#; his mental state is so complexe to grasp sometimes

[distopea]

For Mads, getting himself engaged in a relationship is a double-edged sword. He’s quite a decent person when it comes to sharing intimacy with someone, but it’s definitely a challenge to crack a few parts of his personality. He’s both the reason why he’s unlucky and why he’s lucky as well, but by his own standards. 

Mads doesn’t need help regarding his PTSD, but support. It’s quite a different approach and it wouldn’t work from one person to another. There’s a thin and indescriptible line between those things, and it can be easily crossed and perceived as dangerous or intrusive on his side. He knows it’s his own perception, and he tries to work on those issues, but at the same time it requires him to explain his state of mind and he struggles with that, as anyone with a profound trauma regarding his past, his childhood and his years as a soldier. Usually, his relationships are doomed because of that; he’s incapable of stating the difference nor to have the patience and words, and he’s less in the capacity to properly express it when his partners need it. 

When the relationship reaches that state, usually he breaks up. 

[hoseoksluna]

YOU'RE NOT DIRTY | myg

pairing: ex boyfriend!yoongi x f. reader

genre: fluff

word count: 2.4k

summary: he, who has always been able to untangle the ropes of chaos that is your mental health, helps you when you need to not be alone for once.

warnings: demonization of sex, anxiety, fear, crying & all kinds of iffy feelings about sex, yoongi being perfect

note: this was purely written as a way to heal and cope with the fact i felt extremely dirty after writing my last smut fic 'story'. if you've been following me and reading the little updates i post, you already know this. while this fic is loosely based on 'story', it's not necessary that you read it if you haven't, although namjoon is mentioned. i'd spent over a week writing this and every day had been a step closer to feeling better and it's all thanks to yoongi. he's always been the person who helped me with my mental health, especially when d-day came out. it had to be him. he's linked to this part of me forever. enjoy reading guys <3

“You’re not dirty.”

Those words should comfort you. Those words should rip away those sleazy fingers of the ghost that touches you—the ghost of shame, who mocks the touches of the lover you were with barely an hour ago. But those words do anything but. 

The man, who uttered them, studies your ashen face. He doesn’t see the demon’s large body on top of yours, constricting your airflow. Nobody ever does.

He doesn’t see the way the ghost scrapes the surface of your skin with its long claws; how its flimsy, wet and tattered cape deepens the wound with its rough fabric as bile rises in your throat. How could anyone?

It hurts.

It hurts to the point that you think your sexuality is that demon. That anytime a person of the opposite sex would touch you from now on, he would somehow beckon that hostile creature to come and collect you, slimy hands grasping yours and pulling you in—the touch so deathly that the sordidness would seep into your skin and make a bed in you. Then, the torture would begin all over again.

Shortness of breath. The feeling of your body being dirty and heavy. The distaste towards sex and men that follows after. The despair; the loss of hope that life could be possibly normal for you sometime in the future.

Despite it being such a hefty feeling, only a small part of you regards as true that this is someone else’s fault. It’s devastatingly pathetic.

The majority of your being believes that the foulness is yours. That you’re the one to blame. You believe that it’s your decision and your repulsive actions that stain you. And if that wasn’t enough, the certain question of why links arms with that belief, troubles you along the way, and it becomes much, much worse.

Why does filling a dose of hormones that you lack, that you need for your well-being leave you feeling like you did something very bad?

And, also, another one.

Why does enjoying yourself with another person—becoming close with them in a way that is tempestuous, dizzying and beautiful in such a simple sense, in a way that makes life truly worth living—why does it leave you with those burdening thoughts, soiled body and even grimier conscience? 

Those questions fill you up with dark clouds with no stars, dense and thick ones that weigh your body down. You walk through your daily life with trembling legs. And it’s all forced. You’d rather not feel that way, but it comes over you, swallowing you whole, and you have no strength to fight back. It’s all very frustrating. There’s nothing you can do.

