welded team and impressed the audience with a fantastic interlude consisting of various electric attacks that Pikachu was capable of. The crowd went wild, applauded and cheered. The coins were already jingling, the bills flowing. James wanted to do more than one good deed today and secretly put a hundred-Pokédollar bill in Ash’s hat. With it, he and his friends could enjoy a delicious dinner at the Diner. Ash could hardly believe his eyes when he fished the large bill out of his hat. His mouth was open, never had he received so much tip before. His gaze wandered through the audience and stuck to James.

“Hey! Aren’t you the guy who was at the Diner last night?” he asked him. James nodded his head. “Wow! What happened to your face? Where did you get that black eye?” Ash wondered. Should James tell him a tall tale or come clean with the truth? He didn’t know this boy at all and honestly, he didn’t want to hang his private life on the big bell.

“Work accident,” James replied. Ash nodded his understanding and stowed the big money in his pocket. He had no idea that his sponsor was standing right in front of him.

“Are you coming by today? Fridays are fish day, you’ll miss out on the tastiest salmon and sea food if you don’t show up later.”

That’s when it slipped out of James’ mouth. “Is Jessie having a night shift tonight?” It was so foolish, he felt pretty stupid. What kind of impression did this make on young Ash? The boy grinned maliciously.

“Jessie is at the Diner every single night, trying to keep herself and that place afloat, it takes hard work, but she’s up to any problem. So yeah, she’ll be there. Why?”

James blushed to the roots of his hair. “Oh nothing, she just served me very well.” James shrugged it off, but one question still burned on his mind. “This man, who works with her at the Diner. Is that her boyfriend?” Ash laughed out loud.

“You mean Eddy? He’s ace. All he wants are close and deep friendships, but nothing more. A hug is still in, but not a step further. You don’t have to worry about him but let me give you some good advice. Give Jessie some space and don’t press her. Life wasn’t always easy for her.” Ash packed up his paraphernalia and disappeared down a dark side street.

Late in the evening, James hardly dared to show up at the Diner. He was visibly nervous and couldn’t quite explain to himself why. Of course, he was happy to see Jessie again and to enjoy her first-class service, to feel her warm smile on his skin. On the other hand, he didn’t want her to see him maltreated like that. But when he entered the restaurant, the atmosphere was really tense. He discovered the large bouquet of flowers that he had secretly sent her, but Jessie seemed to be anything but pleased about it. He approached the waitress and overheard snippets of conversation that made him shudder. Turning to Eddy, she showed her best friend the small note James had enclosed. “He’s trying to suck up again, that lousy guy! Signs it with a friggin J. Like I wouldn’t guess it’s that assface of Jack’s who’s supposedly trying to make up with me. Throw this bouquet in the trash can right now, Eddy! Get it out of my sight!” she commanded. This action had gone completely wrong. But how could James have known that Jessie’s ex-boyfriend’s name started with a J, too? He put a hand on her shoulder and Jessie immediately winced. “Oh, it’s you. Sorry, I didn’t see anyone enter de Diner. I’ll come right over and take your order.” She heaved a deep sigh, gave way to her anger, and kicked the trash can with all her might.

James had probably hit the wrong nerve. Now he felt all the more pathetic. He wanted to please Jessie with the bouquet and show his gratitude for the nice service, but this action was a shot in the foot.

The waitress was beside herself when she reached James’ table. Her hair was mussed, she rummaged in her apron for her tiny notebook to write down the incoming orders and could not concentrate on her guests. Something had to have happened, and James was trying to figure out how to help Jessie. It was his turn to ask her about her day. “Miserable, James. Everything that could go wrong, did go wrong! But I don’t want to burden you with my stuff, I’m sure you have other things to worry about, judging by your eye…” James’ hand shot up. “I’ll get you cooling pads”, Jessie was overly attentive and James liked that feeling of being cared for by someone. There was no emotion in his relationship with Jessiebelle, except for pain and hatred. There could never be any question of love. It was an arranged engagement, and his parents didn’t care how much James suffered from Jessiebelle’s mannerisms. James wanted to offer Jessie all his attention in return, he wanted to listen to her, ask her how her day had been and talk for hours about trivial things that made him forget for a short time the strains of a botched relation.

“Here’s your coke and a turkey sandwich. Enjoy!” she forced herself to smile, but the day’s toil was gnawing away at her. James had to take the initiative. “Please, sit down for a minute. There aren’t many guests, you can certainly take a short break”, he offered her the seat next to him. She looked around, nodded wearily, and let herself sink into the chair. “What a day,” Jessie grabbed the menu card and fanned herself. He turned to her, eyeing her beautiful face, and straining to take in her every word. “Maybe you’ve already noticed, but the Strip is no place for rich snobs. Drunks and homeless people hang out here. Most of the guys who come to my Diner can’t even pay, so they charge me. Unfortunately, at the end of the month there is barely enough for the rent…and food must also be purchased. We work to the limit, staying open late to make a few Pokédollars, but it just doesn’t pay. Cassidy paid us a visit today. You remember? That broad from the newspaper? She threatened to kick us out, said she was going take the Diner away from us piece by piece. I just don’t know what to do, we barley make ends meet and we have far too few guests. What should I do? Oh, why am I talking to you, you have enough problems,” she buried her face in her hands and sighed. James stroked her cheek. He could have bought the Diner at the push of a button, but he didn’t want to be liked for his money, he wanted to be liked for who he was, the real him.

“Don’t hang your head, I could help you out after all. I don’t want a salary, a roof over my head and a warm sandwich in the evening is perfectly fine”, he smiled encouragingly at her. ‘And I can be closer to you,’ he didn’t say it out loud. She raised her head and looked at him questioningly. “What do you want in this shabby place? I’m sure you have better places to stay and besides, I really can’t pay you anything, we’re almost broke…”

James felt embarrassed. If only Jessie knew how much he wanted to escape the shackles of this terrible relationship. He wanted to be free, no matter what the cost. He wanted to have air to breathe, he wanted to laugh and have a zest for life, and that’s what he hoped to find at the Diner. With people who could show compassion, who responded to the needs of others, without batting an eye, were willing to offer a helping hand to even the most down-and-out creatures on the Strip. “You know, I have some idea about advertising and marketing. With just a piece of cardboard and my loud blabbermouth, I can double your customer base. Trust me,” he held out his hand to her and she took it. What tender, soft skin. So fragile. What have these hands had to endure? Cleaning, washing, cooking, tidying up. Such delicate hands must be protected, and James already knew how. He wished this handshake would never stop. For the first time he felt the perky waitress and it was overwhelming. A slight tug in his heart area told him where this journey would lead, and he hoped Jessie would be the destination. He had never felt so attracted to a woman before. She was different, she was a fighter that not even the worst news could wear out. For a brief moment, they looked at each other, smiling. No words were needed to describe the attraction between these two. They lost themselves in their gazes, even if it was only for a split second. Something blossomed between them, a tiny flame of hope, of forgetting and of new beginnings.

“I’m about to get out my violin and serve them a plate of spaghetti with meatballs,” Eddy murmured to one of their guests. “Yes, yes, our Jessie has sworn off love, but she seems to make a big and fat exception with James…” “Let there be fish for everyone! Let’s celebrate, my friends!” Ash rumbled into the Diner, followed by his two best mates, Misty and Brock. They immediately destroyed the intimate moment between Jessie and her new co-worker James. They both jumped up and tried to hide their blushes. Jessie cleared her throat. “Get to work, James! We don’t want to keep our guests waiting!”

#rocketshipping #pokemon #kojimusa #kojiro #musashi #rocketshipper #fanfiction #update #newchapter #nightshift #fanfic #story #lovestory #friendship #ace #Jessie #jessie team rocket #teamrocket #james #jamesteamrocket #lovely #read

[ilguna]

Lacuna - Chapters 1-4 (f.o)

summary: they say the odds tend to favor those who need them. well, they were wrong.

warnings; swearing.

wc; 14.8k

NOTES; I give reader a last name to fit the world.

– 

-- CHAPTER ONE --

The sound of screaming jolts you awake, enough to get your heart racing, and the grogginess of sleep is completely erased from your mind. Your eyes search the room quickly, looking for some sort of intruder, until you realize it’s just your sister again. Awake before the rest of the house, uncomfortable because of the silence, and probably starving.

You’re not sure how it’s possible to have the same exact reaction every single time she does it. But your brain thinks the same thing without fail, that someone has just broken into the house, and you’re about to get murdered. It’s ridiculous for a couple of reasons. The first, is that they would most likely not go for the back room first. And the second is that no one gets murdered here.

If anything, everyone huddles up together, protecting each other the best they can. To turn against someone else would be ridiculous. There is no reason for murder, when two of you get picked off every single year. If anything, you should be teaming up together to get it stopped. But that would cost thousands of lives, once again.

With a yawn, you push yourself off of the bed, dragging your feet when it comes to taking care of your sister. The second you’re in sight, she seems to calm down a little bit, holding her arms up to you. You scoop her up, holding her against your chest as you shush her slightly, bouncing your steps a little more as you head into the kitchen.

No one else is home except the two of you. Reed and Mox are most likely on a boat in the middle of the water, fishing to fill today’s quota. They’ll be saving a couple for you guys later tonight, and if they come back with enough, you’re sure they’ll send you to the square to trade for bread, and anything else you’ll need for today.

You can take a guess already. It’ll be soaps and shampoos, and if there isn’t a nice enough outfit that you can find in your mom’s old wardrobe, then you will have to go out to buy a hand-me-down from the square. Alyssum--your sister--will most likely fit in to her outfit from last year, she hasn’t grown much since then. Your brothers stopped growing a couple of years ago, and they fit into your fathers pants and shirts just fine.

As you set your sister up on the floor with a little bit of soft, fresh bread, you head to your parents room. Holding your breath when you open the door, because you only come in here once a year. This will be the one time you permit yourself to look over it again. You don't’ stay for very long though, you don’t want to kneel and cry on the floor like you did two years ago. You’re terrified of the never ending onslaught of tears again.

Reed doesn’t have the same reaction as you and Mox do when you come into the room. Reed has to be the strongest, in his mind. He doesn’t want to watch as his younger siblings collapse and crumble beneath him. He lets you guys use him as a platform, and only sometimes do you get to return the favor.

You open the creaky wooden door, looking over the dresses. A frown comes over your face when you realize that last years had hardly fit. And if last year was a bust, then that means that all the others won’t be big enough either, right?

Even though you’re sure that it’ll be impossible for you to fit into any of them again this year, you pick out the biggest one. It’s the closest to the end, one you haven’t worn before because it was too big beforehand. How the tables have turn.

After you lay it over your arm, you shut the wardrobe doors and leave the room. After, you quickly lay the dress on the desk in the corner of the room. Something your father used to sit at every night as he wrote up things for the peacekeepers to send. While you’re in your room, you open up the shutters to see that the sun is higher than you thought. You’d think it to be early morning, the sky not even turning blue yet.

Quickly, you place your black flats beneath the dress, and you also lay out Alyssum’s baby clothes. By the time you’ve returned to the living room, Alyssum is finished with the bread. She chews on her favorite stuffed animal, staring off into space. Not a single care in the world.

Just as you’re deciding to change Alyssum and maybe start up the first bath of many that will happen, the door swings open. Mox is the first to appear in the doorway, hauling the cooler in his arms. When he sees you standing by the couch, he offers you a tight smile, before heading straight for the fridge.

On the other hand, Reed has a basket of bread. You’ll take a bet right now, that Mox had lost whatever game they were playing on the boat, making him carry the heavy cooler, while Reed got the lightest thing in the world. Reed shuts the door behind with his foot, and then he shuffles over to the counter, clearing the cutting board and knife into the sink to make room, before he sets it down.

“I’ve fed her.” you tell him, “And I’ve picked out her outfit and everything. Do I have to run down to the square for anything? Soaps?”

Mox groans out a complaint as he struggles to lift the cooler again. Reed chuckles, smirking at him, before he turns to you, “No, I got them early this morning before anyone else could. Go ahead and take a bath first, I have to help him out.”

“Shut up.” Mox shoots at him, glaring.

You leave the room quietly, picking up the dress from the room, and whatever you’ll be wearing underneath. The bath is a blur as you scrub the salt scent from your skin. It isn’t until you’re nearly done, when you realize that the soap is going to definitely cover it, with the sickeningly sweet smell that comes from it.

You take your time to dry your hair, getting dressed slowly to ensure that you don’t accidentally rip the dress, only to find out that it slips on freely. It’s not tight on you as you expected, you could run and nothing would tear. Once you leave the bathroom, you take your towel and brush with you, going to sit in your own room while you do your hair.

Just as you’ve gotten your hair to stay in place, with it being pulled back as best as possible so that you can see, Reed hands Alyssum off to you to dry off a little more and get dressed. It’s too easy for her, she doesn’t have much hair, you gather it into a tiny ponytail that makes a palm tree on the top of her head. For a cute effect, you add a bow to it. 

Reed and Mox are ready faster than you are. However, just because they’re fast, doesn’t mean that they’re not dragging their feet when it comes to leaving the house. The second you leave, it’s straight for the stage, where you’ll watch this years unfortunate tributes get reaped for the hunger games.

You could say a million bad things about the Capitol, and the games. But instead, you’ll keep it quiet this year. Because if there’s anything you don’t need right now, it’s being pulled in for the games. Your brothers can’t handle another death in the family, you know it.

Your mom had done enough damage on everyone, but your father was still around long enough to stay strong. Those are the only times you remember Reed still being so soft. Your mom had died giving birth to Alyssum, and no one had realized that she was bleeding to death until it was too late. Thankfully, you were too young, not allowed to be in the room until you were forced to say goodbye, before you were whisked away again. The next time you saw her after that was in the casket.

Your dad had done remarkably well when it came to keeping up with work, and juggling you and Alyssum. Mox and Reed were a year shy of not being in the reapings anymore, so they knew they would have to work harder, no matter what it took or sacrificed.

All that preparation had done Reed good, you suppose. Because only a few months later he would die in a fishing accident. Taking out District Four’s best fishers. For a while, there was talk that it was done on purpose, and the peacekeepers were tired of having to deal with every single person on that boat. But that wouldn’t add up correctly, because your dad was almost always a favorite of the peacekeepers, even the new ones.

In your opinion, your family has gone through enough. Too many have died, and honestly, you all were orphaned for a while, but under the radar. The second that Reed had turned eighteen, he immediately filed to be seen as the parent for all of you. Which stopped the community home from trying to snatch you up.

You guys stop to have the quick breakfast that was somehow skipped over by accident. Consisting of mostly bread, until Reed decides that it doesn’t hurt to have a little bit of fish too. When you’re all finished, the table is cleaned, and then you really have to leave the house.

The walk to the stage is mostly quiet. Reed will play around with Alyssum occasionally, but she mostly stares at the people around you. She hasn’t seen this many people gather together before, it’s mainly just you three, and then the neighbor kids. She wasn’t old enough last year to fully realize what was going on around her. Curious, for sure, but not really caring.

On the way, you manage to catch sight of one of your friends. The second that she turns her head in your direction, you wave. It takes her a moment to realize who you are because of the distance, but soon enough she buddies up next to you.

“Hey, pretty dress.” you tell her, and she beams a little bit.

“Thanks! That one’s new on you, did last year not fit?” she asks, she knows that this is your mothers dress no doubt, but she doesn’t bring it up. Instead, she alludes to it.

“It was tight enough last year, so I was sure it would rip by the seams this year. I found this one at the end.” you tell her, and she nods lightly.

The both of you go on like that, going back and forth talking about what you had done today. It isn’t much, but it’s enough to fill the silence, and suppress the sickness that’s beginning to rise in your stomach, like it does every year. You’d call it intuition if it weren’t so common.

She’s a year younger than you, so she has to move to her age group, fourteen. While you on the other hand, move to be in fifteen. As everyone slowly files in to the sections, you look to find Reed and Mox again, to see that they’re standing off to the side. Alyssum is on Reed’s shoulders, making him very easy to spot. He holds onto her hands tightly, not risking the chance of her falling. With them is one of the neighbor’s sons, Caspian. 

Soon, you turn back to look at the stage again to see that the governor is helping Mags up onto the stage. She’s the only victor of this district, and she’ll be the only help to anyone going into the arena. You really wish that the main career districts would stop being so prestigious, and allow others to win too. That they’d stop training their kids illegally and actually have a sliver of a chance like the rest of you.

They must have so many of their victor houses filled, that they’re always creating more. One new one every year, just in case they win again, which is hardly ever not the case. Instead of a single dozen, they must have four or five. 

Soon, the shuffling of feet has stopped, and the anthem plays. You watch for the fifteenth time as they play the same video. Listen as the same speech is given. That this is what the districts have earned, and being descendants from the originals that had thrown the revolution, you’ve automatically been given the same burden. Being alive is simply offensive to the Capitol.

And then the governor closes his speech, and your districts Capitol representative heads up to the microphone. Elysia Fardust--you really can’t believe that they have ridiculous names like that, as if the body modifications weren’t enough--is looking a lot more humble this year. Last year she had outdone everyone, wanting at least one year in the spotlight, you guess.

She wears a blonde wig, you can tell by the way it shines in the sun, reflecting the light off of it. They could have done their very best with it, trying to make it look realistic, and it still would have turned out looking cheap. Her theme this year seems to be blue and gold, since that’s what the frilly dress she wears is made up of. On her feet is also a pair of gold heels. They look like they would be trouble to walk in, but she moves around just fine. Around her wrists are bracelets that jangle and shine the light back into your eyes at the wrong angle.

There’s a huge smile on her face as she stands tall, “Good afternoon, citizens of District Four.” Unlike other representatives you’ve had, her accent doesn’t stand out as much, it’s a subtle thing, almost as if she’s ashamed of it, “Happy Hunger Games.”

You roll your eyes involuntarily, letting them land on the ground as you shake your head softly. Because only to the Capitol people, is this entire event amusing. Watching others fight to the death so that one may be the winner, win his life back. While everyone back home is forced to watch it in agony. A few will take bets, as their hopes for winners sink each year when all they get are dead bodies in the end.

“We’ll start with the ladies.” she chirps, and you feel the swarm of butterflies first, and then the disgust of her tone crushes all of them at once. Except for a few, which cause more harm than good, as they fly around. 

You can’t help but to turn to look at Reed and Mox, hoping that they can see where you’re standing. And miraculously, you’re able to catch Reed looking at you at the same time. Mox catches on eventually and looks over too. He also mouths for you to breathe.

The faint clinking of rings makes you look towards the stage again to see her pulling out the white paper slip. Butterflies swarm, and the only thing you can relate this feeling back to, is when you have those rare presentations in school. The type that means a lot on who you are, and the grade you recieve.

There’s a pain in your chest as you hold your breath to make all those butterflies stop flying and die from the lack of air. You’re not the only one though, you can feel every single girl that’s eligible to be put in the games, collectively hold their own breaths. Eyes wide and staring just like you are, hoping and praying that it’s not going to be you.

Elysia takes her time, unfolding the paper. She reads it to herself first it seems, before a wide smile spreads over her face, and she looks out to you girls, “Our girl tribute is (Y/n) Gallows.”

-- CHAPTER TWO --

You feel lifeless. As the blood drains from your face. As the wind leaves your lungs. As all the strength you had minutes ago suddenly diminishes. Standing is a hard thing to do. You feel like you should collapse, head aimed toward the sky as you stare. Leaving people to wonder if it’s the shock, or if it’s refusal to go up to the stage.

All you can do now is stare straight ahead at the stage. Feeling all the eyes bore on the back of your head. They’re all giving you away, and if they’d just look somewhere else, then they would have absolutely no clue that it was your name that was called. Elysia wouldn’t be able to spot you so easily like she is now, and the peacekeepers wouldn’t have started their march.

You swallow down the vomit, gritting your teeth as you clench your fists tightly at your sides. Robotically, you turn your body, being gentle on your feet as if you’ll fly into the air if you’re light enough. On the way to the walkway, you get a clear look at Reed and Mox and regret it immediately. You didn’t need to look at them, not yet.

Reed’s face is hard, straight and angry. He looks like one of those tributes that get thrown in once in a while. The type that fight really hard and nearly win every single year. Until some brat career district comes around and kills them off. Reed’s lips are pressed in a thin line, and his eyes stare into yours.

Mox isn’t as stoic. His eyes are glossy, you can see them from where you’re standing. You can also see how red and blotchy his face is getting. He’s already been crying, the tears must have burst right after your name had been called. But you don’t remember hearing the sound of him crying.

You could have easily missed it while your brain threw you in a surprised mindset. It would have been easy to miss the sounds of everyone around you--although you’re sure that there wasn’t much noise in the first place--as you were suddenly clouded by your thoughts. Different escape plans had come to mind, but all of those would have been foolish. You would be laughed at later on for being so cowardly.