The man’s words should take the edge off this discomfort, the lull and the softness of his tone—the maturity, complexity and dependability of his persona the very warmth that coats his voice—like a damp towel to all your gashes and sores. Help you in some way that you’re unable to help yourself. Perhaps lift the body off of you like Atlas held the world above his head. But they don’t.

And it’s Yoongi. The man you love, even if the state of your relationship is chastely friendly at the moment.

It’s Yoongi, who picked you up in the rain pouring down on you woefully, perfuming your hair with the sweetest, most heady scent of the forest. Yoongi, who gave you his clothes—boxers that fit you comfortably, even if they are a little loose in certain areas, gray sweatpants that decorate the ivory waistband of the Calvins, an old shirt, quite an expensive one, warm and cozy from the dryer. 

Yoongi, who let a velvety blanket fall on your shivering figure once you’ve showered, dressed, and rested comfortably on his couch, placing a light pink bowl filled with cheese puffs on your lap, knowing how much you love the color and the snack, too. Yoongi, who typed the title of your favorite Korean drama into the Netflix search bar, thumb clicking on the up, down, left and right buttons on the remote control, even though he hates doing so and prefers the voice search. Yoongi, who opted for muted leniency to waft through the room, turning off the big lights, sound low, fingers having finished typing the title: ‘It’s Okay Not To Be Okay’.

It should do something. But it doesn’t.

You’re incapable of looking him in the eyes. You just numbly gaze down at the orange tastiness, plopping another one into your mouth, swallowing down the bile. You dissociate, eyes defocusing, the pressure to respond to him a distant siren alarm at the back of your mind. 

A solid, peculiar peace steps over the threshold of your mind to check if it’s welcome before it takes a step back and walks the other way, the stench of the mold of your feelings pushing it away. 

Must have been his. 

He’s careful before he says what he wants to say in its entirety.

Yoongi takes his hands off of your forearms. The glint of his silver watch pulls you out of your detachment. Guilt pricks you at the nape of your neck over the fact that he’s trying and you’re too numb to receive it from him. You will your body to be normal, but it stays the way it is.

You had told him briefly in the car, amidst the onrush of your liquid emotions, that you felt that way. Dirty, soiled, ashamed of your perverseness. He didn’t comment on it, driving in silence. He knew that if he spoke too soon, you wouldn’t hear him—choosing to place your palm on the stick shift instead, holding your hand like that.

It struck you with the notion that you spoke too much. Did too much. That you should’ve just stayed quiet, stayed without feeling until he killed the engine at your apartment, until the door softly clicked behind you. You didn’t hear the language of his hand, all the words that gesture said. Instead, you listened to the false words in your brain.

You’re bothering him. He doesn’t care. He thinks you’re annoying. You should’ve called an Uber or you shouldn’t have come at all. You should’ve been home, depriving yourself of life, of excitement, of love and pleasure. 

But Yoongi didn’t drive you home—he didn’t drive down the familiar path to your apartment. And Yoongi didn’t speak because he knows you better than you know yourself. 

He wanted you to pour out the rain of your clouds before his words could tear them apart with sunlight. It wasn’t his intention to make you suffer more than you already did. 

You didn’t know this, though.

“Did you hear what I said?” the grim man asks, the grave acrimony to his voice alerting you and you feel so bad. So, so very bad.

A silky waterfall of his ebony hair brushes the tops of his cheekbones. You notice how the similarly colored hood of his sweatshirt envelops his neck in warmth, merging the hues into one color within the dimness of the living room. Looking down at your crisscrossed legs, mimicking his, you unfurl the blanket over his thighs. It pulls you into one unity with him, his steadfastness reaching for you.

“I did, Yoongi,” you say, wanting to be honest within the environment you find yourself in. “I just don’t know what to say.”

“Did he make you feel that way?” Yoongi folds his arms over his chest. Leans over the backrest. Suddenly you’re aware of the distance between the two of you. Glad that the blanket is big enough. “Dirty?”

It’s a question that hurts because you wish you could change your answer.

“I wish he did.” Your voice wobbles. Somehow his calm demeanor cracks yours, pushing the voices aside. “It would’ve been easier.”

If Namjoon were the one who hauled the words at you instead of your brain—if it were his touches that dug a hole in your heart instead of the ghost—you wouldn’t be sniffling your nose, willing your tears to go back where they came from. It’s all you and the broken interior of your body. Namjoon treated you perfectly, having invited you over to his residence near the woods. He didn’t make love to you, but he did play with you, coaxing moans out of you that echoed through his mansion. You enjoyed yourself, even though you enjoyed pleasuring him a little more.

Perhaps, that’s the biggest problem of it all.

“What do you mean by that?”

“It would’ve been easier ‘cause I would’ve blamed him.” You sigh, averting your gaze, plucking out fluff from the blanket on your knee. 

Yoongi runs his fingers through his hair to sweep it away from his eyes. His leisure position sinks him deeper into the dimness as he lowers his body into the cushions, arms back on his chest. 

“There’s no one to blame, though,” he says simply, biting his lower lip. 

You don’t know what to say. Busying yourself, you take a sip of the can of Sprite Yoongi got for you, aware of the strange emptiness within the walls of your mind. There’s always some kind of noise, some kind of accusation towards you. You’ve become used to it, learned to live with it. It’s a strange newness, this silence. You don’t know what to do with it. 

“You did nothing wrong,” he continues, voice so warm and so deep, despite its monotonicity. 

You merely shrug your shoulders. 

Yoongi reaches forward and places a hand on your left shoulder. As if to stop your stubbornness from overwhelming your body. You feel the heat of his palm and your mouth rounds in a pout. There’s energy in it—some kind of energy that mends you. His words are tall pillars that you slowly make your way over to, leaning against their coolness. Lukewarmness. 

You discover that it feels better. The heat of his touch, the coolness of his solemnity. It creates a temperature that your body responds to, walks away from the hostile creature. 

Before he had spoken, Yoongi touched you. Placed his palms in the crooks of your arms. But it didn’t affect you—and it’s because he hadn’t spoken. Now that he has, it whirs with some kind of spark in you that speaks the language of your body. 

“Do you understand what I’m saying?” Yoongi asks, lowering his head, eyes up, so he can look more deeply into yours. Perhaps read an answer. Any reaction that would tell him that he can move forward. 

You remain quiet, but you reciprocate the eye contact. And you do it for a reason. Now that your mind is empty, you desire for him to fill it. 

You shake your head.

Yoongi cups the side of your neck. Brushes your hair away from your face with his other hand. Inches closer. Pecks you gently on the forehead. 

The gesture squeezes the clouds in you and rain pours out. It trickles out of your tear ducts, down your pallid cheeks. Yoongi leans against your temple. Doesn’t let himself see those raindrops, but he knows they’re there. 

“You did nothing wrong by enjoying sex and you’re not dirty because you had it. It doesn’t stain you. Do you know what it does instead, though?” He whispers, keeping his voice low just for you; waits for your response. 

You shake your head ‘no’ once more, your shoulders relaxing now that you’re being held, now that you’re being spoken to, filled, made new. 

“It paints you golden. Glittery. And all colors of the rainbow are in that glitter. It’s all over you and it’s in you. And do you know the reason?” 

This time he doesn’t wait. Your tears soak the thick fabric of his sweatshirt and a rosy flush floods your cheeks in their place. You sob, and the sound is muffled.

“It’s because you had a good time. Good experiences paint you in all kinds of different ways. You just have to open your eyes to see them. All those colors.  Wait a bit before you can try ‘em all out. It takes time, doesn’t it?” 