When you make it to the walkway, you clear your face as best as you can, standing tall and squaring your shoulders. You force yourself to look tough, even though every single part of you is screaming. As long as you don’t look vulnerable on the outside, you’ll be fine. 

Elysia’s eyes follow you up the steps, taking your hand when you’re within length, and stopping you in front of the girls bowl. From here, you can see everyone, especially your brothers who aren’t looked so hot now. They must be envisioning it now, seeing you in the games. They must be seeing all of the scenarios, knowing that you’ll end up in at least one of them.

Elysia doesn’t waste any time, moving on to the boys bowl. She takes her time like she did the first time, reaching for one of the top ones, instead of digging her hand in the bowl like she did before. Had she plucked one from the top, you wouldn’t be where you are.

Suddenly, you’re glad that Reed and Mox are too old to be placed in the games. Too old to volunteer over some random boy that will be picked. They need to be here for Alyssum, and you know that very well. You’re sure that if it were possible, Reed would most definitely volunteer, so that he would be able to protect you in the games the entire time.

Mox wouldn’t be able to stomach it, being in the arena. He would last only so far, because he can’t kill people. He can hardly stand fish being killed so that you guys can live every single day. So that you can provide for the Capitol. Killing people is absolutely out of the question. But Reed would do it if he could. He’d do it for you because he knows that’s what an older sibling is supposed to do. Protect the younger ones.

Elysia unfolds the second paper, “Finnick Odair.”

You have to stop yourself from opening your mouth when your eyes land on him. And you know that you’re utterly screwed, because this is not an older boy that would take pity on you and hopefully keep you around in the arena because you’re from home. No, this is Finnick, fourteen, handsome, a year younger than you.

You will be expected to look over him, since you’re the older one now. The only experience you have when it comes to fourteen year-olds is the girl that you’re friends with. Who is staring at you with big eyes still, like she can’t believe she was just talking to you, and now you’re going to be sent into the games. She’s also thinking of all the possibilities.

Finnick comes down the aisle with the same hard look on his face that you had. Elysia doesn’t hold her hand out for him. Instead, she lets him walk in front of his bowl, and she turns to everyone that’s waiting below.

“May the odds be ever in your favor.” she says again, the first time was before it had started, “You can shake hands, now.”

She backs up, allowing you to get a look at Finnick. 

You’ve seen him around school, and you’ve talked to him plenty of times. He’s smart, he’s as knowledgeable with knots and fishing as you are. He’ll be a good swimmer, and he’ll know a few plants that are edible. And if he prefers spears rather than the actual fishing pole, then he’ll be able to throw well too. 

There’s got to be some hidden skills in there. But all you know for the most part, is that you’re even on some playing fields. You’re coming from the same district, you’re going to have the same skills. It won’t be like people coming from the main career districts, because they have years of training under their belt with so many things. It won’t be like the outsider districts like ten, eleven and twelve.

You’d consider Finnick a friend at this exact moment, with all of the times you have talked and all of the things you know about him. He’s your friend, and you hope that he considers you the same. Because in the arena, you’ll hope that he’ll consider an alliance. He’s from home, he’ll share the same memories, and he’ll make you feel safe again.

You take Finnick’s hand in yours, shaking it a couple of times. 

And then, you’re ushered off of the stage. You and Finnick are separated from each other as you’re guided and then locked into a room. Here, you pace the room back and forth, because it’s beginning to sink in. You’re going to be sent in an arena with twenty-three other teens your age, and you’re going to be forced to kill them. You’re going to have to survive the best you can, no matter how hard that is.

The door opens minutes later, and you look up to see your three siblings. You only have a couple of minutes to talk to them, says the peacekeeper. Then he shuts the door, and you’re engulfed in arms.

“Remember all the knots I taught you,” Reed tells you immediately, “How to prepare the fish properly, cook it thoroughly. Boil the water at least before you drink out of it. If they have iodine then that’s what you need to put in it, only a few drops.”

Between gasps of air, Mox begins to give his input, “If you can, make a spear. It doesn’t have to be fancy, just sturdy enough to throw. A strong stick, and sharpen it to a tip with a sharp rock.”

You suddenly know why they’ve been teaching you this information all these years. And you know why your dad did the same to them when the time came. It’s because if this had happened, you would be very good at all of the things that they had taught you over the years. There would be no time for hesitation inside of the arena, and there would be no possibility of that if you were so good at everything that would be used inside of there.

They’ve been preparing you this entire time.

Alyssum reaches for you, and Reed passes her over. You bounce her in your arms lightly, hugging her to your chest as you press a kiss to her forehead. This might be the last time you get to hold her. The last fuzzy memory she will have of you.

Mox must remember the same thing at the same time you do, because his arms swarm you again, and Reed follows. You stand there quietly for a long moment.

“Win, (Y/n).” Reed tells you, “Do everything you can to win. Don’t fall to the obvious things, you know how well you are. Don’t mess it up in there.”

“I know.” you whisper, and just before the doors open, Reed presents you with a freshly polished ring.

It takes you a moment before you recognize it, and that’s when your eyes go wide. It’s your mom’s engagement ring. Your mother hadn’t wanted something big on her finger, and so your dad got her something small. Something that represented the district, while also being a very beautiful ring.

It’s a silver ring, with one lone wave in the middle of it. You take it in your fingers, turning it over for a moment before you slide it on your ring finger with shaky hands. By the time you’ve looked up to thank him, there’s tears gushing down the sides of your cheeks.

Then, the door opens and Reed and Mox are scrambling to give you the last bit of affection they can afford. You kiss Alyssum one last time, before Reed carefully takes her from you. And the last thing you see are a fresh wave of tears on Mox’s face. The door shuts heavily after that, and you have to force yourself to sit down, as you wrap your arms around yourself.

You have a chance, you know that. There’s a chance that you will make it out of this, and you have to hold onto that. You can’t accept defeat just yet, because that’ll ruin your entire mindset. You’ll go into the games thinking you’re going to die, and it’ll take away all your fight. You’ll be weak, useless and depressed. Even the most incompetent fighter will be able to take you.

The doors open again, taking you by surprise as you look up to see Capsian. You and him don’t talk much. In fact, you two hardly get along because he’s always picking on you, and Reed won’t tell him to knock it off. You eventually started a grudge on him, and the resentment just grew from there on.

“I’ll take care of your brothers,” he tells you, “I’ll stay with them to help out around the house. My entire family wishes you good luck in the games.”

“Thank you,” you say, curling up on the couch, he takes this as an invitation to sit on the other end.

“You’ll be good at the games, I can feel it.” he tells you, nodding to himself as he stares out the window, “We’ll be cheering you on from here.”

You don’t say anything to this, and the rest of his few minutes is spent in silence. He wishes you luck once more, before he disappears out the doors, and then just like that, you’re left alone again. It isn’t for long, as the peacekeepers escort you to the train station, where you see your brothers standing there for a final time, since they have to see you off, no matter what happens.

You know that you’ll be on camera again here, and so you stop to stare off at the district. Then, you raise your hand to wave, eyebrows drawn together as you’re thinking.

Farewell District Four, you think, it’s been fun.

The second after you’ve stepped inside, the doors shut behind you. The train starts moving, and you can feel the shift in the air. You don’t stumble like Finnick, who has to put his hand on the wall to get a hold of himself again.

You stare at Finnick for a moment, unsure of how to approach this. Because you want to have him as a friend now, and have his back for as long as it will last. Which will hopefully be up until you’re bet against each other.

“Allies?” you ask hopefully, “Until we have to kill each other?”

“You’re start awfully early, don’t you think?” he doesn’t answer you initially, but he doesn’t waste too much time, “Yes, until we have to kill each other.”

“Glad to see you two are friendly,” Elysia says, interrupting us, “Your rooms are ready for you.”

“Thanks,” you mutter, beginning to walk towards yours, but Finnick doesn’t let you go so easily.

“You want to stick together?” 

The last time you’ve talked to Finnick had to be at least a couple of weeks ago. When you have the time, it’s normally clipped, little things. Passing conversations, because there’s never enough time to have full ones. It’s during school, and hardly after unless you accidentally run into him in the square or something.

You and Finnick spend your time doing different things, sometimes. You have been trained in all things with water, with the best of Reed’s knowledge with only Mox to back him up on things. You’ve been tying and retying knots. Throwing spears, and harvesting water plants.

It’s required that Finnick do the same, but he has his own preferences. You see him with his favorite trident all the time, playing around with it. There was only one time you had seen him throw it, and when it had come out of the water, five different fish were speared. You’re not sure about the plants, but he has to know how to cook at least. And he has to know his fair share of knot tying, but you’re not sure what he knows. 

Reed tried to cover every single one that he had heard of, and even went as far as to seek out the elderly in District Four to learn how they do things too. What they remember from the times when they had to fish for the Capitol. And then he would take that information, come home and teach it all to you. You weren’t expected to know all of it, but to absorb most of it.

While Finnick probably didn’t have to deal with that almost every night. You partially know this, because you’ve seen him around with the girls in his class. Finnick looks old for his age, which means that he’s growing into his face. He’s more attractive than all the boys in your grade, at least.

The sponsors will love him, and he has to know that somewhat.

“What do you mean?” you ask.

“At the training, and stuff like that.” So, he means besides the arena.

“I don’t see why not.” you tell him, stopping in front of your room, your fingers find the ring and you fidget with it slightly, not used to the feeling on your finger, “Wake me for supper?”

He nods, giving you a big smile before he goes to his own room. You walk inside, listening as the doors shut behind you. The second that it’s gone, you head for the bathroom, sliding off the ring and placing it somewhere safe on the counter. Just for an extra measure, you pull up the tab that blocks water, so it doesn’t fall in and go down the drain.

You peel off your clothes, before hurrying inside of the shower that you started. You pull out your hair, letting the warm water wash over it. And while you’re standing there, you realize just how weak you feel from the entire thing. You can’t help but to sink into a sitting position, pulling your knees to your chest as you stare off at the wall for a while.

It must have been an hour you sat in there, just thinking about what it’s going to be like for the next couple of days. You’re not going to be thrown in just like that, you’re going to have to be presentable to the Capitol. You’re going to have to earn sponsors, and look like you have a chance at winning the games. You’re going to be forced to grit your teeth some more and smile. Tough it out until you’re finally inside of the arena.

You brush your hair carefully again, pulling it out of your face again. You look over the drawers carefully, and then you decide that a tank top and shorts will do you good. You want to feel comfortable here, for as long as possible. You want to hold on to what you would be doing at home. And then you grab the ring, putting it back on your finger.

Finnick comes to knock on your door, telling you that it’s time to eat. This is when you see he’s changed into something more comfortable too. He’s doing the same thing you are, because both of you are kids. You shouldn’t be thrown into the games, because you guys are so young. People under the age of sixteen hardly win.

Twelve and thirteen are the death years. If you get picked at those ages, you’re dead, there’s nothing you can do. Your body is so small, and you have no clue what to do still. They don’t have those years under their belt, they’re still struggling with the complicated knots.

Fourteen it gets better, but only by a little bit. No one has won at the age of fourteen, the youngest it gets is fifteen, and that year was a miracle. You weren’t able to see it, but Reed had explained it to you, that it was a particularly hard game. But the boy had won by waiting it out, and found a way to make the food and water last long. He killed only one person that year, and it was the girl that would have won

Sixteen and up, they have the best chances. They’re even better if they’re careers, which makes them deadly. If you run into anyone above the age of sixteen you can consider yourself dead, because they’ll overpower you so easily. The only chance you’ll have, is if there’s distance between the both of you and you have some sort of long-range weapon.

In the diner cart, sits Elysia and Mags. Mags watches as the both of you come into the room. Elysia looks over you guys with a squint, like she can’t believe that you’re dressed like that, and then she smoothes over, relaxing her face. Probably afraid of suddenly getting wrinkles. 

The second you two have sat down, the food arrives. And it starts off slow, and all that Elysia has to tell you, is that more will keep coming, so eat slow and don’t take too much. 

You follow just that, taking in all the different flavors, and how it’s so much more different than fish and bread every single night. With the occasion fish stew if the neighbor next door invited you over for dinner if you had brought her family a lot of fish that afternoon. Those nights, you’d think of them as feasts, because you would bring over more food to share and go around if you had it to spare. Eat like kings and queens, even if it was once a month.

After a certain amount of time, Finnick is tired of the silence, “Mags, when will you begin to mentor us?”

Your eyes drag across the table, landing on her. She struggles for a moment, and then she speaks. But the words are garbled, and it takes you a second to decipher them. 

“Tomorrow morning.” 

Finnick seems to understand as well as you have, so he nods and you guys go back to eating. Somewhere along the way, your stomach starts to feel upset, but you keep eating anyway. The more food you eat, the more pounds you’ll be able to tack on. More weight you’ll have on the others that will be thrown in the arena.

Once you’re done eating, Elysia brings you to the couch to watch the recap of the games. As much as you don’t want to watch all the children get reaped—and the rich kids volunteer—you know it’ll help you in the end. Let you size up the other tributes without being there in person. When you do finally get the chance tomorrow or the day after, you’ll see how tall they are and just how screwed you may be.

The girl that’s volunteered has clearly been training for a while. You watch as the muscles in her arms tense, and then release like she’s purposely flexing to show off her strength. She’s taller, and because of how strong she is, it’s made her look bigger. However, that doesn’t stop her from being pretty. You mark her in your mind immediately, Trink is her name, she’s from District One. 

With her is a boy that isn’t as impressive, most boys who volunteer are normally tall and muscular, so nothing stands out about him. For girls, it’s just not the same. They’ve been training for just as long, but most of the time they look harmless. It isn’t until they’re thrown into the games, when they show off their true nature.

The boy’s name is Lennox, and he’s definitely taller than you, because he easily towers over the girl next to him. If you’re taking guesses on ages, then the girl is sixteen and he’s the same age or seventeen. He looks older, but then again, so does Finnick and he’s fourteen.

You look at Finnick to see how he’s accessing this entire thing too. He’s thinking, staring at the screen with a straight face, and then he laughs. When he turns to look to you, he shakes his head, “Careers.”

He says the word as if it explains what he’s laughing about, and you turn to see just in time that Trink and Lennox are grinning at each other. Arms locked around the other, as they turn to their district to wave. Clearly they’re proud of where they’ll be coming from.

Another district to watch out for is the following, two. Another part of the careers, people that you’ll be expected to team up with to hunt and kill.

The girl is taller than the boy this time, and she holds her chin high. There’s this sickening grin on her face as she bares her chest out for everyone to see. She wants them to know that she’s just as proud. Her name is Eytelle, probably stolen from one of the Capitol people. Since two is one of the favored ones as well. 

The boy looks strong though, his name is Allio. In his hand he holds a stick that he’ll turn over in his hand every now and then. You have to focus to see what he’s doing exactly, but when you catch the glint of the silver, you realize it’s not a stick. He’s playing with a knife.

“Are we allowed…?” you don’t finish the question, but Elysia picks up.

“No.” she says gruffly, shaking her head, “It’s supposed to be for safety. What is he thinking?”

You’re not sure if she’s referring to the male Capitol representative, or Allio. Who’s still playing with that knife, and you watch as it gets faster in his hand. Like it’s building up a climax, and then it cuts.

Three is technology, and it looks like the program hurries that up a little bit. Certain districts are going to be expected to do better, this will be one of them. They make the technology, they’ll know how to build weapons. They should do exceedingly well, and if the careers think any one of them have potential, they’ll be called on.

Next, it flips to your district, and this is when it slows down again. You watch as Elysia perks up, and Finnick leans forward, suddenly entranced by the sight. Again, you relive the moment when Elysia calls your name, and you watch as a couple of seconds pass, before you’re heading down the aisle.

What felt like an eternity to you, was only a few seconds for them. You thought that you had frozen to your spot while you were debating the chances of you running. To them, they thought that it was you realizing it was your name that was called or something. You watch as the emotion is cleared from your face the second that you begin walking and realize that there’s cameras.

On that stage you felt so small, but on the camera, you can clearly see that it’s not too bad. You look better than what you thought you would. Four is also part of the careers, but it’s very shaky when it comes to volunteers--hence why you nor Finnick got one--and they hardly ever team up with the pack as far as you’re concerned.

Four is a rich district, so hardly anyone starves, but you’ve had your own months when you were struggling to get used to the fact that it was only you and your brothers that were capable of gathering food. Eventually, you got very good at it again, and there’s always food stocked in the fridge. But you’ve felt starvation. Despite all that, you look healthy and well-fed. There’s no doubt that a few districts are going to be jealous of that fact, especially in the poorer parts.

There’s not much you know, you’re not allowed to talk to neighboring districts at all. But you do know that most live in poverty. And things like starvation aren’t so uncommon.

You hadn’t noticed this before, but your hands somehow found their way behind you, in the time that you had found where you needed to stand, and when Elysia went to call the boys name. Subconsciously, you were also baring your chest, almost like you were proud.

You laugh when you watch Finnick walk down the walkway again. He looks to you, to see what’s funny, “Do you always walk like that?”

Elysia must have lost focus somewhere along the way, because she blinks quickly and focuses her eyes again. Then she also laughs, “You’re almost strutting.”

He grins, face turning a little red as he shakes his head, “Does it look tough enough?”

“You look ridiculous.” but he makes up for it when he stands at the stage right next to you. That’s when the two of you look like real competitors, with you standing tall, trying to make yourself look capable. And Finnick, not even trying and he still looks intimidating.

The rest pass like a blur. District Five fuels the power, so they’re only a little favored when it comes to things. They’re healthy looking too. District Six is transportation, no one stands out. Seven is lumber, which is when you start focusing again. When you see how big the two tributes are again. You mark them off too, Cass--the girl--and Mac.

Eight is textiles, nothing interesting. Nine is grain, which means that the poor districts are starting. Ten is livestock, eleven is agriculture, and twelve is mining coal. None of them had sprouted any interest in your mind, they don’t look threatening to you. In particular, twelve is the worst. With wobbly knees and pale faces, they look like they’re going to pass out at any minute.

And then just like that Elysia snaps the tv off, and you’re left sitting there in silence. She waits for a moment, before jumping up, “I suggest you two go off to bed, tomorrow will be very important.” 

You and Finnick watch as she leaves the room, and right on cue, you two turn towards each other.

“The boy and girl from one are definitely problems,” you begin, and he nods, agreeing, “The girl is bigger than usual, which means that she’ll pose a bigger challenge.”

“They should be the first to go if we can make it possible.”

But how would that be? They’re one person of course, but they’re as good as three. They make up for the districts with people that don’t know what they’re doing, that get killed in the very beginning. In order to get them off, that would mean that a lot of people would have to band together.

“Are you suggesting we gather other tributes?” you ask, almost baffled by the idea. The more people, the more tension and fear that someone will betray the other.

“No, not too many.” he says, straightening his back, “Enough to help.”

He must see potential in the districts you saw nothing in, “We’ll have a better chance at looking them over later.”

He nods, he knows this already, “One, two and five.” 

“Maybe three,” you get up from where you’re sitting, feeling the weight of today suddenly pressuring your shoulders.

“Maybe three,” he repeats, standing up too, “Off to bed so soon?”

You roll your eyes a little bit, “Yeah, I’m tired. Aren’t you?”

“I couldn’t feel more awake.”

-- CHAPTER THREE --

The morning comes before you’re ready for it. You drag your feet when it comes to taking a quick shower, and you throw on the nearest outfit that makes sense. It won’t really matter once you’re inside of the Capitol. You’ll be torn to pieces and then rebuilt at first chance.

You shouldn’t be too far off now. In fact, you probably should have made it there overnight, District Four is one of the closest districts to the Capitol. The only thing between you and them is District One. That one isn’t very surprising, they should be in the Capitol for a day now. The train goes so quickly, there wouldn’t be a reason to keep them from going.

You’ll probably barely have enough time to eat breakfast before you’re being shoveled off the train. 

With that thought, you place the ring back onto your finger as you head out to the dining car, or room. Once you make it there, you see that you’re not the last. Finnick and Mags are still nowhere to be seen. However, Elysia sits at the table, a black coffee in hand as she looks over something in her hand. She pays you no attention when you sit at the table.

Immediately, you’re served food. Most of it you recognize because of the special days the district gets to eat well on. Not like you don’t get to eat things like this all the time, but the special foods like pancakes are something you haven’t seen in a while. You carefully eat like you did yesterday, trying not to overdo it, but also get a good amount of food in you.

Finnick comes in not too long after, taking his seat as he also starts to eat. However, he’s basically inhaling it, as if he hasn’t eaten in days. You’re impressed for a while, until he starts to turn a little green. Only then do you begin laughing at him, and he offers you a sheepish smile.

“Hungry?” you tease, and he rolls his eyes.

“I’ve been up for hours waiting to eat.” he tells you.

So he didn’t sleep last night, and that’s going to show. It took you a couple hours of tossing and turning, trying desperately to just get a little bit of time. Eventually, your body had decided that it might as well. You’re not in any danger just yet, you’re on a train to where the danger will start, but until then you’ll be fine. 