You nod, and you do it so many times that your head spins, whimpering at the sudden lightness that your body welcomes. Yoongi hugs you, enclasps you in his arms. The blanket falls to the ground and it’s his body that keeps you warm, the ghost shoved away. You continue to cry until not one cloud fits in your ribcage, Yoongi’s words being the bodies that settle there, cleaning up the disorder they left there. Bodies speckled with the same glitter he talked about, myriads of silver, violet and blue flakes spelling the abbreviation of his name: MYG. 

I have glitter inside of myself.

You repeat it to yourself as your lungs calm down, regular breaths soothing your fragile form still held by Yoongi. He caresses the back of your head, fingers smoothing down your hair, making sure it cascades down your back in one singular stream. 

Lifting your head like a toddler on its belly, you do the same for Yoongi. You brush his hair away from his face, thumb stopping to caress at his cheek. Yoongi puckers his lips at you, hauls you a bit further upwards on his body. Mimics you again, fondling your cheek blooming with a new color. 

“No matter what you do with whoever you choose, you’ll always be a good girl,” he murmurs, the pad of his thumbs flicking away the last teardrops under your eyes, swiping tenderly across the intricate fan of your wet eyelashes. 

You believe him, so you nod, chin quivering with another onrush of emotions but nothing comes out. You don’t say it, but you have a confidence in the notion that your body will be eternally his. 

And you ponder it in your brain, softly, as Yoongi leans over and sets a tangerine down on the top of his chest. You come to terms with it being the current reality while he peels it for you. And you fully believe it and accept it when he feeds you the half moons. One by one, painting the walls of your mind with the faintest color of orange—the very reflection of a morning sunlight pouring in. 

A solid peace, no longer peculiar, steps over the threshold of that suddenly illuminated room, and it doesn’t leave this time. It swings the door closed, the sound of the click the very announcement of stability coming to stay. 

© 2024 hoseoksluna, all rights reserved

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[yuri-for-businesswomen]

the thing is - pro prostitution activists (and people who agree with idea) usually never suggest their 'perfect system'. On average, they just scream 'it needs to be legalised and then everything will be great', sometimes you get few ideas on how to protect "sex workers". But you know what? Whenever I do see such discussions and their suggestions, I can easily come up with 3 different scenarios where their rules and laws won't work or just would/can be ignored and women would still be harmed. EVERY TIME. People did and do all kinds of shady stuff, even in highly regulated industries + cool phenomenon called 'corruption'. Do they really think men give a shit about law, especially those who don't see women as human beings (and its all of them)?

The pro 'sex work' discourse is just people using fancy words to state that they don't believe misogyny exists, women are exploited, but most importantly they believe that men's pleasure and need to masturbate (with woman body) are more important than women's feeling and right to be save.

i recently had a very frustrating and saddening exchange with a woman on here who is in prostitution and kept saying the same thing (it should be legal) over and over again and when i told her it is legal in germany and it has not made things better just shifted problems and increased demand she said well but its legal that is definitely better. and you know i myself dont advocate for prostituting oneself to be illegal at all, i think its crazy that 30 % of women incarcerated in the usa where its fully criminalised are prostitutes, but it seems like usual people are only able to grasp the two extremes: full legalisation or full criminalisation. when in reality, abolishing the sex industry is a lengthy and complex process, but you have to start somewhere.

they say, „you wont stop prostitution by criminalising/outlawing it“ but think they can somehow stop the harm of prostitution through legal means, lmao (which also ignores the inherent harm of bought consent compared to freely given consent and knowingly making someone endure sexual acts for money). there has to be a cultural and legal and economic shift and thats a lot. we have to alleviate poverty from women systematically affected by it (single mothers, immigrated women, mentally ill, disabled, addicted women, and so on); this means pulling out the roots of misogyny and we all know this is not in the works. the difference between them and us is, we think a different future is possible if the effort is put in, but they dont. which is so fucking bleak and tells you a lot about how women see their own position in society, and the chances of it getting better.

even if you dont criminalise buying sex, you could still make it more difficult to buy sex. „but then it will move back to the black market“ honey its already there, even here in germany where its legal. so much prostitution is happening invisible, in apartment buildings and deserted areas. we should work towards ways how to reach women in these situations without legalising their abuse. if there was a perfect solution that immediately solved all the issues, we would advocate for it, dont you think? but there is no perfect solution and just accepting men will always use their money to coerce sex is just not something im okay with and we, as a society claiming to want gender equality should be okay with.

why not reverse what we have in germany right now? instead of prostitutes needing to register, its sex buyers who have to register. they need to do regular health checkups. they need to carry their sex buyer id with them or they will get fined. the registry is public because wives, daughters, partners and even your employer should be able to make decisions based on the knowledge that that man is coercing women into sex with his money. most sex buyers are partnered you know. „the government will never do that“ well they sure as hell wont if nobody advocates for it and instead opts for the lazy, superficial „fix“ of legalisation? and also, they say an issue under criminalisation is that prostitutes and other „sex workers“ are hassled by cops. well do tell who will enforce those sacred regulations you want? if it was for them, everybody would just „mind their own business“ and the state does not interfere with the sex industry at all and they somehow think this will protect vulnerable groups?! it doesnt make any fucking sense.

it is really frustrating to me. at the end of the day you have to ask, what is your feminism, if you want to accept, regulate, institutionalise, normalise, legitimise and legalise this form of systemic sexual abuse (because using your money to coerce sexual acts IS abuse of power) at the hands of men instead of working towards a future where we are equal? there is no equality as long as the sex industry exists and profits off and reinforces social inequality, specifically misogyny and racism.

[ava-of-shenanigans]

What are your thoughts on the new Renfield x Dracula rendition 2023? I for one was so enthralled that I want to start reading the book. I have Dracula on my shelf, is that all there is to it?

I have not seen Renfield 2023 so I don’t think I’m really qualified to give an opinion on it. From what I have seen/heard of it though, it seems like their Renfield is a lot more based on Renfield from the 1931 movie, where he was played by Dwight Frye than he is on original book Renfield. The most obvious and superficial difference would probably be that 2023 Renfield is a pretty young man, like Dwight Frye Renfield, while OG book Renfield is 59 year old man. Renfield having a lot more of an obvious relationship with Dracula and acting directly as an assistant to him is also something that I think comes more from the 1931 movie. Renfield is the best character in the original book (fight me /light-hearted) but doesn’t show up a lot of in it, so if you’re reading it just for the relationship between him and Dracula you’ll probably get pretty bored. Renfield in the original book is also a character who has a lot of things that are hinted at or implied about him, but most of them are never really explained. That does make him a very fun character to speculate on or make headcanons about, but since the book has several parts where the characters will just take a moment to sit down and straight up explain what all the vampire lore that’s been implied so far is, it does feel like a cop out that none of the things that were hinted about Renfield are ever addressed afterwards.

Also, since Renfield 2023 is a horror comedy about a guy overcoming his abuser, I should probably bring this up about the original book if you want to read it, but it’s kind of a hard thing for me to know how to explain, so sorry if anything I say is unclear: Uh, basically, by writing a mentally ill character who he did not see any need to treat with respect and viewed as subhuman, deeply bigoted author Bram Stoker managed to stumble ass backwards into writing the most realistic and honest portrayal of psychiatric abuse that I’ll probably ever be able to find in any piece of media ever?