“You need your sleep,” Elysia beats you to it, “But your stylists will cover it for now.”

Finnick offers her a small glance, and then he turns to you as if he’s disinterested with everything she has to say. It takes you a moment to realize that he’s not staring at you exactly, it’s past you. You turn to look over your shoulder to see that Mags is coming in now. She’s slow, and she looks like she’s struggling even with the cane she’s been provided with.

The peacekeepers take a step to help her, but you jump up before they have the chance. The mere thought of them touching her is disgusting to you. They work for the Capitol. They’re hugely ignorant and arrogant. They stand by and let all of this happen, hell, they’re coming from the districts around you.

Mags gives you a smile of appreciation, and Finnick helps out a little bit too when he sees how much trouble it is. With the help of you both, she gets seated and begins to eat. What you didn’t see before, is that she has a pad of paper, which she’s using one hand to write with, and the other to eat. 

Her neat handwriting covers the paper, in a small paragraph. She turns the paper to you, and you tilt your head to read it. For a second, your mind blanks because it believes you’ve never read cursive before, but then it slowly comes back to you. You’re mouthing the words, picking up the paper as you take your time to hand it off to Finnick.

Lesson 1: Sponsors. Looking presentable for the Capitol people will be your greatest chance at survival. In order to do that, you’ll have to play up the act a little bit. Who are you?

It’s a simple question, but you find yourself struggling to answer. When you pass the paper back to her, she writes down one word beside it.

Personality?

Oh.

“What does it say?” Finnick asks, tilting his head, but he can’t see it anyway, he’s on the other end of the table.

“Personality.” you say for him, looking to Mags, “You mean like clever, smart…?”

She nods a little, and you look to the window for a moment, thinking. Allowing Finnick to get the chance to answer before you. What is your personality?

“Well, we have the same personality for the most part.” Finnick starts to answer for the both of you, “Smart with the basic district stuff, strong.”

“Deadly.” you add, and Mags raises her eyebrows a little bit, so you elaborate, “I throw spears, and I’ve seen Finnick with a trident.”

Finnick flushes for a second, but it clears out, “The trident is on special occasions. Mostly spears.”

You sit in silence, she writes, “What else?” you shake your head for a second, trying to come up with the adjectives, and then it comes back to you, “I’m considerate and kind. I have well manners.”

Mags writes all of this down, and you can see the word ‘humble’, and then she writes down damsel.

For a second, you’re not sure what you think of it, but you see it soon enough. Playing the innocent, damsel role and having everyone underestimate you. If they overlook you, then that gives you a better chance at winning.

“I can’t play that up,” you tell her, because you remember seeing yourself on the screen again, how you stood strong, “The reaping--”

Everyone looks like that, she writes, No one wants to be targeted.

And she’s right. All those people you had seen last night were trying to look bigger than they were. Except for the kids, when their shoulders would hunch in on themselves, trying to disappear. As much as possible, you’ll all try to look strong to be picked for an alliance. Those who aren’t picked are left to suffer.

This will throw Finnick’s entire plan off course. If you play damsel, then that means you have to downplay all your skills. Make it look like you’re incapable of winning. No sponsors, no alliance. The only person that’ll be able to save you is Mags and yourself. Maybe your brothers back home will somehow afford to send something your way.

You’ll have to purposely score low in training, to really lower the expectations. Mags might even go as far to tell your stylists not to do too well on yours and Finnick’s matching outfits.

Mags writes again while you’re thinking, and you read it so you can look to Finnick, “She wants to know about you.”

Finnick looks like he’s been waiting for his turn, “Strong, tall. Almost all the girls at school love me, so attractive--”

As he’s listing what he’s made of, you see one word for him. Cunning. He’s going to be playing up the tough arrogant act. He’ll be purposely showing off, he’ll be the one that gets all the sponsors. The alliance he proposed will be his, the careers will be tripping over their feet to get him in their pack. 

Suddenly, you can’t help but to feel a little jealous, and detached.

Finnick is the boy, he’s going to be expected to win. But you have the age advantage, so they’ll also be looking to you to win. At least for some people, for others it doesn’t matter at all. Back home, they’ll be hoping that only one of you comes back in a casket.

“What’s my word?”

“Cunning,” you tell him quietly, invested in your food again. Your stomach has managed to settle, so you try to stuff it again, the more the better. You’re not sure when you’ll be able to eat after this.

The train car blacks out for a couple of seconds, and then light fills it again. Elysia looks over her shoulder, and then her face lights up as she hops up from her seat, “Home sweet home.”

You and Finnick move to the window, looking out it for a moment. Bright lights fill the car, blinding you. When you’ve blinked away the lights, you can see just how many Capitol people have come to the station to greet you two.

A sigh leaves you and for a moment you want to move away. And then, you realize that if you’re going for that damsel type, you have to look clueless. Like you’re always in a daze or something. So, you begin to wave the exact same moment Finnick does. And even through the thick walls of the train car, you can hear the roaring of their cheers.

--

Your stylist’s assistants are very nice, and they try to be as gentle as possible when it comes to what they have to do. For a minute they just stood and stared almost as if they had no clue on how to start with you. And then, they went straight to work. Removing every inch of hair from your body, besides what’s on your head. 

Your hair is now silky smooth, and smells of strawberries. Your body is sore, but soft from how many bathes they’ve made you soak in. Your nails have been cleaned, filed and they have a very thin layer of nail polish on them. Only a little bit, because they were afraid that your main stylist would want to change that later.

Your eyebrows have been plucked, leaving you sculpted. They’ve applied some sort of teeth whitener, trying to make it scary white like theirs. A couple of times they’ve told you to straighten your back to stand tall. Only then did you realize that they were taking measurements, and after that you stood very still to allow the to. 

“I think we’re all done now.” Cleo says, taking a step back to access you one last time, “Laurel is going to love you.”

She says nothing else, grabbing onto the arm of the girl that she was working with. You hadn’t heard much from her, she mostly listened as Cleo babbled on. With the occasion prompt to keep her talking. It’s almost as if she didn’t want to do any of it herself.

You rock on the table, back and forth as you stare at the wall ahead. Trying to imagine yourself winning the games. All that it’ll take to get to that point too. You find yourself regretting how you described yourself, even if you were being honest.

The door opens, revealing a very tall woman. Her hair is held back by a simple hairband, trying to keep it from her face, you’re guessing. It’s the same thing you do when you know it’ll be an irritating day. However, with these people it’s never irritating, they live in luxury. They’re all brightly colored and rich and they never have to worry about going hungry, ever.

She wears a white shirt, and a black blazer. Her pants are ironed nearly, and she has a pair of black heels on. The second she steps into the room, she slips them off though, only lowering her height just a little bit. She’s naturally tall it seems, and she seems proud of it. Not afraid to get bigger.

“I’m Laurel.” she introduces herself, “(Y/n), right?”

She has to know that it’s you, “Yeah.”

“Stand up for me?” she asks, and you slip off the table, standing in front of her. She walks around you, looking at your body, taking all of it into consideration. Laurel will stare for a moment, and then she’ll move your hair. She checks your nails to see that they’re very neat, and she seems pleased with that, “Take your robe.”

You reach over for it, slipping it on and then folding your arms over your chest anyway. You almost want to hunch in on yourself like you saw the kids doing at the reaping. But then, you remove your arms and make yourself stand a bit taller. Reminding yourself that you need to have more worth, carry that energy until it’s not carrying anymore. Until it is you.

“Mags tells me that you’re going for a more subtle look.” Laurel sits down on a nice couch, you make sure to tuck the robe beneath you as you sit, “Humble?”

You nod lightly, “I think she’s going for an underestimated look.”

“And do you feel the same?”

You dodge the question a little bit, “Finnick is going for cunning, isn’t he? I want to be presented the same way he does, but I wouldn’t mind if we did something along the lines of humble.”

She takes this into consideration, nodding lightly, “How would you feel about a two-piece? Almost like a bathing suit?”

You really hope you don’t end up in some skin-showing outfit, “Sure.”

She nods to this, looking pleased, “Blue, definitely blue.”

It’s only a couple of hours later, when you’re standing side-by-side with Finnick. He looks like he’s more in a bathing suit than you do. They’ve completely taken his shirt, and just put on a tunic almost, for his lower half. His designer has gotten him covered with vines, some drawn on and some of them real. It’s supposed to look like he’s came out of the water, like he’s been there for a while.

As a joke, you suggested dying him a blue-green because of how copper fades. His stylist considered it for a moment, even turning to Laurel to ask if it were possible to do it in an hour. But then Finnick piped up that he did not want to be a shade of green, and glared at you. It was all in good fun and he knows that. Didn’t stop him from jabbing you in your ribs when he had the chance.

You and Finnick are wearing nearly the same pair of leather sandals. Yours only goes up to your ankles, as his surrounds his calves, stopping just a little bit below the knee. He has that tunic around his waist, which wrinkles in all the right places, and it’s pinned to keep from falling.

Laurel had already built off of the bathing suit idea, deciding that you were worth more than just a pair of half-naked teenagers. She kept the aspect, but added a couple of things to it. On your upper body, your hair is curled to look more natural, going for the beachy-type but not exact. Macara, blue eyeshadow, the works go on your face. They’d outdone themselves with the white eyeliner, purposely tying to give you a goddess aspect, you guess?

You definitely know they were going Roman, even if it’s just a little bit.

They secured a bracelet around your upper arm, it’s a couple of waves. On your upper half of your body, you have a bra on almost. But the straps are thick, and the padding pushes it all up. It’s tight around the ripbs, keeping it from lifting off your chest, as they tried to show off some curves. It ends somewhere in the middle of your ribs.

And as for your waist, she decided for a high-waisted short bottom. Attached to it is a train almost. The flaps are attached to your left hip, giving it a sort-of leg slit. But the fabric is see-through, so it’s not much. The entire color scheme is a muted sea green. On your wrists are silver bracelets, on your neck is a lone shell necklace. Laurel had successfully acquired your ring, adding it to the outfit, even if the people from the stands won’t be able to see it exactly.

Laurel and Finnick’s stylist have you and Finnick walk around. Making small adjustments to everything so it flows better. In no time, you’re told to get onto your chariot with the blonde horses. Before you guys take off, Laurel makes one very last minute change.

She makes you wrap your arms around Finnick’s left one. Your right arm goes under, closest to his body. That one will stay permanently, and your left arm goes over, which will be the one you wave with and such.

“This is so exciting,” Finnick chirps, a smile already coming over his face, and then, “Oh!”

He reaches into a pocket that you didn’t know he had, and he pulls out a small sugar cube. You laugh, taking it with your left hand as you turn it over for a second. When you look over, the both of you share a look, before popping the sugar in your mouths at the same time. 

The sweet taste takes over your tongue immediately, and you can’t help but grin. As you turn to look off to the ground, you watch as the audience turns to see the newcomers coming in.

The cheering gets louder, and then there’s pointing. You smile with your teeth, giving a wave, while also trying to think of embarrassing things. It takes a moment, but it all comes rushing back, and you find your face heating up very quickly.

“She’s blushing!” one of them yells, there’s a series of screams and ‘awing’ that follow after, and Finnick laughs.

“You play the act well.”

“For you it’s not even an act.” you say through clenched teeth, making sure the smile reaches your eyes. 

Every single time you hear someone yell your name, you turn to look in that direction. If you’re going to get sponsors, you’ll want them to each every single bit of this shit up. You make surprised faces, cover your mouth, cower into Finnick and let him pretend to coax you out. The cheering only gets louder, until their attention is turned back to the newcomers.

When the chariot stops, you feel your face cooling considerably, and you sigh in relief, because it’s hard to keep thinking of embarrassing things. Once you bring up the effect again, it’s almost as if it’s useless. All those memories are so faded, that it’s hard to even think of them anymore. You hardly ever make bad mistakes like that.

You wait patiently as Snow makes his appearance and says his piece about everything. The anthem plays, you guys show up as you watch the flag. And then, there’s one final lap around the little circle, before you guys have vanished inside of the building.

There, Laurel and the other stylist are waiting for you. Laurel nods at you approvingly, probably glad that you still held on even though it wasn’t really necessary anymore. You slide off of the chariot with Finnick, stretching your arm. You cross them back over your chest, as you look around.

Soon enough, your prep teams are slowly distancing themselves, standing off to the side. Which offers a perfect opportunity for the others to see, measure you and Finnick up. You do the same, because the only other times you’ll see them is for training, and then later for the interviews. These moments where you over or underestimate them are crucial.

District one has a clear eye on you and Finnick.

“Trink and Lennox are staring.” You tell Finnick, trying not to look over, but he looks them dead on, almost like he doesn’t care.

He waves for a second, beckoning them over. You’re about to tell him that it’s a really bad idea, but they start their way over. So, you place the mask back on, and take a step back, allowing Finnick to do whatever it is he thought he wanted to do.

“Finnick,” He introduces himself, offering his hand.

Lennox looks to Trink for a moment, almost impressed as he takes Finnick’s hand, shaking it a couple of times, “Lennox.”

Of course, you know their names already, so it seems a little useless to introduce yourselves. But then it dawns on you, that they probably don’t know your names.

You make a feeble attempt to do the same, “I’m (Y/n).”

“Oh, we know.” Trink’s smile transforms into a smirk, “Gallows, huh? Like getting hung from the gallows…”

You hate her already.

You laugh lightly, trying to bring the smile to your eyes again, “I guess! I never made that connection before! It’s only fitting now that I’m in the games, huh? Do you think I have a chance?”

What if you play damsel until it comes to the private session with the gamemakers. What if you show off your skills then, score high, and then see what happens to the tributes around you. See if their sudden interest sparks and they want you on their side after all.

You wonder how Reed would feel about you teaming up with the careers. If he would be telling you to steer away from them, because they’re hostile, and vile and sometimes a little messed up in the head from all that training at a young age. It makes them want to volunteer, no sane person could truly want that unless they’ve been brainwashed.

Trink shares a look with Lennox for a second, and then behind her you see that the crowd is about to have two more people added to it, as District Two comes over here. You slump your shoulders slightly, tilting your head at the newcomers. Eytelle and Allio, the tall girl and the boy who spun the knife in his hand during the reaping.

“Are these four?” Allio asks, you take the guess now that he’s going to be the chattier one.

Eytelle is… the only comparison you can make with her, is that she’s shorter than Laurel, but not by much. Her parents must be giants, because if she’s only sixteen or so she’ll keep growing for a while. The height will give her an advantage when it comes to running, but she’ll have trouble trying to hide so easily.

“Clearly.” Trink mutters, looking over you a little more, “So what’s your skills?”

“That’s for us to know and for you to find out.” Finnick answers for both of you, “We don’t give shit away so easily. What are we getting in return?”

Trink measures this, but Allio speaks first, “Maybe a friendship if you play your cards right.”

A smile spreads over your face, as you try to look excited, “Wow! An alliance, that’ll be helpful!” 

Lennox looks pleased at the suggestion, “Only if you want.”

Finnick offers you a glance, and you bob your head, trying to urge him to agree but not look desperate. This is what he wanted after all, and if you careers band together, then there’s no doubt that all of you will get a good portion of the population inside of the arena down before you know it.

You’re already forming a plan in your head. Team up with the careers, get to know all of their skills that they’ll show off inside of the training center. There, you will memorize everything, while also learning new skills. Then, when it comes to the arena, you’ll plot their murders very carefully. You’ll pick them off very carefully, space them so it doesn’t look like your fault.

But this would all work so much better if only one of you were in the pack. Finnick lures them to you, you kill them, injure him a little bit, and send him back to get the others riled up.

It’s not a bad plan, you’ll just have to work out the kinks, and present this to Finnick.

He is your accomplice.

-- CHAPTER FOUR --

This morning, Elysia had come to your room to wake you up. For a second, you thought she was doing it so that you’d be early to the table like you normally are. But she was kind enough to inform you that you had slept in past what she wanted already. Mags has been the only reason you’ve been allowed to stay in bed for so long.

As you got ready, you were a little confused on how you’d managed to sleep for so long. You're normally one of the people first awake, especially here. Once your body decides that it has enough energy to run off of, it sort of just wakes you up. You’ve been sleeping soundly every single night, as far as you know. So the exhaustion is coming out of nowhere.

It wasn’t until you had brought it up to them, where Finnick had informed you that you hadn’t slept as soundly as you thought. After you had eaten dinner last night, you’d stayed awake a little while to bring up the plan to Finnick, to get his opinion about luring them to their deaths. He seemed to like it, and then you went off to sleep in your own room.

He says that it must have been a couple of hours before the screaming had started. The first to the room was Mags, but she wasn’t able to get you up, since speaking is difficult for her. Instead, Finnick had to shake you awake, coaxing you out of whatever nightmare you had been trapped in. 

You don’t remember any of it, it’s impossible for you to recall what happened. Elysia says that you must have been asleep still, but Finnick and Mags says you were coherent. You could hear them, and you listened to them try to calm you down from hyperventilating. Once you were in a good enough state, Mags went back to bed, and Finnick stayed a little while.

He just wanted to make sure that you would go back to sleep, but it had taken a while for you to calm down enough to get your heart to stop producing the adrenaline. Finnick tried to sit in the silence, but he wanted to know what the nightmare was about. What had gotten you to the point of screaming and hyperventilating.

You can’t remember it now, even though you’re awake and most of the time can relive the dream a little bit. It was apparently about you drowning, and that was all that you’d tell him. There had to be more though, because you’re not afraid of the water, you live in District Four. To be afraid of drowning would be so fucking ridiculous.

You have a feeling that it was about you taking your father's place in the accident, again. It’s a common nightmare you have. You’ll be on the boat with your brothers, and everything will be going good. But the boat will rock when one of you try messing with the other. Mox gets knocked off, you scramble to save him only to fall off the side. In the water, he’s nowhere to be seen. And then Reed will turn on the boat, leaving you in the middle of the water. The water only gets colder the more time goes on, and your joints will freeze in place. Swimming back to shore is impossible and you die out there, every single time.

You didn’t bother to explain all of that to Finnick, because you’re not looking for pity, it’s no point for him to know your life story. Instead you nodded along and went back to eating, because you then knew why you had been so exhausted. All it takes is one nightmare and a couple of shots of adrenaline to keep you going for a long ass time apparently.

Mags then transitioned into the training that you’re actually in right now. She pulled out her paper and pen and asked if you guys would want to train together. You told her that you’d already formed an alliance with him, so it would be pointless to hide anything. Finnick agreed, and then Mags went on to explain to hide most of your skills.

Just as you predicted anyway. She had wanted you guys to keep it low on the profile, especially you. Mainly she wants you to play dumb and go around with the stations, fumble with most of the things you do but take your time with learning them. She also knows of the career pack proposal, so she reminds you to keep friendly with them too, if that’s going to be your goal.

Of course, she doesn’t want you guys to get too attached or close. Don’t trust them because the chances of them turning on you at first chance is a little too easy. It will only be a matter of time in the arena before the tension snaps at they make a jump to kill any of you. You already know this. If you go through with the plan, then that means that they're going to be suspicious of everyone in the pack anyway. 

Finnick is supposed to be good at everything inside of the training center. But as you watch him circle and go around the stations with Allio and Lennox, you can’t help but to think he looks like an idiot. Allio is more skilled in combat than you guys are, he can throw just about anything a good distance. Lennox seems to be the same.

You’ve watched as they make him throw spears, knives, axes, swords, just to see how good he is at it. They’re looking impressed, but you’re starting to see through Finnick’s facade. He keeps making a wince face each time he thinks he’s thrown it too terribly, his confident mask is falling too easily.

“Wow, look at her.” Trink says, you look up from the fire that you’re trying to start to see that they’re staring dead straight at the girl from District Eleven. You squint for a second to see what she’s doing, and then you smile.

“Thyme, right?” Eytelle asks, her arms are crossed over her chest, and she hunches over like she’s trying to make herself look like you’re all in the same height range, “She’s showing off.”

“Aren’t we all?” you ask, turning back to the fire, getting it started this time. Trink turns over, and you clap quickly, the smile turning to a grin as you look to the other two girls, like a proud kid, “I did it!”

“Took you a while.” Eytelle mutters, “What are you actually skilled at?”

“Besides fires, and knot tying.” Trink adds.

You have to show off at least one skill to get these people interested, “I can show up Finnick with the throwing.”

Trink perks up, “Show us.”

You push yourself up from your knees, starting your way to where the boys are. On the way, you make eye contact with Thyme. She has dark hair, brown-black it looks like. She’s tan, fairly tall, green eyes. She’s got to be the same age as you, because she looks young.

“I hear that District Eleven and Twelve have the skilled hunters--or at least they know what berries and leaves are safe to eat.” you tell them, “Thyme will be very useful.”

Eytelle scoffs, “Who says we can’t hunt actual food? Like meat?”

“What happens when there’s a storm, when all the fish and forest animals are out of the question? Berries, leaves, bark and all of that will save your lives instead. Turning someone like her down simply because she comes from a poor district is…. Stupid.” you tell them, and then you stalk off to join the guys for real.

“Hey Finnick!” he turns while he’s about to throw a knife, Allio and Lennox give you a quick look up and down. You haven’t really talked to them this entire time. Over your shoulder, you can see Eytelle approaching Thyme, while Trink bounces over.

“Well, go ahead.”

You hold out your hand for the knife that Finnick is holding. He gives you a warning look almost, like you don’t know what you’re doing, before handing it over. You give him a cheeky smile, “Watch and learn.”

You flip the knife around to hold it by the blade. Taking in a deep breath, you slowly let it out because you can’t fuck this up. And then, you draw your arm back, before throwing the knife forward with all the strength possible.

The knife covers the twenty feet in less than three seconds, hitting the dummy square in the head. You tilt your head slightly, “It’s a little off center.”

“Off center? You hit that thing….” Allio trails off, and you turn around to see Finnick with a smirk on his face.

Thyme is standing with Eytelle, and she claps a little bit for you, “Can you teach me to throw like that?”

“Sure!” you turn to look at the others, letting Trink narrow her eyes on you. She might be seeing through the act a little bit, “It’s the one thing I’m good at, I’ve had so much time to learn in District Four. I’ll teach Finnick too if you guys wanna go off by yourselves.”

They agree, heading off to some sort of other place they can show off at. Once they’ve gotten out of earshot, the smile on your face drops and you mock them for a second, grabbing the nearest knife. You throw it, and it hits the chest this time, “Thinking I can understand them just because--god are they annoying.”

Finnick snorts, before turning to look at Thyme, “Finnick, this is (Y/n).”

“I’ve heard.” She chirps happily, picking up one of the knives before turning to you, “When do we get started?”

You spend the next hour or so showing your new friend how to throw. Finnick isn’t so bad, it’s just the doubt that gets him. You tell them both that the less confidence they have in the throw, the worse it’ll turn out. Plus, throwing the knife is better than nothing in most situations anyway. If you have more tucked away, then it won’t hurt.

If the person is within your range, then the best you can do is at least try. It could turn out really well and you end up nailing them like you should. Or it could be horrible, land somewhere close to them. But you could call that a warning and say you did it on purpose later on.

Thyme turns out to be really nice, and she explains how Eytelle approached her. This is when you inform her that it was your idea, no matter what Eytelle had told her. To have her with you guys could put her in danger, but you’re all going to die anyway. She’s an outlying district, the chances of her winning is already slim. You basically just gave her a chance.

She’s already picked up on your act the second that the others come back around to check up on you. This is when Finnick lets them know that you’re really skilled at it, despite failing in all the other stations you’d managed to hit while walking around with them. Except for the obvious ones with knot tying, starting the fire and all of that. 

Lennox jokingly asks what rock you’ve been living under for these past years, as if he can’t believe that you have no clue what you’re doing at all. But you just offer him a smile and shrug, saying that you don’t really have time for other things like that. You muse that if it weren’t for the fact that they’re agreeing for an alliance that you’d probably die in there alone.

They seem satisfied with that, and even though you hadn’t thanked them by any means, they say ‘you’re welcome’ and move on. This is when you and Finnick hang back. 

Soon, you get bored of training, and you’re about to wave Thyme off, before she asks if she’s really included in the alliance. You tell her that it looks like it, and they wouldn’t have let her tag around, much less offered if they were kidding. She looks pretty satisfied, and you tell her to make friends with the others too. If this this fails then she’ll want an escape plan.

After that you leave the training center with Finnick, take the elevator up to your district floor, and go in to see that Laurel is showing off designs to Mags. 

“Oops, are we walking in on something?” you ask, and Laurel looks over with a smile, “Not at all, welcome back.”

“Dinner will be served in an hour.” Elysia mutters, looking over from the tv.

“She’s telling us that we think and should probably shower.” Finnick whispers to you, Mags hears this and laughs.

She nods slightly, before shooing the both of you out the room as soon as Finnick’s stylist shows up behind you guys. It looks like they want to keep your interview outfits a surprise. It makes sense, they’re all about surprises and being prestigious. They think the outfits matter--because they do--but you don’t have that same taste. Neither does Finnick.

Back home you two would probably settle for a shirt and a pair of jeans. The occasion jacket, a nice pair of comfortable boots, and then that would be it. There’s not much to do around four, so there wouldn’t be a reason to dress up besides reaping day. You spend most of your time in a boat or in water.

Which means that you’re not even wearing boots, it would be a pair of sandals. If it’s cold in the morning, then your toes freeze and you just have to deal with it. Either you tuck your feet beneath you or shut up and just be cold. There’s a good possibility that you get thrown overboard by accident or on purpose. Or you’re spearing fish in the shallow, jeans being pulled up to your calves as you wade through the water.

You and Finnick stop outside your doors again, and he leans up against the wall.

“Allio and Lennox are annoying.”

“Stuck up?” you ask, a smile spreading over your face.

He rolls his eyes, “I don’t even think that word fits them. They think everyone inside of the arena is going to be easy to kill. That I’m probably going to be the only one who poses a threat.”

Your eyebrows raise, “They’re buying my act?”

“They don’t even think it’s an act. They think that you’re geniunely stupid and you’re just getting lucky with some of the things you know.”

That’s fair, you’re trying to play up the dumb damsel thing. You have to have one skill that will impress the gamemakers, and that will be just about it. If they keep you around for your skill to kill people, then that’ll be good enough. As long as you’re around.

“That’s good.”

“Anything about the other two? Trinket and Eyeball?” he purposely gets their names wrong.

You snort, “They’re buying it as good as the other two. I managed to convince them to invite Thyme, which I think will turn out handy.”

“How did you do that anyway?”

“Simply told them that if we run low on food and can’t find any animals, then berries and leaves is gonna be all that we have. So, she’ll be our best bet.”

He’s impressed, “Smart.”

“Yeah, I know. Any of the others show potential?”

“The boy from three, he’s been making things in the corner. Saw him make a knife from a stick, some vine and a rock.” Finnick tells you.

So he’ll definitely be dangerous. He’ll know how to make his own weapons from absolutely nothing. You wonder what else he knows how to make. If he can make knives, then there’s a possibility for a bow, spears, axes. Just depends on what setting you’re all going to be placed in.

“The others seem pretty reserved, or they’re not showing off what they can do.” Finnick yawns.

“Finally tired?” you tease.

“After sitting with you all night? Hell yeah I am.” he stretches, and then relaxes, “I’ll see you at dinner.”

“Yeah,” you wave him off, before going to your room.

You sit on the floor mainly, staring out the window, watching as the people below celebrate the games already. All you can think about is your family back home, and how they’re all holding up. You hope that Reed isn’t being too hard on Mox. You’re hoping that Mox hasn’t been crying this entire time, because there’s nothing to be worried about. You wonder if Alyssum notices that you’re gone.

You have a greater chance now. With an alliance forming, with learning all the new things that Thyme had taught you when she brought you to her special station. Showed you all the berries and leaves she could afford to before the others had come around again.

It’s almost like she didn’t want to show them, which is really fair. She doesn’t trust them as much, and you don’t either. But it also doesn’t make sense because technically you and Finnick are careers anyway. It could be because of the fact that you’re playing two different personalities, that you’re actually not stupid and just using them. Or it could be from a different reason that you don’t know.

She’s really nice though, and you’re glad that you suggested her. She shows promise, she learns really quickly. It took only a couple of minutes for her to learn to throw properly. It was just her doubt that was holding her back for the rest of the time.

When you disband the careers, you hope that she’ll stick with you. But when it comes down to the end, you don’t want to be the one that kills her. She’s too nice, she even told you a little bit about her family back home.

The more you get to know someone, the less you want to actually kill them, and that’s the painful part. If you were to get to know everyone that’s going to be thrown in, then you’ll feel bad. Except for Trink, Eytelle, Allio and Lennox, though. They volunteered and they’ve been training for this their entire lives.

It’s hard to feel bad for them. They leave everything they have behind just so that they can get the glory of a victor house. Infinite amounts of money, even though they basically already have that, since they’re rich. They just want to have their names be known for the generations to come. Be the ones to train the next pair of tributes that come on the train.

You don’t know how they’d want that at all. All they do is get the pain of watching the tributes die after they fail to do it properly. Then again, career. Volunteering. They almost always win. The works.

This really is going to suck.

--

LACUNA IS THE FIRST VERSION OF BELAMOUR 

//MASTERLIST//

#ilguna #finnick odair #lacuna #lacuna chapter one #lacuna chapter two #lacuna chapter three #lacuna chapter four

[nahimjustfeelingit-writes]

Imagine:

Reader/ OC trying to keep her orgasms on the inside because she doesn’t like how she sounds.

This is going to be pretty long and detailed. Figured I could add this bit into an idea I had. I wanted to write it out just like this 😩.First time using an OC. Enjoy lovelies xoxoxo

Hello, it’s your girl Ebony here and you’re listening to The Love Zone. We already have a caller number one on the line...

“Hello?” Élise timidly spoke into the phone while seated in her dimly lit living room. There was a 100% chance of showers that evening and rainy nights were the perfect nights for her. Alone in a home she inherited from her grandmother in Marigny, New Orleans, Élise decided to call The Love Zone on WQUE-FM, New Orleans mainstream urban radio station. Ebony Starr was a famous Sexologist and radio personality from Bywater, New Orleans. She inspired Élise to start her own podcast that she titled Finally Exhaled which discusses overcoming past toxic relationships and starting new ones.

“Caller number one?” Ebony said into the microphone. Her voice echoed since Élise could hear it twice.

“Yes,” she licked some cocoa butter from her lips, “I’m caller number one.”

“Alright, love, do you have a question for me?”

“I’m a huge fan,” she nervously laughs, “Just...I didn’t expect you...to answer my call.”

“You’re so sweet, honey, thank you,” Ebony made Élise smile, “what’s your name?”

“Yolanda,” that was her mother’s name.

“Yolanda, Pretty name. I know a lot of Yolanda’s.”

“Yeah,” she toyed with her long dreaded hair.

“Why are you up so late, Yolanda? No work for tomorrow?”

It was 11:00 pm. She worked as a waitress in a bar and grill but that was just to keep busy. She was an only grandchild left with her grandmothers money. Her Father didn’t like the fact that she got everything. Typical. He wasn’t around so why did it matter to him?

“Work tomorrow evening,” she pondered for a moment, “Now I remember my question.”

Ebony laughs, “go ahead, what’s your question?”

Wiggling her toes at the fireplace she opens her mouth to speak, “How do I overcome being embarrassed by the way I sound when I orgasm and moan? I’m nervous to even ask this question but it’s been bothering me and I just...I don’t like it.”

“Hmm,” Ebony’s smooth hum reassured her, “Why don’t you like the way you sound, Yolanda?”

“It’s-its because I was told it was ugly mainly. My last boyfriend-shitty boyfriend by the way, told me I sounded like a dying animal,” Élise chuckles, “I want to move past that and embrace the way I sound whenever the moment happens for me again but...”

“You’re afraid the next man will find it just as ugly and look at you weird?”

“Yes, ugh,” Élise closes her eyes, “What the hell should I do?”

“Honestly? Embrace it. That sound is a beautiful sound, Yolanda. One of the sounds of love making. When it’s real and sudden like that it makes you stutter out incoherent words and sounds but only a real man, an experienced appreciative man, would love to hear those noises. How old were you when he told you this?”

“I was 20 years old. That was when we first started dating. A start to a long toxic relationship.” She didn’t mean to vent like that but she couldn’t help it. Her ex, Sean, was such an emotional abuser. He shot her down every chance he got to make her feel ugly. That was for four whole years. She was 25 now and wanted to heal from that.

“Oh, that explains it,” Ebony made a noise of disapproval, “See, boys don’t know a thing, honey. I’m happy you’re not in that toxic relationship anymore and there is a man out there that will love every screaming orgasm you have. Especially if he’s the cause.”

“I know you’re right but gosh,” what man anyway? The closest she’s ever come to a man since then was working at that bar and they all were too pushy and drunks. She was loosing all hope honestly.

“Yolanda, when was the last time you had sex?”

“Over a year ago.”

“You’re craving sex heavy, sweetie. You want to give yourself to someone badly and a year can do that. I don’t think it was only the way you sound it’s a trust thing as well. Sean betrayed your trust.

Bingo.

“I’m better now. I can trust but I just don’t know where to start.”

“There is no rush. Let it come to you, honey. Once it does...accept it. Feel it. If you can listen to yourself moan and shout when you orgasm alone then you can definitely do it in front of a man again. I bet you sound angelic.”

Élise blushes.

“I actually heard that smile through the phone, Ebony laughs, “Sweety, let that moan out, snatch a man’s soul, and feed that craving.”

Élise laughs pleasantly, “I really needed this thank you so much, Miss Starr.”

“Please, If you need to talk you could always come to my meet and greets and workshops in The French Quarter.”

“I’d like that,” Élise smiles wide with her high cheek bones, “thanks again, Ebony.”

“Thank you, Yolanda. Enjoy the rest of your evening, love.”

The line disconnected. Élise places her phone on the carpeted floor and thought about their conversation. She was pining for sex. She wanted her year back. A year of no dick or lips on her pussy. Sex toys over used and calling her name as we speak.

Let’s take it slow with some Beyoncé- Dangerously in Love 2...

Baby I love you/You are my life/My happiest moments weren’t complete if you weren’t by my side/You’re my relation/In connection to the sun/With you next to me/There’s no darkness I can’t overcome/You are my raindrops/ I am your seed...

The rain was coming down in sheets, banging against Élise’s rough top like bullets. There was no lightning or thunder. She was glad that she got the lighting in her grandmothers home fixed because if she didn’t the power would be out and Élise did not want to go into that cobwebbed basement to find candles. Last time she went down there she saw a possum. Élise has on nothing but a retro Voodoo Fishing T-shirt while seated in front of the fireplace. She finally stands, the heat of the flames warming her butt before she walked back to the couch where her crinkled copy of Roar of Thunder, Hear My Cry rested on top of a quilt.

She couldn’t sleep and Beyoncé had her singing with her eyes closed. Grabbing her Walt Disney World coffee mug that had lukewarm herbal tea in it, Élise snuggled into the couch while facing a small window just above the heater in her living room.

I hope everyone is being safe on this stormy Friday night. We have another caller on the line, caller number two?

Élise tunes in.

“I’m still unfaithful to my husband. I can’t shake the need to be with the other man. Just tonight I came home after frantic car sex in an open lot. I want to tell him...I want to tell him I’m happy with the other man.”

“Wow,” Élise loves this juicy talk. She could faintly hear Rihanna-Unfaithful play in the background which causes her to giggle. Ebony was hilarious.

Whew, honey, juggling two men?

“SHIT!”

Élise’s head shot up from the couch. The angry shout came from outside. Maybe someone was locked out the house, she thought. Élise covered herself with the quilt further to listen to more of The Love Zone.

You are killing this man. Just tell him the truth. I can hear the pain in your voice. If you want to end this the right way stop stringing him along and communicate...

Thump

A rather loud kick could be heard from outside. Now, her interest was peaked. Élise tosses the quilt back , tiptoeing to the window with her mug still in hand. She could see a little better only because the house had a porch. But it was still foggy. A man was outside with his hazards flashing. He had to have been out there for a minute with how drenched he was messing under the hood of his car. No lightning or thunder. Just the rain, but the rain was more than enough to make the situation extremely uncomfortable.

Élise couldn’t see him that clearly as he hopped in and out of his car every minute or so, probably trying to warm up before trying something else to get his car moving again. Thanks to the street lamp about twenty feet from where he parked she could make out the type of car. A Ford Mustang 2006. It was parked beside a neighbor of hers that she didn’t like at all. His name was Kevin and he was a white supremacist. Nothing new in the South. No family but she could have sworn she heard screams from his house...

“Fuck!” The man shouts again. Élise felt kind of guilty. She had no idea why. She was sure most of her neighbors saw him stranded out there as well. As quiet as her neighborhood is, something out of the ordinary rarely goes unnoticed. However, the fact that the man was still out there struggling on one of the worst nights, weather-wise, of the year didn’t sit right with her. What harm would it be to offer to let him into her home so he could properly make a call for a Tow service or have a nice cup of tea and a hot meal? Loan a flashlight, or let him warm up by the fireplace for a moment?

Élise stares down at what she was wearing again. That retro Voodoo Fishing T-shirt. Élise went to the closet to grab her red longline puffer coat and black Hunter rain boots. She grabs a flashlight from the closet shelf, trying it out to see if it worked. A couple slaps with it to the palm of her hand made the old thing ignite and she was headed for the door. Élise swung the front door open like a women on a mission. She stomps across her front porch and right down the steps, pulling the back of her coat up over her head to keep from getting her dreads wet.

“Excuse me!” She yelled out from the sidewalk on the opposite side of the street from where the man was parked. He looked in her direction, and she could finally make out his soaked face. She was not disappointed.

“Wassup?!” He responded loudly, “This rain is a bitch!”

“Yeah, it is! Do you need some help?! It’s pretty cold out too my place is warm!”

He kept a steady gaze on her from under his hood. He had this look on his face as if that were a bad idea. Now, Élise was regretting it.

“Are you waiting for someone?!” She started up the conversation again. Her legs were so wet now.

“Nah!” He shook his head and from what Élise could make out she saw short dreads fall over his forehead, “Listen, it’s bad out here, sweetheart why don’t you go back inside, huh?!”

“You sure?!” She pointed her flashlight to the house, “My offer still stands if you change your mind!”

“Thanks, I appreciate it, ma!”

Even though it was dark she could see his smile. Damn, he was good-looking. All that out here melting in the rain. Élise turned to run back to the porch only to fall right on the concrete. She felt both her knees hit the ground. She wailed in pain. Her hands planted to the ground and she tried lifting up but her rain boots slipped right from under her. She could feel hot tears prick her eyes.

“SHIT!!! Hey, Ma!” He called out. Élise could hear heavy feet splashing in the flooded streets and then a pair of wet hands grabbing her waist and lifting her all the way up into bridal style. She squinted her eyes up at the nice-looking man with the fucked up car. He started walking back to her porch. He sat her down on an old chained swing chair before removing his black hoodie and tossing it on the swing chair with her. It was probably uncomfortable walking around with heavily soaked fabric. One thing was for sure: he was built. He had on a charcoal gray tee that was hugging his body something fierce. Élise could make out his physique thanks to him being up close and personal now. Then there was those dreads. They fit his rugged look so perfectly. He definitely wasn’t from around here.

“What are you doing out here? It’s bad, sweetheart, you could have cracked your head open on the ground instead.”

She blinked up at him with timid eyes. He softened his stern ones before his eyes closed. His hands finger combed his dreads back before he shook his head to stop the dripping water.

“My bad,” he looked down at her on the swing chair, “you’re probably thinking who the fuck he think he is talking to me,” he laughs awkwardly.

“Not at all,” Élise looked away and down at her lap. He was right. She was so quick to come running to the rescue. It was almost flooded outside.

“Let me see the damage,” He crouches down to look at her knees, “just scraped skin but it needs to be cleaned off.”

His onyx eyes landed on hers before turning back to his car. Élise studies the back of his smooth neck and the curve of his ears. It seemed like forever that he was staring at his car.

“I have everything in my house I can take care of it. Thank you though.”

He turned back with a tilt of his head. His eyes looked up at her house while his fingers lazily drummed on the swing chair.

“My name is Erik.” He reached out to shake her hand.

“I’m Élise,” she grabbed it and noticed some cuts on his knuckles, “looks like you need some help too.”

Erik drew his hand back before covering his knuckles by folding his arms, “Shit, I forgot that was even there.”

“No worries, I’m not afraid of blood.” She clarified.

“You must not be afraid of much talking to a stranger at 12 in the morning in the rain.”

His tone was serious. Élise looked away from him with a shy smile.

“I have a big heart and my shitty neighbors wouldn’t help you out so I figured what the hell I can do it.”

“Not much happens around here, huh?” He asked with attentive eyes.

“No, it’s pretty quiet,” she took in every inch of him with her eyes. The tight charcoal gray shirt was damp and exposing every single muscle. She liked his short dreads, almond colored skin, and long, sexy eyelashes.

“You could have knocked on someone’s door to give you a jump.”

“Ha,” his chuckle was dry, “You don’t answer doors when strangers knock, baby girl. And I don’t trust knocking on doors in this neighborhood. I’m lucky you even stepped out,” he smiled faintly, “like a breath of fresh air.”

“I agree,” she changed it up, “it’s just-“

“Don’t explain yourself. It’s cool,” Erik stands, stretching out the muscles in his arms. His eyes were studying her home with a new found curiosity.

“In this world we live in, you never know what you might find knocking on someone’s door. Most people are suspicious, especially of us black men.”

“True,” she stood with him, wrapping her coat around her, “so...do you wanna come in?”