In the original book, Renfield basically has psychosis (delusions/hallucinations) and is being held in an asylum and abused by a doctor who is one of the most central main characters characters of the novel. Bram Stoker didn’t feel any obligation to make Renfield appealing or relatable to the contemporary ableist Victorian audience, and in most of his scenes it feels like we’re intended to him find his mental illness either creepy or funny. Sometimes it also feels like we’re supposed to find him pitiable, but it’s mainly either creepy or funny. However, Bram Stoker, seemingly by complete accident, managed to make Renfield behave in ways that are very realistic to how someone going through that abuse would actually act. It’s hard to really explain, it feels like Stoker was envisioning Renfield as this ableist caricature of mental illness, but then didn’t think through the implications of a lot of the stuff he wrote, and unintentionally made him complex and incredibly realistic. Reading about OG book Renfield switching between doing things that are really gross or embarrassing because he’s in a state where he has very little grasp on reality or control over himself, to trying to maintain his dignity in his more lucid states only for his abuser to force him back into humiliating himself, to doing gross, humiliating, or bad things intentionally because it’s the only way to feel like he has any power in or any way to potentially escape a situation where someone who sees him as subhuman has complete control over him, and the way his story ends is… the most raw and painfully honest depiction of what it feels like to be in that situation that I will probably ever be able to find anywhere. And it was made by an author who was definitely not aware that he was doing that, in a story that doesn’t even really acknowledge it.

Also, in my opinion, Renfield has a lot of moments that are actually funny and not just in a “mocking someone for displaying mental illness” way. 95% of the characters in Dracula are restrained, polite Victorians who never complain about anything ever and refuse to communicate properly because of it. But Renfield is just so blunt, and rude, and openly sarcastic whenever he has the chance to be, and the people he is talking to always deserve it, which is amazing.

So, yeah, OG book Renfield is one of my favourite characters of all time, he’s the best character in the original book , he manages to be both very fun and iconic while also being deeply tragic at the same time, which is great, but if what I’ve incoherently rambled about in this post doesn’t sound like your cup of tea, the 1931 movie is probably a better bet for you.

[art-of-manliness]

Odds and Ends: March 29, 2024

The Storm of Steel by Ernst Jünger. Maybe you’ve seen a movie and read a couple books about WWI. You think you know what it was like for the soldiers who fought in that war. Then you read The Storm of Steel and realize you truly didn’t grasp it at all. German officer Ernst Jünger’s book, which was drawn from his journal entries, drops you right into the trenches and offers the reader a visceral, unmatchable look into what it’s like to constantly face a gruesome death and kill other men. Jünger has sometimes been criticized for glorifying war, and while he does find glimmers of honor in the conflict (largely in the fidelity of his men) to a greater extent than many of his more cynical contemporaries, his detailed accounts of death and destruction leave no doubt as to war’s horrors and absurdities. Sometimes his reports of one attack and casualty after another become a little redundant, but overall, this is a compelling read that will leave you amazed as to just how unbelievable an experience WWI really was. Wool Dryer Balls. Do you know how fabric softener sheets work? Dryer sheets soften and remove static and wrinkles from clothes by depositing a chemical film on them. Not only might you not want these chems on your clothes, but the coating inhibits the absorbency and moisture-wicking properties of things like towels and synthetic workout shirts. Plus, they’re wasteful. We’ve swapped dryer sheets for wool dryer balls for several years now and are happy with the trade. They don’t soften and reduce wrinkles to the same extent as dryer sheets, but they get the job done and also reduce drying time. And you never have to buy fabric softener sheets again. The balls we link to are still going strong in our household three years after purchase and made in America; if you don’t care about their origin, you can buy them for much cheaper.  Fashion Nugget by Cake. I was a big Cake fan in high school and college. They’re one of the best rock shows I’ve seen. I don’t know why I stopped listening to them, but I re-discovered them again recently and have remembered why I enjoyed them so much. They just sound different from most rock bands. Their sound has a mix of rock, funk, and hip-hop, but also country music and mariachi. Their album Fashion Nugget is a good representation of their work. “Going the Distance” is still one of the all-time great pump-up songs for a race or game. That baseline is so dope.  Working With Your Hands Is Good for Your Brain. You’ve probably noticed that there’s something about doing things with your hands that’s uniquely satisfying. The reality of this feeling has been scientifically proven. Writing by hand has been shown to engage the brain significantly more than typing, and as this NYT article notes, research has shown that doing hands-on activities like painting and gardening result in “cognitive and emotional benefits, including improvements in memory and attention, as well as reductions in anxiety and depression symptoms.” In allowing you to witness the way that your actions can bring about a concrete result in the world, working with your hands may also combat the happiness-squashing state of learned helplessness. Of concern then, is what may happen to our mental states in a world where the need to work with our hands continues to contract. As one researcher observed, “Skills involving fine motor control of the hands are excellent training and superstimulation for the brain. The brain is like a muscle, and if we continue to take away these complex movements from our daily lives — especially fine motor movements — I think that muscle will weaken.” So exercise your brain this weekend by writing a real letter or tinkering in the garage.  Quote of the Week The great Easter truth is not that we are to live newly after death—that is not the great thing—but that we are to be new here and now by the power of the resurrection; not so much that we are to live forever as that we are to, and may, live nobly now because we are to live forever. —Phillips Brooks Help support… http://dlvr.it/T4pNQQ