He licked his lips and placed his hands in his black cargo pants pockets. He looked like he was freezing and she could see his cold breath.

“Erik, I have blankets and dry shirts,” she beemed up at him.

He squinted his eyes playfully at her before his head fell forward with defeat. Success.

“A blanket does sound nice. But, as tiny as you are, I doubt I could fit into one of your shirts.”

Élise thought she saw a flicker of lust in his eyes when he said that. At least, a part of her hoped she saw lust.

“Unless...” He gave her quizzical expression, “your boyfriend got some shirt he left behind.”

Élise blushes, “I don’t have a boyfriend.”

She could tell he was fighting a grin. Élise finally turned to lead the way back into her place, Erik grabbing his hoodie and walking through the door. The second he ended up in there he felt his body defrost and dry.

“Fuck,” he ran his hands over his short dreads, “I’m glad I let my pride down for once and let you help me. A nigga was cold.”

“Uh-Huh,” Élise laughs, “I see your skin warming up, Erik.”

“Oh yeah, I’m nice and toasty now,” He smiles flirtatiously.

“Hungry? Thirsty?”

“Nah, I’m cool.”

“Tow service?”

“Not available and...I’d rather not,” His jaw clenched.

“Well...” Élise shrugs, “looks like you’re staying the night, Erik.”

Erik raised a brow at her before looking around him to get acquainted.

She felt comfortable with him even though he was considered a stranger. Her grandmother would have higher blood pressure than what she already had if she knew what she’d just done. The thought of having some kind of company that night made her feel a lot better and less lonely. Élise finally locks her door and went to her closet to take off her boots and coat. It was all or nothing.

“Closet is free to put your boots and hoodie in.”

She was so damn comfortable around him that she forgot about only being in her T-shirt. Erik stood back with his arms folded watching Élise move and the fabric of the shirt sink in between her ass cheeks. She was sexy for sure. The second she kicked off her boots Erik could see the flesh of her butt... bare flesh.

This girl is serious? He thought.

Ass swinging while she moved. She was a cutie with a nice body. Alone in this big home. All that alone with no man. Shit didn’t make sense. Maybe she was just fucking someone. Erik began walking up to her while she took off her puffer coat to hang. Long slender dreads with shells in it. He wanted to pull on the coarse hair.

“Thanks, Élise,” He was so stealthy that she hadn’t noticed how close he had gotten to her. Elise’s back stiffened and her body tried to step away to give him space but Erik was already taking off his boots and hanging up his hoodie. She caught a whiff of his cologne causing her to nibble on her bottom lip. He didn’t smell like liquor and cigarettes like the men at the bar and grill she worked at. He smelled like rain, sweat, and what she recognized was Gucci Guilty men’s cologne. She remembered that smell from when she was in Macy’s sniffing around in the perfume section. It was intimate and warm at the same time.

“Don’t worry, your blankets will smell like me even when I leave, baby girl.”

She was caught red handed.

“I’m sorry,” she stroked a few dreads from her face, “Your cologne smells really good.”

We’re they really standing in the closet? She dropped the flashlight on the floor when Erik leaned in towards her to smell her now. He was more than comfortable around her. He acted like he knew her.

“You smell like coconut oil,” He gave her a coy smile, “I like that.” Erik crouched down in the small space to pick up the flashlight.

“T-thanks.” Élise licked her dry lips. She needs more cocoa butter.

“So, nice closet,” He teased.

“Yeah...very spacious,” she awkwardly tried to joke back.

Just show me around, ma, since I’m gonna be sleeping here tonight. Unless...you changed your mind?”

He leaned in toward her with a slight raise of his brow and parted lips. He knew he had hers shooken up.

“Yeah, I have a spare bedroom and the couch pulls out into a bed.”

Erik’s eyes trailed up and down her body, “Pull out couch is fine.”

Élise finally let out the breath she’d been holding once Erik stepped away and into her living room. She watched him look around like he was in a museum, staring at her family photos and the art on the walls. Élise has redecorated since moving in two years ago.

“This you?” Erik had a wide smile on his face while pointing to a photo on the ledge of the fireplace. Élise walked over, spotting the photo in question. Oh, yes, when her hair was in a kinky fro, nose piercing, college T-shirt on two sizes too small, tiny denim shorts, and laying in the grass with her ass sitting out and ready to be grabbed.

“Looking like a little rebel,” He picked that photo up studying it with unrelenting eyes. She shuddered.

“Very sexy,” Erik commented and then he gave Élise that look. She turned away from him; she didn’t want him to see the desire in her eyes. She was beginning to have second thoughts about kissing and possibly fucking a complete stranger. No need to deny herself her own thoughts. She’s been thinking that the second he looked up at her from across the street in the rain.

“Where are you from, Erik?”

He placed the picture back on the fireplace ledge, “California.”

Élise was intrigued.

“Why New Orleans?” She followed him to the couch where he started pulling it out into a bed.

“Business,” He kept it short. She didn’t pry further because she sensed that he didn’t want her to know the nature of his “business.”

“How do you like it so far?”

He gathered the bottom of his shirt, bringing it up and over his head while his zealous eyes never left hers, “It’s cool, I’ve been before during Mardi Gras.”

She froze. Was his skin naturally like that? It wouldn’t make since with how neat the bumps were. What would make him do that? He didn’t seem bothered by her eyes taking it all in or the wondering crease in her brow. He wouldn’t tell her, she knew that. The shit was going to eat her alive.

She snapped out of her daze, “I haven’t been to a Mardi Gras since I was 21.”

“Why?” He settles down shirtless on the pullout. His body bathed in the fire. She could feel her tongue tingling to taste his skin. Erik is so sexy.

“It’s so damn wild.”

“Please, girl,” He laughs, “Drunk white people acting a fool ain’t our kind of wild.”

They both laughed.

“When I came that shit was dead i was not partying with them. So, me and a friend hit up some urban spots and listened to some upbeat jazz and ate Cajun food. I met a chick and had some fun with her.”

What kind of fun?

“Sounds a lot better than the time I went.”

Élise stares down at her scraped knees. The crimson peeked through the tiny scratches. Now that her attention was there it was beginning to burn.

“Where’s your bathroom so we can get those cuts cleaned, baby girl?”

Élise pointed to her stairwell, “Upstairs. I can bring it down you don’t have to come with me.”

“Well,” Erik had a roguish expression on his face, “what if I wanna see what upstairs looks like?”

Her wary eyes stared at his wry expression. Erik was definitely being very coy with her.

“You won’t find anything interesting upstairs except for my bedroom.”

Élise’s wistful expression let Erik know without even saying it flat out that she wanted him in her room. He fixed his eyes on her for being that bold with him. She wasn’t so shy. She was a little rebel.

“I didn’t mean it like that,” Élise tries to play it off, “I should probably shut up.”

“Let’s go,” Erik stood up, holding his hand out to her. Élise grabs his hand, leading Erik to the staircase and up the creaky steps. It was dark and chilly in the hallway since she didn’t turn on the heat upstairs. She could hear Erik shiver even though his hand was still warm. They made it to her bathroom, Élise turning on the light. She hadn’t changed it around much. Her grandmother still had Élise’s potty from when she was a baby in there. She never let go of things.

“My guess is this house belonged to your grandmother?” Erik finally spoke while standing at the sink.

“Yep. She passed away from breast cancer two years ago.”

“I know how that shit feels, trust me,” Erik opened her medicine cabinet to find a withering first aid kit, “I lost my mom and my dad so I understand.”

Erik motioned for Élise to come to him. When she did he picked her up and sat her on the edge of the sink. Her short yet thick legs swung back and forth reminding her of when she was a child. Erik opened the kit and grabbed some gauze dressing, peroxide, and neosporin.

“You must really enjoy picking me up, stranger,” Élise’s playful eyes sought out Erik’s and the second he smiled revealing those deep dimples in his cheeks she crossed her legs to simmer the heat growing between them. Even the grip she had on the edge of the sing became firmer.

there is a man out there that will love every screaming orgasm you have. Especially if he’s the cause.

Ebony’s words spoke to her again. She was thinking about the sounds she would make if Erik fucked her. He was still shirtless, his cargo pants riding low on his hips showing her that chiseled v-cut of his, and those lashes with his onyx eyes blinked at her like he was trying to read her mind. Lord knows Élise wanted to read his. He was so mysterious and unreadable and that didn’t scare her. It made her want to stake her claim on him. He was visiting New Orleans and maybe she could show him around and they could have some fun of their own. Élise was lonely and friends weren’t enough to fill the void. Not really much family left either. She needed the warmth and comfort of a man.

But Erik looked like the type to break you down piece by piece. She wouldn’t mind him turning her out. Élise didn’t know how long she was staring but Erik’s soft fingers tapping the sides of her thighs broke her out of her dreamy state. Staring down, she could see the fresh gauze covering her wounds. Élise bit into her lip and without being able to control it her high cheek bones puffed out. He made her blush over everything. Why couldn’t he be from New Orleans and not California? Once he left she wouldn’t find another guy around like him. She already crushed on him and she hardly even knew him.

“What did I do to make you blush, pretty girl?”

“What didn’t you do, Erik,” She reaches out for his hands, “let me see.”

He came in closer between her legs, giving her permission to grab his hands and examine his scarred knuckles. It looked pretty bad. Did he beat a brick wall or somebody’s face? She glanced up at him briefly and without saying a word she tended his wounds. His searching expression made her belly flit like butterfly wings. Now, she was rubbing neosporin in carefully. She could feel his eyes leering at her in a sexually suggestive way.

“These are pretty fresh,” she muttered. Élise’s eyes looked from his Adam’s apple bobbing from swallowing spit to his teeth nibbling the corner of his full pouty lip. He didn’t look at her when she said that.

“That’s because they are, Élise,” he says with a low voice. She started wrapping the gauze dressing around his hand. After she was done she didn’t let his hands go. Élise surely didn’t want to. They stood in a comfortable silence and it gave her time to think about his fresh wounds. He didn’t look like the type to go around beating brick walls but faces? That was definitely the answer. And surprisingly, Élise wasn’t afraid. If Erik wanted to rob her or kill her he would have done that already. Instead he was kind to her and he looked at her like he wanted to fuck her. She liked that look a lot.

“Élise.” Erik spoke earnestly.

“Yes?” She said with a soft-spoken voice.

“You’re not afraid of me. Why?”

“Because I know you won’t hurt me.”

She noticed him watching the way her lips moved when she said that. He was admiring the shape of them. Her lips were the perfect proportion. Perfectly symmetrical on the left and the right. Full lips with volume and a plump pout.

“Yeah, baby girl, I wouldn’t hurt you.”

“...but you did hurt someone...”

Erik glides his tongue over his upper teeth, responding but completely ignoring her question, “what if I kissed you right now? That wouldn’t change your mind?”

“No.” Élise said gazing into his eyes.

Erik leans in with his hands bracing the sides of the sink. His lips sparingly touched hers as he spoke. Élise clings to every word while her low eyes stared at his mouth.

“If you lettin’ me put my mouth on yours then you’ll let me put something else on you...am I right?”

Élise has an anxious feeling and Erik wasn’t helping when the flesh of his bottom lip tickled hers every time he spoke. Now, her eyelids were fluttering. Still in nothing but that retro Voodoo Fishing T-shirt and no panties. She wondered if he could smell her arousal towards him.

“Erik-“

“Just answer the question, Élise.”

“Yes, I would.”

“If you’re not afraid of me you would answer my questions,” Erik moved his lips to her ear, his hard chest touching her clothed one. Élise shuddered when his warm breath tickled her ear, “Why are you so comfortable around me with this little ass T-shirt on and no panties?”

“H-How do you know I don’t have on panties?”

“Because,” the hair from his beard touched her neck, “I could see that ass from the back when you were in that closet, ma.”

She hung on to his captivating voice while staring at the side of his neck. Élise was sweating from how turned on she was and he didn’t even kiss her yet.

“That’s what I’m talking about. You act like you know me...what if I would have pulled that shirt up to get a better look at that ass?”

Élise gasps at his words, turning to look at him with alluring eyes. What if he would have done that? He was already so close to her. Now she was imagining him bending her over in that closet and going deep in her pussy from the back. She found that to be very sexy and thrilling. Élise’s grandmother was probably turning over in her grave right now. Her granddaughter letting a strange and clearly very dangerous man into her home and allowing him to seduce her. 

Erik takes his hands to rest on her thighs. He moved them up and down in a slow motion keeping a steady gaze on Élise to see if she would flinch away. No, she was enjoying the firmness of his hands. He knew exactly what he was doing. Élise could feel his fingertips hit the bottom of her T-shirt. Damn...he was so close.

“Élise, you so damn thick, girl.”

“Thank you.” She bit down on her tongue to fight her ugly moan. At least that’s what she thought it was. Her eyes descended when she felt Erik lift the bottom of her shirt. Unhurried and gentle Erik lifts that T-shirt up to reveal Élise’s shaved mound. The phat flesh sat between her plush thighs like a surprise treat.

“Damn, you just letting me do this, huh?”

“Yes,” she let out an airy sigh, “I am.”

“Been too long, ma?” Erik had a wolfish expression on his face, “shit, you nice and phat down there too.”

Erik pulled her shirt back down and Élise’s heart sank before his pillowy lips finally connected with hers so suddenly. Her head almost collided with the mirror from how alarmed she was. Her hands reached up to cup his face while she allowed this man to fuck her mouth with his tongue. She tried to keep up with him but in the end Erik conquered her. His mouth tasted amazing. Now, he was gripping her curvy waist with his forceful hands and practically pulling her into his body. Their heads moved from side to side and their lips smacked and sucked on each other’s. A tiny yelp escaped her mouth when Erik sank his teeth into her bottom lip before drawing back. He licks his lips in one motion all the way around his mouth and Élise was officially hungry for more of him. A man coming in from the rain. A man she would have never expected would be kissing her on her bathroom sink. It was so risky.

“Ahhhh!” She moaned instantaneously. His lips and teeth were on her neck. Shit, Élise actually moaned. Why was she even worried? She actually sounded quite nice. Erik was bruising her skin with the right suction of his lips. If it felt like that on her neck it would feel just as good on her hard nipples and clit. The surface of the sink was moist from her pussy rubbing and gliding along the surface.

“Taste so goddam good, girl,” he flattened his tongue and licked her neck, “so sweet.”

“God, Erik,” she moaned, “I can’t believe I’m letting you do this to me.”

“I can,” He chuckles, “You like that I’m doing this to you. I can tell you’ve been loosing out, ma, got you all sweaty and breathing deep.”

“I just can’t...believe...fuck, Erik.”

His hands grabbed her breasts, circling them and tweaking her nipples through her shirt. He was torturing her at this point. Élise wanted him to rip that shirt off her body.

“You’re driving me crazy,” She whispered, “Erik,” her voice was so hushed and heavenly. The man in question was just as frazzled as her. Panting, a sheen of sweat on his skin, his dick hardening and thickening against her inner thighs.

“Élise...I wanna fuck you.” He grabs her hips to keep her still, “listen to me,” his thumb came up to stroke her dimples chin, “...I wanna fuck you so good, girl. You need to take some good dick.”

“It’s been so long,” she bit into her pouty lip.

“Shit, how long?” He was running his hands through her dreaded strands.

“I feel,” she shivers, “I feel so embarrassed saying it,” Élise’s murmured like she was telling a huge secret.

“You can tell me...don’t be scared, girl.”

“A year,” she closed her eyes.

What the fuck. An entire year. Élise was yearning, longing, craving, and hungry for some dick and attention. Part of Erik wondered if that was one of the reasons why she let him into her home.

“Aye,” Erik soothes her, “that’s a long time, baby girl, but I can help you out with that,” Erik takes her hand to kiss it gently before speaking against her knuckles, “I can make you feel better....”

“Erik.”

“You know you want me to...let me make you feel good...” He kissed her hand again while staring into her eyes. Erik felt her thighs quiver around his waist.

“I got you, ma.”

“Erik,” she kept whispering at him and it had him grunting and painfully hard, “I’m so wet, I can’t believe it...Erik.”

She’s so beautiful. God, Erik needed this right now. He needed her ass.

“Élise, girl, I swear to fucking God-“

“Erik, please, Erik.”

Élise unexpectantly lifts both of her legs to the sink, her entire T-shirt bunched up around her waist now showing Erik all that wet juicy pink. Pussy looking like a wet piece of fruit. A peach drizzled in honey. Tight slit with puffy suckable lips. Erik’s eyes were vicious. He reached out to keep her thighs back since she wanted it that way. Then, in a blink of an eye, he had her pushed back against the mirror with her ass hanging over the edge of that sink.

“Oh? You itchin’ for me, ain’t you? opening up your fucking legs like that. Just telling me I can have it? Girl, I will beat this pussy up right on this motherfucking sink. Fucking playing with me if you want...”

She caved when she saw him spit thickly on her pussy. She drew her lips into her mouth. Élise could feel the saliva practically slap her clit. He was so fucking nasty. She just knew that Erik would have her making all types of noises.

“Still ain’t scared, huh?”

“No.” Her voice shook even though she said no.

Erik’s head went down between her legs. He stuck his tongue out as far as it could go and began licking the underside of her clit back and forth. Élise clenched her teeth, the sounds begging to escape her mouth.

“I don’t hear nothing. If you ain’t afraid why don’t I hear you moaning, baby girl?”

Erik went in again slurping her up and licking in a deadly pattern. She felt him tug on her clit and inner folds. She was ready to cum already.

“Erik, Erik I-Stop it, I’m-Erik, please, please I’m-oh my God you’re-you’re making me-Ooooh you’re making me-“

Like it wasn’t in her own control, Élise moaned as her orgasm erupted from her. Her eyes squeezed shut and the so called animalistic sounds escaped her mouth. She was choking on her moans and she hated that she couldn’t control it but this fucking man...he was eating her. Making up for that year. Every month fueling him to suck and lick on that pussy some more. Even after she came he still covered her with his entire mouth and spit. She waited and waited for him to say she sounded ugly or look at her bizarrely but no. Instead he says...

“Good fucking girl. That’s right, cum in this mouth. Shit, cum all you want, do it, baby girl.”

Thank god for his car breaking down.

“Yes!”

“Uh-Huh, you want some more!”

She nodded her head with vigorously.

“Look at you,” Erik bit his lip while thumbing her clit, “look at you shaking and moaning,” his motions increased, “cumming again? That pussy cummimg for me? she ready to bust for me, Élise?”

“Mmmm, Erikkkk, baybeee!”

“You just keep on going?” He smiled.

“I-I’m sorry,” her body spasmed, “I can make a lot of mess.”

Élise was referring to her squirting habit.

“You can squirt all over Daddy whenever you like,” He inserts two fingers inside of her. She rolled her eyes shut, body vanquished but feeining for more.

“Grabbing my fingers like that? Gon’ head and cum...better yet fuck these fingers. Get you some, ma, pop that pussy on these fingers.”

Her hips lifted to get all of his fingers as he dug deep.

“Ooh...ooh...look at you...got my dick heavy in these pants.”

Élise watched him grab his dick. He was so long. She couldn’t wait to see it. And fuck it. And suck it...

“Damn, shit, I can’t wait to pound that puss.”

She shouted out again, pussy convulsing around his thick fingers. Her throat was raw from how hard she screamed.

“So fucking beautiful. Shit don’t make no sense.”

@tgigoldie @soufcakmistress @chefjessypooh@chaneajoyyy@pananegra@theblulife @becincere @blaqwidow91 @fish-outta-watah@moonlight-night-sky @eyeknowmywrites  @crowngold@njadakillthiscookie@blktinkerbell@luvanxi @sheisexcellent1@chocolatedippedinhoney@brandithecrystalgem@dababydababydababydababy@soulfulbeauty19@btitannaaa@sunkissedebony97 @youngblackndgifted@harleycativy @rbhp@thee-germanpeach @thadelightfulone@bugngiz@palmstreesallday@skylahb @bakaris-shorty @nizzle-mo @truglori @queenflaws @ljstraightnochaser @nickidub718 @vikkidc @thehomierobbstark @rent-emspoons @abluesforlyssa

#nahimjustfeelingit writes #killmonger smut #killmonger fic #killmonger x reader #killmonger imagine

[geehosaphat]

I remember tears streaming down your face when I said “I'll never let you go” When all those shadows almost killed your light I remember you said don't leave me here alone But all that's dead and gone and passed tonight...

TLDR; Martin Ambrosius, District 2, Victor of the 293rd Hunger Games recalls his own time spent in the arena and confronts the ghosts of those he betrayed. 

TW: Poison, Bombs, Decapitation, Murder, Death

The quarters for mentors was too similar to the tributes’ in Martin’s opinion. As he laid in his bed for the first night at the training facility after the train ride with his tributes, he couldn’t help but recall his first night after his Reaping. It had been cold, but not like a snowy day, just cool. His home had been comfortable enough in District 2 he supposed, but everything in the Capitol was next level.

Even the cold.

He hadn’t been able to sleep in that bed the whole time they had been there. Instead he’d taken the small couch in the space. The shape of the cushions reminding him of the slight flaws in his mattress back home. It had kept most of his nightmares at bay at least, even if his back ached in the morning from the position he’d been in for too many hours.

Then had come the training itself.

When showing his tributes the training facility and tools, he’d had flashbacks to his own time frantically spent trying to train in things that his mind would never fully capture. Sure, he’d picked up a thing or two since then (especially within the arena) but there was something so unnatural and clunky about him wielding an axe or trying to create a bomb. No, things like that were best left to those who specialized in the craft.

Martin had used any time that had not been spent honing crafts he’d never grasp forming alliances.

The first had been Miranda, a studious looking girl from District 3. Miranda had been good with traps and electricals. She had insisted to Martin that there was little difference between organizing a circuit board and creating a good trap. He hadn’t seen the connection but her skills were undeniable. She was thirteen. Martin remembered the cute way her nose scrunched up when she concentrated on something.

Then had come Kaydence, a boisterous kid from District 5. He was strong from working in the fields and large to boot. Kaydence had shown Martin how to use a hammer. There was this optimism that had never gone away. He was fourteen. Martin remembered the way how, when Kaydence had laughed, all of his fears tended to melt away even on the worst of his days in the arena.

Rounding out Martin’s allies came Trey, a fellow District 2 member that Martin remembered from the academy. Trey was no Career, but he had spent an inordinate amount of time on agility courses and with smaller long-range weaponry because the ability to juggle daggers while jumping through hoops had amused him greatly. He was seventeen. Martin remembered the handshake he and Trey had made up while huddled together under their camp while they waited for the acid rain the Gamemakers had sent to stop.

Just close your eyes, the sun is going down You'll be alright, no one can hurt you now Come morning light, you and I'll be safe and sound...

When Martin had gotten into the arena his first instinct had been to run in the opposite direction of the Cornucopia. This was, however, undercut by Kaydence’s insistence on getting himself a hammer that was shimmering in the very center of the chaos. Not wanting to abandon his allies, he’d rushed in at Kaydence’s heels and helped to distract as many of the District 1 Careers as possible to get their whole pack through the Cornucopia.

Sorting through their loot they found: Martin managed to snag a backpack that would prove to be full of medical supplies, Miranda had grabbed herself some wire and a crossbow, Kaydence got his hammer and a fishing net, and Trey grabbed a trident that none of them knew how to use. All in all they had decided it had actually been worth it once Martin had used their new supplies to patch up a few injuries they’d sustained in the area.

The first few days passed pretty uneventfully. The terrain felt confusing going from forest to desert and back again. They mainly kept to themselves, sharing stories from back home and sharing what the first thing they’d do if they were the one to make it home.

Miranda wanted to start her own academy in District 3; something that would give future tributes more of an access to an electrical side of things despite that being District 2′s whole deal. Martin had told her that she was onto something and hoped that, should she make it there, that they at least named the building after her or something.

Kaydence just wanted to hug his mother again. He didn’t care about the glory, though he hoped that District 5 would at least get enough food and money to make the pain he went through worth it. Martin had shared how much he missed Mim in return and Kaydence had pulled the older tribute in for a hug that Martin couldn’t refuse. Being in the arena made everyone lonely.

Trey was the outlier. Despite not having the skills of a Career he’d smirked at the question, snorting contemptuously at Kaydence’s soft answer. Money and power and fame drove Trey to reach for the finish line. His grandmother had been a Victor and, while his parents had never gone through the Games, Trey was determined to be just as big of a name as she had been. Martin had assured Trey that everyone was just as valid as the other for their reasonings but kept quiet about the rainclouds behind his neighbor’s eyes.

Don't you dare look out your window, darling everything's on fire The war outside our door keeps raging on Hold onto this lullaby even when the music’s gone, gone...

Food was scarce in the arena.

The few animals they had come across being squirrels and lizards which were high in protein if you could get enough for four people but, most of the time, catching food could only feed one or two of their members. This proved to be to Martin’s benefit when they re-entered the forest area and found a big bushel of berries. There was one that Martin recognized as safe to eat and they’d filled an entire pocket of his backpack to the brim with them to carry with them along their journey.

What the others didn’t see was the nearly identical bushel beside that one of poisonous berries that Martin snagged and stuffed into a separate pocket for later.

One by one, they eventually ran into the other packs in the arena and had to fight their way through the landscape so they could hope to get back to their families, back to their lives.

Three cannons fired when Miranda set off a bomb she’d managed to make with her skills and a sponsor gift she’d received. She managed to kill someone from District 1, District 6, and District 5 in that explosion. Miranda insisted that she was fine when they checked on her but Martin remembered the way she’d asked him to hold her when the others were asleep.

A single cannon fired thanks to Kaydence when a scrawny looking girl from District 4 tried to steal from their camp and was caught by the largest member of their party. She had barely even known she’d been caught before Kaydence sliced her head off. They tried not to look at Kaydence when they saw the face of that tribute in the sky that night but Martin remembered hearing his sobs while keeping watch for them.

A whopping four cannons fired for Trey’s use of Miranda’s crossbow. They’d been ambushed at an oasis in the middle of the desert, too delirious from dehydration to look for the attack awaiting them at the shore. Trey had saved their lives singlehandedly, having hung back from his allies to keep watch over them due to a “bad feeling” he’d had in his gut. Martin remembered how everyone had treated Trey like a hero in the moment but when it came time to acknowledging the fallen that night Trey was the quietest of all staring into those portraits.

Just close your eyes, the sun is going down You'll be alright, no one can hurt you now Come morning light, you and I'll be safe and sound...

Each day that passed brought Martin and his allies closer to the finish line. It didn’t feel real, not really, most days. They kept to themselves as much as they could, letting the other tributes kill each other off for the most part. Martin knew the people he was working with weren’t killers at heart, not really. He, himself, had yet to even get a kill thus far in the Game, not that he was complaining about the fact.

The problem came when the realization dawned upon Martin that only seven remained in the game and four of them were sitting together at his camp. He almost couldn’t process the knowledge, couldn’t anticipate what that would feel like. If Martin were honest, he’d never expected for them to get this far. He had imagined a million ways for him to go out but being part of the final seven? It felt like a dream.

So, this knowledge fresh in his mind, Martin began to prepare the supper for his camp in silence. Everyone else was sharing stories and inside jokes that they had created all together here in the arena. His heart sank as his hands worked against his heart’s desire to keep them all safe.

Miranda was handed her plate first as she always was. They had joked in the beginning about ladies first but really she was the youngest so it only felt fair to make sure she got a fair portion. Martin remembered the way he didn’t ruffle her hair the way he usually did as he passed her by and she pouted at him but made no further comment.

Kaydence was next, a big guy like him he always joked that he deserved double the portion of tiny Miranda but never actually complained about his share as the group always at least made it fair and everyone took turns missing a meal if they were running extremely low on sustenance. Martin remembered Kaydence calling him “Chef” sarcastically as he stared down at his plate of only berries.

Trey was the last of Martin’s allies to be given his plate at every meal that included every member of their group. Trey was usually fiddling with something which resulted in his hands being busy and Martin was never quite in the mood for getting accidentally stabbed by Trey dropping whatever fidget toy he’d found for the day. Martin remembered Trey taking this meal in silence and wished he had asked what had been on Trey’s mind at the time.

Just close your eyes, you'll be alright Come morning light, you and I'll be safe and sound...

One by one his allies began to realize what had happened to them as they grew steadily more ill from the dinner Martin had given them. The side effects of the poison they’d consumed wouldn’t be too painful, he’d been sure that they wouldn’t suffer for too long. He couldn’t even look them in the eyes as they accused him of his crimes.

Martin wouldn’t have been able to see them anyway, the tears overflowing as his allies’, his friends’ lives came to their bitter end.

Miranda was the first to go, having been the smallest and the first to have eaten. She had asked him why he did this to them when they trusted him. Martin had no answer and couldn’t watch her face as she had passed on. He made sure to close her eyes and lay her down gently afterwards, though, choking out apologies between his sobs. She didn’t deserve this fate, she was just a kid!

Kaydence, despite his size, followed suit. For the first time since Martin had met Kaydence he heard the District 5 tribute swear. Not at Martin but at himself for allowing his guard to go down so easily. This felt worse than if Kaydence would have yelled at him, at least Martin would have deserved that. When Kaydence passed on he offered the fallen tribute the same courtesy he had offered Miranda. Kaydence had been a good person and Martin would carry that guilt for the rest of his life.

Trey was the last to fall and Martin would later be told by Trey’s mother that her son was much too stubborn to let Martin see his weakness as he passed on. What she didn’t know was that Trey had shown it, silently, by being the only one to capture Martin’s eye contact and looking terrified by his fate. Sure, Trey had said nothing aloud but his silence spoke volumes that echoed in his mind still.

Martin spent the rest of the Game hiding in their camp until the last tribute sought him out. A bloodthirsty boy from District 4. Martin had wasted no time with this fight, having expected this eventually, and shot him dead in the heart with Miranda’s crossbow.

With that it was over and Martin was taken home. What barely anyone realized was Martin died in that arena alongside all of his friends.

#bhg #tw poison #tw death #tw bombs #tw decapitation #tw murder #[ s. safe and sound ] #[ mine ]

[sadaboutniall]

something about you;

introduction | masterlist | tag | wattpad

Twenty Five. December, 2016.

The feeling of standing on stage at Madison Square Garden, entirely on your own, and listening to the crowd singing your lyrics back at you is unbeatable in a way Niall never could’ve imagined. It’s so different to doing it with the band, so much more vulnerable, so much more like he’s flaying his heart out for the entire world to consume. Which he is, he supposes—he’s telling twenty thousand strangers about the most precious thing in his life, and they’re listening.

It’s amazing that he doesn’t cry, actually. He thinks of himself here with the band a million years ago, how he never could’ve imagined being there then, how he never could’ve imagined the route his life would take to get him here now. He imagines telling 19 year old Niall that he’d be back and he’d be doing it alone. The thought makes him shake.

He bounds off the stage after his set feeling a strange combination of invincible and vulnerable, exposed but unstoppable, powerful but raw and emotional. He’ll have a shower, he thinks, find something to eat before meeting up with his cousins and his auntie. Joe Jonas mentioned something about an afterparty tonight and he thinks he’ll make his way over to that too, eventually, maybe with Shawn. He’ll be asleep before 3am, if he’s lucky.

Niall’s just ducking into his dressing room, sandwich in hand, when his phone rings. It’s a bit of a juggle, fishing it out of his pocket without dropping his sandwich and his coffee, but he manages it—only to nearly drop everything again when he sees Isla’s name on the caller ID. It’s four in the morning in London. Four AM phone calls are never, ever a good thing.

‘Isla?’ He shoulders his dressing room door open, relieved to be so close to a private place. ‘Everything okay?’

‘Hiya,’ Isla sounds sleepy on the other end, but okay. Niall feels his heart rate settling almost immediately. ‘I’m fine, sorry, didn't mean to scare you.’

‘It’s four in the morning for you, petal,’ Niall drops himself onto the couch, sighing. ‘What are you doing up?’

‘Wanted to congratulate you on your set. I watched a livestream.’

It’s like this was the final piece of the puzzle, the last gentle shove over the edge Niall needed to make him cry. His voice cracking, he asks, ‘you watched a livestream?’

‘Yeah,’ Isla yawns. ‘I saw Z100 tweet about it and I figured I’d tune in. It was pretty good quality, too. Next best thing to being there myself.’

‘Isla,’ Niall swallows around a thick ball of tears in his throat. ‘It’s four in the morning.’

‘Yeah, I slept for a bit, set an alarm to wake up before your go. I caught the end of Ellie’s, too. She sounded great. Not as good as you, of course.’

‘You woke up,’ Niall’s talking in circles, but he can’t really wrap his head around it. ‘At ass o’clock in the morning to watch me sing on a shitty livestream, when you can just call me up and hear me sing anytime you want? Isla, baby.’

‘Well when you say it like that,’ Isla laughs, and Niall can hear the sheets rustle as she moves around in bed. He thinks of her in his flat, cocooned comfortably in his bed, massive duvet keeping her safe from the harsh London winter. He’d given her a key, told her she could stay over any night she wanted to while he was away—but he’s not sure how much she’s taken him up on it. ‘It’s MSG, it felt like a big deal, I wanted to see. I’m glad I did anyway, you were brilliant.’

‘God,’ Niall drops his head back to rest on the top of the couch, blinking back tears. ‘I love you so much, petal.’

‘Love you too,’ she says, softly. ‘But this isn’t that big of a deal, Niall. I didn’t even get out of bed or anything.’

‘It is a big deal,’ Niall closes his eyes against the harsh fluorescent lighting of the dressing room, imagining himself at home with Isla instead. He’s resisted letting his mind wander for most of the tour—he keeps himself occupied instead, tries not to think too hard about how much he misses her. It’s like a fucking hole in his chest, and he walks around ignoring it. ‘It was a really thoughtful thing to do.’

Isla’s silent for a moment, all Niall can hear is the hum of activity outside his dressing room. DNCE are on stage now.

‘I’m really proud of you,’ Isla says, and Niall feels that prickle behind his eyes again, that pressure rising in his chest. ‘You’re doing so well on your own. I always knew you would but… I’m just so fucking proud of you.’

It takes Niall a few seconds to be confident that he can speak without crying. When he thinks he can manage it, he says, ‘you have no idea how much I miss you, lover.’

‘Miss you too,’ Isla’s voice is soft, tired. It’s a physical ache in Niall’s heart, how badly he wants her. ‘But we’re halfway through now. Ten more days.’

‘Ten more days,’ he repeats, like he hasn’t been counting every morning. ‘I can’t wait to see you.’

‘Me neither. S’weird, seeing pictures of you and videos of you and stuff. It’s like… like I’m sharing you with all these people.’

‘You never have to share me with anyone,’ Niall whispers, throat tight. ‘I belong to you.’

Isla hums, thoughtful. She feels so, so far away. ‘Hearing you sing This Town, too,’ she says, slowly. ‘It’s mad. I just feel so… like, that’s our story, you know? And now that the song is out there and all these people are listening and singing, it’s everyone’s.’

Niall goes still, heart rate kicking up again. ‘Do you not want me to—’

‘No, no,’ she cuts him off quickly, catching on. ‘We agreed after you played it for me that I’m okay with you sharing it with the world. I’m really, really proud of you and I want everyone to hear how talented you are. It’s just… mad.’

Relief flooding his body, Niall smiles, lets out a deep breath. He’d been so willing, in that moment, to drop it if she asked. ‘It is mad,’ he tells her. ‘But it’s still ours, like. No one can take that away.’

‘I know,’ Isla’s smiling too, Niall can hear it in her voice. ‘It just feels really vulnerable, you know?’

‘I do,’ Niall says, and means it. ‘Good to be vulnerable sometimes, though.’

‘It is,’ Isla yawns, more rustling in bed. ‘You going out tonight?’

‘Probably. Gonna see the fam first, though.’

‘Give kisses for me?’

‘Only if I get one too.’

Isla laughs, and the sound of it is better, Niall thinks, than that entire crowd singing his lyrics back to him. There would be no lyrics without this. She makes a smooching sound on the other end of the phone and Niall blushes, even though she can’t see him.

‘Thank you, lover,’ he tells her, biting back his own giggle. Phone smooches are very serious business to him. ‘You gonna get some sleep now? Got plans for the morning?’

‘Ah,’ Isla sighs, ‘Mia wants to go wedding dress shopping.’

‘Holy shit.’

‘I know. Fucking mad. The wedding’s not for a literal thirteen months, but it’ll be fun.’

‘Send me pictures?’ Niall asks, a little fluttering in his belly.

‘Of Mia? You’re not allowed to see, you’ll show it to Mullz.’

‘No, no. Of you. Try some on yourself and send me some selfies.’

‘You want me to send you pictures of me in wedding dresses?’

‘Yeah,’ Niall’s cheeks are hot, but he’s in too deep to turn back now. ‘Wanna see.’

‘We’ve been dating for four months and you want to see me in a wedding dress.’

‘Technically, two years and four months.’

‘With a six year break in the middle.’

‘Well, if you count that time at Greg’s wedding—’

Isla breaks first, bursting out into laughter. Niall follows her, his cheeks hurting from his smile. He doesn’t know how much longer he can go without holding her.

‘Get some sleep, pet,’ he says, when they both calm down. ‘We can talk in the morning.’

Isla doesn’t argue, a sign of just how tired she really is. Around a yawn, she says, ‘yeah, okay. Proud of you, Niall. I love you.’

‘Love you more,’ he says, and means it.

‘Impossible.’

‘Sleep tight, lover.’

‘Be safe tonight,’ Isla’s already fading. The ache in Niall’s chest is almost unbearable, imagining himself next to her. ‘I’ll send you those selfies tomorrow.’

####

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[lazyfox411]

For the whump prompts, head injury, any character you want. And good luck on exams! —whumperfly

I must begin,,,,with an apology because this took SO long to make. Life has been one fiasco after another, but my exams at least did go well! Thank you so much @whumperfly for your patience, and for sending me this in the first place! 

Characters are Locus and Felix from Red vs Blue

Length: 1870 words

 ~~~

Contrary to popular belief–well, mostly Felix’s belief–Locus does, in fact, know how to relax. He’s turned the lights low in his apartment, set the television to some mindless, easy to watch soap opera, and he’s on his way to the kitchen to pour himself a glass of wine.

That’s when there’s a knock at the door. 

He slides open the drawer of his desk to pull out a gun and slip it into his waistband. Truly, you can never be too careful. Some people might call him paranoid, but in his line of work, you’re either paranoid or you’re dead. 

A glance through the peephole reveals his visitor isn’t an enemy, at least in the sense that they probably won’t immediately try to murder him. Locus tucks the gun away and opens the door. 

“Felix,” he nods. “What are you doing here?”

They haven’t received their next contract yet. Felix has no reason to come to his apartment, and yet here he is, braced in the doorframe. Instead of giving a reply, Felix mumbles something unintelligible and his hand slips from the doorframe. Locus reaches out to catch him on instinct as he slumps towards the floor. Felix leans heavily against his chest, mumbling again, and now that he’s close, Locus can smell the mix of booze, tobacco, cologne, and sweat, an odor he’s no doubt picked up from a club somewhere. Felix is drunk, he realizes. 

Locus sighs. This is not his idea of a peaceful Friday evening. He wants nothing more than to shove Felix back out into the hallway and lock the door, but...well, but. They’re partners. They look out for each other.

 He takes Felix’s arm, draping it across his shoulders, and hefts him to his feet. Felix fights him all the way to the bathroom, swinging and cursing at him belligerently. 

“Fuck off,” Felix says, volatile, and it’s the most coherent he’s sounded since coming through the door. Locus pays the demand no mind, leading him into the bathroom and sitting him down on the edge of the tub. If he can make Felix take a shower, or at least splash some cold water on his face, he might sober up a bit. 

Hands free, Locus turns around to flick the lights from dim to something that allows him to see more than the basic outline of where he’s walking. Before he can even turn back, Felix is on his knees, vomiting fiercely into the toilet. 

Locus sighs, again, and wonders how many sighs he will have made by the time Felix is ready to leave his apartment. Felix squints at him, face pale, eyes hazy, and that’s when Locus notices the dark bruises forming along his jawline.

He extends a hand to cup Felix’s chin, tilting his head to examine the purple splotches. “Who did this to you?” 

Felix blinks, confused. He narrows his eyes at Locus, then glances around the room, like he’s realizing where he is for the first time. 

“What happened?” Locus presses. 

“I don’t… god, will you shut that light off? It’s too damn bright.” Felix groans, lowering his head to his hands. With an unobstructed view of the back of his head, Locus can see a bump swelling under his short hair. He’s not drunk, Locus realizes, he’s been hurt.

“You’re injured.”

“I’m fine.” 

“If that were true then you wouldn’t be here. You’re most likely concussed. You need to tell me what’s going on.”

“I don’t know, it’s...fuzzy. These guys at the bar, they came at me. Took me off guard.”

“I’m taking you to the hospital,” Locus decides, and before Felix can protest, he hauls him off the floor and towards the front door.

He pauses to shove his feet into a pair of shoes and grabs his jacket off its hook. Instead of putting it on himself, he drapes it over Felix’s thin shoulders. He doesn’t want Felix to be cold, is all, he tells himself. Felix will only complain if he’s cold. 

They trudge down the hall to the elevator, Locus holding onto Felix’s arm to keep him upright. Felix doesn’t complain this time, just follows, expression subdued. Either he’s resigned himself to his fate or he’s a lot worse off than Locus originally thought. 

“Can you tell me anything about the men who attacked you?” Locus asks, hitting the button for the ground floor. 

Felix shakes his head, then winces. “No,” he says, “I don’t remember. Happened really fast.”

Locus takes a step closer to where he’s bent over, forehead pressed against the cool metal wall of the elevator. He’s obviously not, but Locus asks it anyway, “Are you alright?”

Felix’s voice is ragged. “Head hurts,” he says, “‘m’dizzy.”

The fact he’s willing to admit it is what’s most concerning. Felix is loud, and abrasive, not quiet and dull. Never vulnerable. Locus places a steadying hand on his back. “Just breathe.”

It’s a strange thing, to be so close to someone, and to be helping instead of hurting. Their job gets them into a lot of fights, he’s no stranger to getting up close and personal with someone, but it’s usually to punch that someone in the face. He feels Felix tense momentarily, and then relax.

The doors open with a soft ding, and Locus guides them outside.

Hailing a cab is easy, he’s tall enough to be seen easily and well dressed enough to look like he’ll leave a nice tip. He helps Felix clamber into the backseat and buckles up next to him. 

There seems to be an excessive amount of traffic. Locus taps his foot impatiently, wishing he could just forgo the cabbie and drive the car himself. This is taking forever. 

Felix flinches at every set of bright headlights and loud horn, huddling deeper into Locus’ jacket and turning the collar up. 

“Here,” Locus says quietly. He gently tugs on the jacket sleeve, pulling Felix towards him so his head rests against Locus’ shoulder. Felix buries his face and mumbles, “Thanks, Sam.” He sounds so miserable that Locus doesn’t even growl at him about using codenames. 

Their wait in the emergency room is brief. The doctor asks them both some questions, and then Felix is taken to a private exam room. Locus flips through a pamphlet about heart disease, thoroughly uninterested in its actual content, while he waits.

He hears Felix's voice long before he returns, sounding considerably brighter than he has all night. He rounds the corner with the doctor, waving a hand flippantly, the other holding an ice pack to the bump on his head. He's arguing with the doctor about something, what, Locus could only guess. It's Felix, he could find a way to argue with someone over the hospital's interior decorating if the urge struck him. 

The doctor wordlessly hands Locus a sheet of discharge instructions, looking very annoyed. Felix does tend to have that effect on people.

"Prick," Felix mutters after the doctor has left. 

Locus sighs, but he'd be lying if he said he wasn't relieved to see Felix behaving more like himself. He's not a hundred percent, for sure, still pale and squinting at the bright lights, but he's evidently feeling well enough to sass strangers. 

"You seem better. What happened?" 

Felix rolls his eyes, wincing a little. "Said I have a concussion. Gave me some meds so my brain doesn't, I dunno, explode or something, and a prescription for more." He waves the yellow note with the doctor's signature in what Locus assumes is disgust.

"Let's go get it filled, and then we can head back to my apartment." Locus says, reading over the instructions he's been given. 

Felix looks at him like he's sprouted another head. 

"Unless you'd rather your apartment?" Locus questions tentatively. 

"I'm not going anywhere with you. I don't need a babysitter." 

"Yes, you do. It says right here," Locus points to number 1 on his sheet of Post Concussion Care, "someone is supposed to wake you every three hours and ask you these basic questions." 

"Let me see." Felix grabs for the paper and narrows his eyes at it. "Fuck, it hurts to read." He promptly tears the sheet in half.

Locus sighs, again. This is going to be a long night.

Felix slumps in a chair with his ice pack as Locus approaches the counter to get his meds. Locus managed to convince him that being alone is not in his best interest right now, but he's still being petulant as a child.

Maybe his current dose is wearing off, or maybe he's spent all his energy being grouchy, but Felix looks exhausted by the time they've got the pills and are climbing in a cab to return to Locus' apartment. 

"Rest," Locus tells him. "I'll wake you when we arrive." 

Reluctantly, hesitantly, Felix leans his head on Locus' shoulder. Locus tenses. He hadn't meant rest on me, but he doesn't say anything. Felix is out like a light within seconds.

It's a short drive, one that Locus spends the most of trying to look anywhere but the sleeping person on his shoulder and the cab driver's eyes. 

He pays the cabbie, jostling Felix just enough to wake him. Felix looks around blearily, confused, mumbling incoherently. The cab driver wishes Locus good luck before leaving them on the sidewalk. 

"Come on." Locus pulls Felix towards the building.

Felix stumbles into the elevator, relying heavily on the wall to keep himself upright. He sways as they exit on Locus' floor. Locus snakes an arm around his waist and holds him steady as they trudge down the hallway.

Felix, of course, decides he wants to be a pain once again.

“Cut it out,” he spits, struggling in Locus’ hold. He’s free for about two seconds until Locus has to catch him before he can topple to the floor. 

“Stop being difficult,” is all Locus says, before scooping him up entirely to carry him the rest of the way. 

Felix doesn't fight once he's in Locus' arms, in fact, he sinks into them like that's where he wanted to be in the first place. Locus sighs for what feels like (and may be) the millionth time tonight, juggling Felix as he fishes his keys out of his pocket. God, he hopes the neighbours aren't seeing this. 

He places Felix on the couch, delicately, as if he were a glass ornament. The jacket around his shoulders is replaced with a blanket, and Locus removes his shoes for him. He brings a glass of water from the kitchen and sets out the next dose of meds. Felix is already conked out by the time he returns and sets them on the coffee table. 

It's late. Locus turns the lamp off and heads to his own room. He'll be back to check on him later. 

A hand reaches out and snags his pant leg before he can leave.

"G'night, Sam," Felix mumbles.

"Goodnight."

3 hours later…..

"Can you tell me your name?"

"Felix."

"Do you know where you are?"

"Your apartment."

"Do you know what my name is?"

Felix peers out from under the blanket to glare at Locus. "Asshole," he answers. "Now let me go back to sleep already."

#whump #head injury #my writing #red vs blue #felix #locus #lolix if u want to wear your ship goggles lol #hospitals #idk what else to tag but #thank you for sending a request! #if anybody wants to send more feel free #i will probably take a really long time to fill them tho lol #prompt fill #fic #hurt/comfort

[nimblermortal]

@icryyoumercy, with thanks for deciphering that one passage of Beowulf for me, your ‘drabble’ turned into 4,981 words

@ everyone else, please correct me if I am wrong about things like which Chinese novel I’m talking about or the theology of Arabic linguistic evolution.

The urge was growing in Nicolò’s fingers on the plane to Chicago, but it wasn’t until he was looking through Nile’s mother’s kitchen cabinets that Nicolò recognized it for the bread craving it was. He always baked when they were in a new place - bread was how you knew someone lived somewhere - but he also baked for understanding his life and others’, and between that and… well, he couldn’t say he disliked the contents of the Freeman kitchen, he adored modern convenience and salt and fat and protein and immigrant cuisine, and would gladly wax rhapsodic about Ragu and instant ramen if given half a chance and his pick of languages to do it in - but the Freeman kitchen was very clearly that of a single mother who worked nights, and Nicolò needed food that took work. So as they were walking down the front steps of Nile’s house, Nicolò turned to Yusuf and said, “I’ll take watch if you’ll -“ “Bread? On it, love,” said Yusuf. Now that they weren’t performing, they were back to their own pidgin of Ligurian, Arabic, and Latin - as if the pidgin could form a wall between them and the absence of Liber. “You found us a place with a kitchen?” Yusuf only answered that one with a wounded look, as if he would bed Nicolò down for two weeks without a kitchen. But he didn’t peel off immediately to hunt down whatever cooking store he had searched up. Most of Yusuf’s cut from jobs went to kitchen goods; most of Nicolò’s went to art supplies. Treasures they brought back to the other as if they needed to prove their affection still, abandoned at each successive safehouse. The attraction of Goussainville was - had been - the cups with chips in them, the crack down Nicolò’s favorite mixing bowl. Things they had had long enough to damage. Things Nicolò did not want to go back to now. “It’s vacation,” said Yusuf. “Rest, relax.” “We just had a year of vacation,” Nicolò complained. “I want to bake bread.” “Very well,” said Yusuf, and then he did disappear into the crowd. Nicolò tried not to watch him go; it would have been suspicious, while Yusuf was disappearing.

He came back, as he always did on such ventures, while Nicolò was rearranging the contents of the kitchen they’d rented. (The spatulas had been across the kitchen from the stove, far enough that even Nicolò could not reach them one-handed. It was an abomination, and someone would spend decades in Purgatory for this.) “I brought you a gun,” he said, which was not how he announced it when he had obtained a real gun for Nicolò. Nicolò pursed his lips faintly in question, and Yusuf laughed, trying to balance all of the bags he’d brought back on the counter. “There,” he said when he was done, fishing around in one, and brought out a yellow thing like a construction toy. “It fires lasers.” “That is the shortest shotgun I have ever seen,” Nicolò said solemnly, and took it from him. There was a screen at the back that stayed obstinately blank as Nicolò swept the room with it, trigger finger resting alongside the body of the gun since he had no intention of shooting anyone just yet. There was also a tag, but reading that would have been cheating. With a frown, he pointed it at his foot and squeezed the trigger. The screen lit up at around ninety. When he fired aimlessly into the room, it dropped by twenty. He looked up. Yusuf was watching him with interest and smothered laughter. Nicolò shot him right between the eyes. “Ninety nine,” he declared on inspection. “Do you want to lay down and I’ll get you some tea for your fever? What is the function of this object?” “It tells you whether things are done cooking without having to pierce it with needles or fumble it out and juggle it while you knock on the crust or open the oven door and have your soufflé fall.” “Hm,” said Nicolò speculatively, and left it on the counter where he would remember to try it later and decide what he thought of it, or determine its range and accuracy. Nile would probably agree to standing by the stove and keeping a pot of water just barely boiling so he could calibrate the accuracy at varying distances, but she was busy doing something with her brother that involved one of those televisor screens and a lot of leaning and screaming at each other. “What else did you bring me?” “Just your usual,” Yusuf replied, pulling things out of bags and finding cupboard space for them. After this many years, he could put them where Nicolò would look for them in any kitchen. When Nicolò brought out a pan and started pouring milk into it, Yusuf frowned. “Are you not planning to sleep tonight?” he asked. Nicolò shrugged. It was dark outside already. “I’ll keep watch,” he said, and gestured to the far end of the counter, where neither of them had let any bags come close to the little pink walkie-talkie Nile had leant them when she realized burner phones were not going to cut it for their twenty-four-hour surveillance plan. “I’ll be cold without you,” Yusuf warned him. “You’ve been cold before,” said Nicolò. He stirred the milk. Heat it slow, for sweetness. He had all the time in the world. “Go to bed. It’s not necessary for both of us to be tired tomorrow.” Yusuf hummed thoughtfully and kicked at his own heel. He was thinking about luring Nicolò into bed, what tricks he might apply to convince Nicolò to sleep instead of starting bread to rise. Nicolò hooked a foot lovingly around his ankle and swept. Yusuf unthinkingly shifted his weight and lifted the foot out of the way. “I’m not upset. Just antsy. Let me make this place home,” Nicolò said. He didn’t sweep Yusuf unless both of them were feeling safe. It had become an unspoken rule of their relationship, a declaration of honesty that, honestly, reflected what they had seen from Andromache and Quynh. When they had been hoping for something half so honest for themselves. Yusuf registered his protest by making calming mint tea for the both of them while Nicolò emptied grains into containers, and leaving the tea where Nicolò would drink it. The tea had been a recent ritual, only a couple of hundred years old, something Yusuf clung to to attach him to a regional identity that had superseded what he had grown up in. Nicolò had quietly adopted it as a way of laying claim to his identity as Yusuf’s husband. He let Yusuf make it this time, and made a point of sipping it before Yusuf left the room. And then he was alone with the kitchen, to make this stopping-place his. He stretched, hands overhead and then locked behind to pull first up, then down. Then he got busy. The milk was soaking over oatmeal - it would probably be softer than he liked, since he’d been so eager to get started, to signal what he was doing. That was all right, it just gave the bread more grain anyway. The yeast didn’t really need proofing, but he set it to do so in the little oven-proof dish Yusuf had brought, because he liked proofing yeast. After this bread was done, he’d take a little malt from the still and start a yeast bath in that dish, and Liber would yell at him for interfering with the fermentation, and - no, Liber wouldn’t yell at him for anything at all, any time soon. He couldn’t say prayers for anyone else, or grant them redemption with a wave of his hand. Perhaps at one point he had been qualified to offer absolution, but there were things for which absolution was not satisfactory, for any party. God was compassionate, was merciful, and the confessional was about one’s own forgiveness, not His. So he took a deep breath and looked for the lard Yusuf had brought him. It was some local vegetable shortening that he had seen in Nile’s mother’s kitchen, that came out white as a meringue but tacky. Another joke or gift from Yusuf, who had listened to Nicolò’s steady muttered encomium on what he had found in that kitchen, the wonders of modern technology, pasta sauce that came in a jar and could be kept at room temperature indefinitely and pasta that set next to it on the shelf and pre-cooked sausages… but he was getting distracted. He poked the lard suspiciously, but it seemed to be all right, and the label promised him it was shortening. So he melted that over the stove, and at least it greased the measuring cup sufficiently that the honey didn’t stick. Water, beaten eggs, salt - salt was so incredibly available these days, it was as much a miracle as the aluminum foil that sat quietly in its rolled box. To think, high-purity aluminum used as a disposable wrapper! Nicolò remembered being awed by the stories of Napoleon permitting his valued guests to eat off aluminum dishes, while the lower benches had to satisfy themselves with golden tableware. Liber had complained for years after he heard that story, and refused to say whether it was because he’d never been offered so much as silverware. Much safer, sturdier, more familiar than any of these was the wooden spoon to mix it with. Classic things. Yusuf liked to bring him gadgets - he still needed to play with that laser gun - but Nicolò was… all right, stodgier. He liked things he could understand. He’d driven Andromache crazy by taking apart the first several guns she brought them, until she gave up and apprenticed him to a gunsmith and he learned to make gunpowder and firing mechanisms and bullets, and eventually decided he knew enough to understand how to fire one. And then had gone through the whole process again when people started making them with rifling, or repeaters. Bread was meditative, was all. It brought back memories. Nicolò had baked a lot of bread, and the smells, even with strange modern flours and ingredients, even the Saxon bread he was making, were familiar and evocative. The stuff in his bowl was a dense, oily liquid, technically homogeneous but the heavier honey wanting to precipitate out of it. He started combining bowls - milk and oats first, then the proofed yeast, and finally flours. That was where it started to get good, where it really started to feel like baking bread. There was a lot of mixing involved, a lot of gradually adding more flour, wheat and white together. That was another strange thing, the way dark flour was valued these days, when throughout his history the white had been prized and saved for lords, the value in the lightness of the crumb. That was home bread for Nicolò, the way flat breads were home for Yusuf. And yet when he came to a new place, he strayed over the border toward the Germanic peoples, the grains darker and more varied, and came up with… this. Strangely Anglo-Saxon bread. Well. It was a joy to knead. The kneading only took a few minutes - eight, or ten. Enough to feel it in the outsides of his arms and start wondering how long it would take, before the dough went stretchy and elastic and the bubbles started to form under the outer edge. That was impossible to explain, the texture of bread when it began to take in air and breath, when it became not just dough but something with skin, something alive. For all the life he had taken, he could give life to this. Yusuf had brought him a special bowl just for rising bread. It was another silly contraption, but a classic one this time; Yusuf had decided that Nicolò must always have a bowl for raising bread. Nicolò spread a bit of oil across the bowl and lowered his dough tenderly into it, the creased side up, because then he slipped his hand under the body of the dough and turned it over so that the oil formed a protective coat. And then he could put a towel over it, and let it rise, and grow. On lazy days, like this, he liked to take it with him where he went, like a baby that might wake if it sensed its parent had left. He hooked it under one arm and went to see what books Yusuf had brought him, and what he might have as a comfort read, a beach read. Yusuf usually got their comfort reads out of the classics section, because things comfortable and familiar to them were old and strange to these modern mayfly people. And unfortunately, in Chicago that meant English. He hated English, with no particular passion except that it was a lingua franca he did not know. Well, and the idioms. And the strange elision of the subjunctive. And of every other familiar signpost at which Nicolò might remember how to decline or conjugate a word. He wasn’t a natural polyglot like Yusuf or Andromache, and he objected to every new language that crossed their path, and why couldn’t things be like Arabic that at least tried to stay the same (in some regions, in some contexts*), or at least why couldn’t people have stuck with writing things down in Latin like they had when Nicolò was a boy and still young enough to catch on to languages decently? If everyone was supposed to be best at learning languages before they turned twenty, how much worse must he be after turning nine hundred and twenty? It wasn’t fair that languages kept changing. He hadn’t had to learn a new language for Liber. Liber had already spoken Latin, and had been huffy about it being the language of education, of books, right up until Yusuf drawled at him in hillbilly Latin he’d learned from Andromache, We can’t all be book learners, and that was that, Sebastien became Liber Discipuli, the educated one. The freedom frighter, and the drinker. How had Nicolò not seen how unhappy he was? But he wasn’t here to think about Liber, so he picked something older than Liber was. Dream of the Red Chamber. They’d been in China when it was written, and like the rest of the country they had played at adding chapters of their own**. Some of them had made it into the modern version, and he liked to play at guessing which bits were whose, now that he could no longer remember. It was a bit of fluff and nonsense, but it was something where he could find his friends in its pages. Yusuf and still-grieving Andromache, laughing at life and its meaning, before Liber had ever been a part of their company. Yusuf was curled up in the bed, wound tighter than he was when he had Nicolò to curl around. He only partially woke up when he felt Nicolò join him in bed, moaning protest slightly at the light and pressure before he felt the bowl against his side and curled around it, managing to look sarcastic even in his sleep. They had shared a bed like this many times before: Nicolò sitting up to read or keep watch, Yusuf curled toward his side, the bread in a bowl between them rising from their shared warmth. Yusuf curled a hand around a fistful of Nicolò’s shirt and seemed content with that; Nicolò luxuriated in clear, steady modern light, and held the book one-handed, the other absent-mindedly threading through Yusuf’s curls, and checking once a chapter to see if the bread had started to nudge the towel aside yet. When it did, he set the book aside and nudged Yusuf awake. “Gnnngghh,” said Yusuf. “I’m going to depress the bread,” Nicolò said. Yusuf made another outraged, sleepy noise, and Nicolò waited for him, one hand on the back of his neck. Yusuf liked to watch Nicolò press rising bread dough down, had liked it since he had watched Nicolò in a heated debate with a monk a few decades ago, arguing about whether the way one treated yeast was any fair reflection of the way one treated mankind. It had been a silly argument, but Nicolò liked silly arguments sometimes, small things to get fully emotionally invested in; and this monk was willing to argue it with him in Latin, in which he could express himself properly. Liber had bet Nicolò that he knew more about bread than the monk, and then had the gall to roll his eyes when they got into an argument and forced him to adjudicate it. Yusuf struggled awake and his eyes started to uncross, to focus and take in the light, and Nicolò’s book, and the bread rising between them. “You’re going to press it down?” he asked in Arabic. Nicolò nodded, and Yusuf propped himself up on an elbow. Nicolò reached over and folded the cloth back as if it covered a baby or a sacrament on an altar, but when he spread his hand over the risen dough and began to press, he watched Yusuf’s eyes. As much as Yusuf liked to watch Nicolò be gentle with the bread, Nicolò liked to watch him watch, to see moment when his eyes rounded and every bit of tension went out of his body and he became limp with love. It was only a few seconds, and then Nicolò had to get up and deal with the bread, but he pressed a kiss to Yusuf’s temple first. “You torture me,” Yusuf grumbled, or Nicolò suspected this was what he said, blurred as it was with sleepiness. “If you would stop baking at night, I could write you the poem you deserve…” “Go back to sleep,” Nicolò told him, but Yusuf was already sinking down and pulling the covers over his head. Nicolò took the bread rising bowl (still a ridiculous idea), switched out the light, and went back into the kitchen. The first thing he did was check the walkie-talkie, as if it could have left some message. Nile would not thank him for waking her if he tried to send a message to her now, but if she were in real trouble she would not have stopped buzzing him for help. Or he liked to think so, and not about gas and grenades in the night and waking up helpless in a van… The bread needed tending. He tipped it out onto its floured surface and let it rest, puttering about the kitchen and cleaning implements while he waited. Baking bread did take quite a number of dishes, and he was done at least with the mixing bowl and the rising bowl now. He found the temperature gun while he was putzing, and shot the bread dough with it, but it didn’t register as any temperature higher than the rest of the room. He shrugged, set it down again, and set about the business of separating the bread into two loaves, folding them over until they were loaf shaped, brushing them with milk as if he could brush away any remaining unpleasant thoughts that way, and sprinkling them with flakes of barley. He had told Yusuf over and over that he could bake with whatever grains were convenient, that the oats that went into the bread were fine as a topping, and still every time Yusuf came back with barley flakes, would spend an extra hour combing the city for them as if they were the only grain that would do. As if the barley scattered over the top meant anything, except that he was fond of Nicolò, and even when he was sleeping Nicolò could feel his love just looking at those loaves. He twitched the towel over them to stop the smile growing at the corner of his mouth. It had some sort of novelty slogan on it, and he could tell by the pattern that it was probably cute, but he didn’t feel like reading the English just now. Yusuf could tell him what it said in the morning, or Andromache more likely - she would tease him when she found the bread. He took the walkie-talkie with him to the bedroom this time, just in case, and climbed back into bed with Yusuf to read. Yusuf felt the depression in the bed and rolled nearer, draped an arm over him and groaned something unintelligible in any language. Nicolò patted his shoulder and told him to go back to sleep, and turned back to puzzling over where Andromache’s hand came in to the story of Jia Baoyu, and if he would ever be able to figure this out without reading it in the original. When he got up the next time, he could tell from standing next to the oven that it was cheaper than the stone Yusuf had brought him to put in it. The heat was leaking out already. He frowned at it as if he could shame it into behaving, then swiped the gun off the counter and shot it twice. Well, it certainly seemed to be hot enough. This particular baking stone was not large enough for both loaves of bread, at least not after their second rise, so he picked one up by the parchment paper underneath it and laid it into the oven along with its ovenproof bowl, and sat down at the table this time. The baking process involved a great deal more interaction, and he had no desire to be up and down, disturbing Yusuf every time he got in or out of bed. Instead he took the gun Yusuf had obtained that morning - the real gun, that fired bullets, not temperature-sensing lasers - and disassembled it, making sure everything was clean and aligned and functioning the way he expected. He usually had to make minor adjustments to the guns they obtained on the fly. Every so often Yusuf would find him an honest-to-god crossbow and he would get to tune that up in proper Genoese style. One day this would happen while Nile was here, and he would get to give her his lecture on crossbow teams and maintenance, and Yusuf would watch the two of them and laugh and flutter his eyelashes, and Liber would not be there to roll his eyes and complain about Nicolò talking endlessly about crossbows again. Half way through the baking process, he took the water out; a little later he replaced it with some of that ridiculously luxurious aluminum foil, imagine, tearing aluminum sheerly for the vanity of getting a slightly prettier loaf. The wastefulness of it boggled him. He could bring himself to making a sheet of it to cover the bread, but he couldn’t bring himself to not reuse that sheet, not just for the bread, but for everything he cooked for the rest of the week, until the aluminum was wrinkled and torn beyond use. It had happened before. It would happen again. When the last timer ended, he reached for an oven mitt first, to pick the loaf up and knock it as he had for centuries. And then he remembered the gun and swore. He had the loaf in his hands already, but he managed to fumble it into one hand and reach sideways for the gun, the heat from the oven washing over him as he held the loaf at arm’s reach and shredded it with a laser machine gun fire. It seemed to be 198 F, which meant about as much to Nicolò as if it had been in Kelvin. When he knocked on it, it sounded good. Well, he could tell Yusuf he had used the gun for its intended purpose. He slipped the loaf onto the cooling rack, and reached for the second. Andromache was in the doorway to the kitchen. If he were less accustomed to her sudden appearances, he would have yelped. “You couldn’t be bothered to help when I was struggling?” he demanded instead. “You seemed to be managing,” she said. “You’re letting the oven cool.” He kicked the oven door closed. Oven like that, it could wait a few minutes before it was ready to take on another loaf. Andromache circled around the table in the kitchen, and Nicolò tried not to retreat or bristle. Tried and failed. He knew how menacing Andromache could be, and now when she was not even trying he was having trouble forgetting. Wound up about something, or more than one thing. He had thought the bread was helping. “You’re up early,” he said. “I smelled something good,” she said. “Can I…?” She gestured to the bread knife. “No,” Nicolò growled, and wrinkled his nose as he realized she had teased him out of being afraid of her. But she would have collapsed the bread if she had tried to cut it so soon, and it was still his to protect. “Have you slept yet?” she asked, more seriously. Nicolò shrugged and shook his head. “I can bake the second loaf of bread.” “Another hour won’t kill me,” said Nicolò. “Someone had to watch the…” He circled a hand and gestured at the little pink walkie-talkie. “You could have slept with it. Even Yusuf would have woken if it crackled,” she said. “You overestimate him,” he said. “You underestimate yourself,” she answered. “Why are you awake, Nicolò?” “I keep thinking about Liber,” he admitted, and there it was again, staring him in the face: That they hadn’t even bothered to use Liber’s name, that they hadn’t even noticed the misery in his nickname. “We can call him if you like,” said Andromache. Nicolò tried not to gawp at her. “That simple? One whimper and you’ve given in?” he asked. “I don’t have a lot of time left to hold grudges,” she said, and he’d been so caught up in not fretting about Nile by not-fretting about Liber that he’d forgotten they had Andromache to worry over now, that Andromache was someone they could worry over and not about. “He needs…” Nicolò began. Andromache held a hand up. “I know what your Catholicism is telling you, you’ve told me about your deity often enough,” she said. “I’m telling you, if you want to call him, we can.” I want to, Nicolò thought. He missed Liber, missed walking past him while he and Booker argued about whatever sport they were on now, missed making him French treats and being told his baking was not worthy of a dog, missed the sense of him holding down whatever corner of a room he was in, sturdy and new as a peg in a Shaker coffee table. “Not now,” he said instead, miserable over it. “He needs time. Maybe not a hundred years, but for now he is just wallowing. He needs time to forgive himself and build his life anew. He needs to think he has a hundred years to do so.” He walked past Andromache to open the oven door, but she blocked his way with a hand. “And I?” she asked, and there was an actual, honest-to-God tremble in her voice. “If I wanted to call him?” “I would be on the phone with Copley now, to get his number,” said Nicolò, and picked up the edges of the parchment paper. “I would find us travel tickets or stow us away in the holds of ships, and I would speak every word of English necessary to bring us to him, if that is what you needed.” He settled the bread in the oven to his satisfaction, and added the little dish of water to care for it. When he closed the oven door, Andromache was standing by the counter with her weight askew. “That is what I needed to hear,” she said, her voice husky. “Oh, Andromache,” said Nicolò, and gathered him to her, and felt her hand settle against his neck after an uncommon moment’s hesitation, right where he had held Yusuf’s earlier that night. “It’s all right to be scared.” He could hear what she didn’t say: that there were so many things that could happen, that she had never had to worry about before, that she had always assumed she would die in battle and that would be that, no fuss, no worry, no long-drawn-out years wondering what would happen if she drank too much or ate too little salad or if her brothers-in-arms fussed over her like an invalid, or how she could mark her last years as significant when her first thousands had already contained so much. Things Andromache would never be able to say aloud, and that Nicolò had already worried over. “Which part of Dream of the Red Chamber did you write?” he asked. Andromache laughed against him, shaking in his arms and he could feel it in her belly, the way she didn’t do things by halves even when they were little puffs of air. “You know, I don’t remember anymore,” she said. “Wasn’t some of it lost? Maybe none of it.” “Useless,” Nicolò declared her. “I should find a task for you.” He pulled back and reached across the counter without looking, fingers curling around the little pink rectangle in the corner against the wall. “Can you watch the bread for me?” he asked, pressing it into her hands. “I should get some sleep.” “Yeah,” said Andromache, holding the toy like it was Nile’s immortal life, which in some ways it was. “No problem, Nicolò. I have six thousand years of experience.” “Just don’t burn the buns,” said Nicolò, and went to bed.

#theory and chalk #the *ld G**rd #I still am not satisfied with the ending #but I think I plugged enough gaps where I'd just pulled things over from other things I wrote and never put anywhere #anyway this is the first time I've used a recipe as an outline so that was fun #if I can get that blasted last line fixed #and possibly a reference or two I'm not certain about #I'll put it on AO3 with the recipe #in the meantime: ask about anything you're not certain of! #there was a fair bit of Journeyman Knower of Things in this one

[gumnut-logic]

Doesn’t even have a title yet

Tried to finish tonight, but it is 1am and I have work today. It will only be a two parter, I don’t have much left to write, so should be complete tomorrow. It is a IRRelief fic as well. Based about two years after Their Island, though it is standalone. I haven’t even reread, so could be full of errors. I so wanted to get it done, but damnit. More tomorrow hopefully. 2553 words of over 3300 already written, fluff and humour, hopefully, brothers and a little angst.

-o-o-o-

It started off as a mild annoyance.

Scott had fallen asleep at his father’s desk. Too much paperwork, most of which he was learning on the fly. Board members doubting his ability to take over from his father and juggle International Rescue. Virgil would kick his ass if he found out. John probably already knew.

Both elder brothers were doing their best to help. Virgil was taking on as much International Rescue as was humanly possible. John was juggling Tracy Industries almost as much as Scott while handling day-to-day IR.

His father’s shoes were massive to fill.

And he left a gaping hole in Scott’s heart.

Waking up with an imprint of his own knuckles on the side of his face and a massive crick in his neck wasn’t the best. Staring at the glow of the twelve reports still awaiting review did nothing to improve his mood.

Briefly wondering how he had managed to sleep what appeared to be at least an hour with no disturbance, he remembered that Virgil was still on the other side of the planet, John was likely busy with that same situation and the two youngest were in bed. Grandma had returned to Kansas to finalise some of Dad’s personal matters.

Scott groaned and let his head fall onto his arms again.

He was so tired.

Something tickled his neck.

Absently, he swiped at it and ended up hitting himself in the head.

A few things between his ears rattled loose.

The tickle climbed down his spine and found his ribcage.

Scott’s eyes widened and he jumped out of the chair, sending it spinning across the floor.

What the-?

It was under his shirt.

There followed a most undignified, full-bodied dance across the comms room as he attempted to get whatever it was out of his shirt.

It didn’t hurt, but it tickled like crazy. He was caught between screaming and uncontrolled giggling.

In the end, he resorted to ripping his shirt off and flinging it across the room.

The tickling stopped.

And was replaced with goose pimples as the pre-dawn breeze wafted across his skin. Scott found himself bare chested and breathing heavily.

He wasn’t afraid of bugs, but that was…strange. He eyed his shirt as if it was going to jump up and bite him.

Of course, that was the moment Gordon wandered through on his way to his morning training. The fish stood at the top of the stairs for a full ten seconds staring at his topless eldest brother standing in the middle of the room, lit only by the blue light of holo-projector on the desk.

“Interesting look there, Scott.”

Scott spared him a glare before grabbing the shirt off the floor. “Lights.”

The comms room lit up. Scott drew some satisfaction as Gordon cringed from the sudden brightness. Fortunately, the little fish scuttled off to his pool and left Scott alone without another annoying word.

There was no bug in or on his shirt. After examining it, he had no choice but to throw it back on, or continue to invite comments from the waking peanut gallery.

The sudden appearance of John on the central projector and the distant roar of the return of Thunderbird Two flicked all thoughts of bugs from his mind as the new day started even before the sun made an appearance.

-o-o-o-

Virgil was exhausted but he didn’t have time to sleep. He did give himself a few moments to sit in the kitchen, worship his bucket of coffee and stare out at Mateo as the sun rose over it. It was only blinding if he focussed on it and he didn’t have the energy to do that.

Two needed repair and she needed it now.

His last rescue had involved a volcano and she had far too many particulates in her filters. They would all need replacing before he felt comfortable taking her out again.

After that he needed to see to Alan and help him set up for the morning’s classes. He quite enjoyed helping his littlest brother, but he enjoyed it much more when he hadn’t been up all night.

But first coffee.

So warm. So inviting.

He closed his eyes as sipped the blessed liquid that was going to give him the energy to get through the rest of the day.

He nearly dropped the mug as something tickled him under his upraised arm.

He saved the mug, but didn’t manage to stifle the high-pitched squawk.

The coffee was deposited carefully, but Virgil was out of his seat and grabbing at his clothing in an energetic frenzy.

There may have been one or two more high pitched squeaks as red flannel was rubbed and scrubbed at frantically.

Out of desperation, Virgil tore off both his shirt and his grey undershirt and threw them on the floor. He resisted the urge to stamp on them.

It was his favourite shirt.

“Virg?”

He looked up to find Gordon, fresh from the pool, standing in the doorway staring at him.

“You okay?”

If Virgil flushed red, he wasn’t going to acknowledge it. “Bug in my shirt.”

“Really.”

“Really.” Frowning his grabbed his shirt from off the floor, eyeing it suspiciously. Screw it, he sat down shirtless in front of his coffee and resumed staring out the window.

Gordon walked past him to the stairs, frowning and shooting him the oddest looks.

Virgil ignored him.

-o-o-o-

Scott made it through to lunch and finally dug up the answers the factory manager in Oklahoma had been begging him for. He had also managed to answer the lawyers, read and sign a pile of holographic documents and have a long-delayed meeting with the Japanese CEO. At least John had been able to help with translation. To be honest, it had just been a relief to have a brother to talk to.

Surrounded by family.

Too damned busy.

The last task for the morning was a parent-teacher conversation with Gordon’s curriculum manager. Scott had suspicions that there was a little too much Olympic training happening versus school work. It was a fine balance that had to be maintained. Gordon was a good student, if a little out of the ordinary…but then what Tracy wasn’t? At least two were diagnosed geniuses, and the other three focussed on their goals to the point of blindness, himself included.

His short Air Force career flickered through his mind and he shunted it away.

He was where he needed to be. Fate saw to that.

Scott stepped into the sunken lounge and briefly wondered if he was going to be allowed to leave this room today at any point.

A resigned sigh and he his comms. “Gordon, time for the meeting.”

“FAB. Be there in two.”

Gordon was true to his word and appeared almost immediately, loud shirt and shorts as eye blasting as usual.

Scott reached out dropped a hand on his little brother’s shoulder. At sixteen, already Gordon’s accomplishments required a cabinet to hold all the trophies. With the loss of their father, Gordon had stumbled with the rest of them, but he was regaining his feet fast. He had to. This was his chance. The 2056 Olympics waited for no excuses.

This time it started on his wrist.

The faintest of tickles.

It was a tickle, not an itch. It played with nerve endings just like someone had their finger gently brushing across the surface of his skin.

It travelled up his arm as he snatched his hand away from his brother.

It was in his shirt again.

There were words as he once again found himself grabbing at his shirt.

“Scott, what?”

He was vaguely aware of the concerned expression on his brother’s face, but he was too busy trying not to giggle or scream.

His shirt ended up on the floor again.

Gordon stared at him a full five seconds, his face caught between incredulity, worry and hysterical laughter. Being Gordon, the laughter won out.

Scott ignored him and poked his shirt with his foot.

Of course, that was the moment John flickered in to advise that the curriculum manager was ready for the meeting. Scott had to admit that somewhere in the back of his wasted brain, there was something quite funny about the expression on the space monitor’s face.

Gordon, of course, had tears running down his face and was useless.

Scott had a lot of experience keeping his composure. He needed it all at the moment. “John, could you please ask Ms Smithson to hold for a moment, I need to grab a shirt.”

John bit his lip, obviously holding something back. But, ever the professional, he didn’t say anything but, “FAB,” before blinking out.

Scott picked up his shirt with two fingers and made a beeline for his bedroom.

At least he got a moment outside of the comms room.

-o-o-o-

A new shirt found, Scott made it through the interview. Turned out Gordon had been really working hard and with a small adjustment to his curriculum, he should be able to manage both his training and his graduation with only a small delay. Scott was satisfied that it would be the best for the athlete at this time.

The grin on Gordon’s face made it extra worthwhile.

Scott turned back to the desk after the meeting, but the list of messages awaiting his attention just hurt to look at.

Screw it. He deserved food, another room and maybe even some brotherly conversation. A quick check on Virgil’s location placed him, as expected, in the hangars. The engineer had not been happy that his ‘bird had suffered during last night’s rescue. Virgil was as bad as he was. His brother hadn’t slept, International Rescue his highest priority.

Scott sighed. How could they be expected to go ahead like this?

Lunch. Food. He struggled to focus his mind. Had he had breakfast? He couldn’t remember.

An elevator ride and he walked out into the cool underground caverns that housed the great green behemoth that was the love of his brother’s life.

It wasn’t hard to locate that brother. The profanity was extreme for Virgil and it had Scott quickening his step around the great plane. He found his brother harnessed and hanging in front of Two’s starboard intake. The swearing was moving into European languages, never a good sign.

Scott shouted up at the dangling engineer. “Virgil?!”

“What?!” A spanner fell and hit the concrete two metres in front of Scott. Despite himself, he jumped.

Virgil stared down at him owlishly for a whole handful of seconds. “Sorry.” It was muttered, honest, but grudging.

“Can you come down?”

“Why?”

“It’s lunch time.”

“I’m not hungry. I’ve got to get this done. I’ve got to replace part of the filter housing.”

“Well, I am hungry and you haven’t slept. Come down.”

“I’m fine! This can’t wait!”

“Damnit, Virgil, get down here now!”

The glare that hit him from above was dark and fuelled from the bottom of a desperate coffee pot. Scott had no doubt of that.

But one more muttered expletive and his brother rappelled down to the concrete floor. Dressed in flannel with his maintenance harness secured over ratty jeans, Virgil was covered in dust and grime.

Didn’t dull his fury though.

The fact he was so angry, so out of character for the generally calm and quiet engineer was more than enough proof that his brother needed rest.

“What do you want, Scott. I have to fix my ‘bird otherwise she can’t fly and we can’t answer the next call.”

“I’m having some serious doubts we can answer the next call anyway. Look at yourself, Virgil. You’re exhausted.”

“Kettle, pot, Scott.”

“Exactly! Eat lunch with me.”

Those dark brows wrinkled even further, brown eyes making that subtle switch between engineer and concerned brother.

Scott supposed he should have expected this. Maybe he was asking for it, hiding from a decision he knew he was going have to make.

Offering himself up as a sacrifice in order for Virgil to make the decision for him.

He was so goddamned tired.

This time the tickle started on his calf, just above his right sock.

He wriggled, frowning, shifting his feet.

It climbed up his leg and he let out a squawk somewhere between a giggle and a profane word that would have had Grandma washing his mouth out with soap.

“Scott?”

It was running around and around his thigh. Scott cracked and grabbed at his leg, spinning on the spot as Virgil reached for him.

Whatever it was, it was fast. Up and down his leg as if anticipated his attempts to grab it through his jeans.

“Scott, what is…oh, shit!”

The eldest Tracy spun to find Virgil hanging upside down in his harness grabbing at his shirt.

The tickle in Scott’s leg took the opportunity to breach his waist band and play with his navel.

Buttons flew across the hangar as Scott tore the shirt from his body.

There was nothing on his belly.

Virgil squawked and writhed, still upside down.

The tickle appeared back in Scott’s pants, this time behind his left knee. He didn’t hesitate, shedding his shoes, he shucked his pants and tossed them aside.

Finally, finally the ticklish feeling stopped. But Scott was left in his black short briefs and socks.

And damn it was cold in the hangars.

Virgil was still writhing upside down, unable to shed clothing due to his harness. “Goddamnit, Scott, help.” There was the sound of ripping flannel as heavy lifting muscles resorted to force.

Scott grabbed at his brother’s harness and wrapping an arm around those broad shoulders, released the safety line. Virgil weight was considerable, but Scott stabilised him enough for the engineer to get his feet beneath him. A fumble with the harness buckles and the support fell to the concrete with a clink of its metal links.

Torn flannel followed.

Two layers of shirt stripped, Virgil suddenly took a deep breath and dropped his hands to his knees, letting his head drop. “It’s stopped.”

Both brothers heaved in air for a moment.

“What the hell was that?” Virgil looked up at Scott.

“I have no idea. Third time this morning.”

“Second.” Virgil’s voice was all breath.

“Happened before?”

Virgil nodded. “Over coffee.” A frown. “Gordon came in afterwards. This isn’t a new prank is it?”

Scott stared at his brother for a moment. “Gordon was there both times this morning.”

Virgil’s shoulders dropped. “I’m going to kill him.”

“He’s not here now.” Scott looked around before hesitantly poking his shirt enough to active his comms. “Thunderbird Five, could you give me a location on Gordon?”

“Scott? You okay?”

“I will be once I find Gordon.”

“He’s on the pool deck, apparently studying. The meeting went well?”

Scott frowned. “Yes, a few small changes will make room for his training. Gordon was very happy with the plan.” Could explain the studying.

“That’s great news.”

“Yes, it is.” He wondered how happy John would be if he could see him standing in his underwear next to a shirtless Virgil.

“Are you sure you are okay?”

Perhaps his brother didn’t need to see. “I’ll let you know after I’ve spoken to Gordon.”

“Okay. Remember fratricide is not an option.”

“Don’t spoil it for me.”

-o-o-o-

#thunderbirds are go #thunderbirds fanfiction #thunderbirds #Scott Tracy #Virgil Tracy #Gordon Tracy #irrelief #irrelief2020 #I really wish my muse would actually work when I have time