[matrotas-muse-hub]

Shirka Balazarr

CHARACTER BIO

Name: Shirka Balazarr

Title(s): The Mirage, “That One Obnoxious Flirt”

Age: 24

Languages: Common, Arabic (or an equivalent language depending on setting) 

Birthday: July 8th

Species: Human, part-deity

Gender: Male

Pronouns: He/him

Sexual Orientation: Heterosexual

Profession: Wanderer

Physical Details:

Hair: Sandy blonde and curly, medium length

Eyes: Usually green, but they turn a glowing violet when he uses certain magics.

Skin: Light brown

Height: 6′2″

Weight: 230 lbs

Tattoos / Scars: None

Special Items: A miniature sundial, his golden bracelets.

Physical Capabilities:

Strength: Shirka is, frankly put, ripped. He considers his body his pride and joy, and is always making sure he’s in top shape. However, his muscles are not just for show (though he certainly doesn’t mind if you look)

Dexterity: Shirka is light on his feet and nimble, his fighting style similar to that of a kickboxer with a penchant for out-boxing.

Hardiness: Shirka is tough. He’s survived in the harsh desert for extensive periods of time with little food and water, and his body can take blows just as well as he dishes them out.

Weapons: His guns. And by that I mean his muscles. Shirka doens’t fight with any weapons, using his body as his weapon.

Mental Capabilities:

Intelligence: Shirka is kind of an idiot. He was raised in an educated home, but he would rather chase women or party than study.

Wisdom: Shirka is known to make rather awful decisions. The only good choice he likely ever made was to accept the deity in the temple he stumbled upon, and even that forgotten god sometimes regrets making that bargain.

Charisma: Shirka is a massive flirt, and he likes to view himself as incredibly smooth and suave. Whether that’s true or not is very much up to the individual he’s interacting with.

Supernatural Capabilities:

Mirages: Shirka is capable of weaving complex illusions with relative ease. Whether this be a false image of a ghoul, a tap-dancing leprechaun, or even weaving light around himself to make him invisible. Shirka’s main magic lies in this manipulation of light.

Blink: As part of the divine gift imbued upon Shirka as the forgotten god’s only follower, Shirka can momentarily discorporate into light and blink short distances. When he does so, he may reactivate this ability within a certain time frame to return to his original position.

Light Flood: One of Shirka’s signature moves is to grasp an opponent’s face and flood their skull with searing light. Not only does this often blind his target, but it also causes them to suffer severe mental pain as their brain is struck by this magic.

Shirka’s Backstory

Shirka Balazarr is a martial artist and illusionist hailing from a desert nation. He was once the sole heir to a wealthy merchant family, but after becoming a target of organized crime and nearly ruining his family business with his mockery of the criminal factions’ elite, he was disowned.

Shirka ended up wandering the desert for years, too afraid to return home and face the consequences of his foolishness. He did not know how he navigated those sands and survived. Many times he expected to simply die of thirst. But somehow, every time he was on the brink, he happened upon an oasis.

Shirka studied mirages during those times, eventually becoming able to distinguish them from the real deal. He learned to have a keen eye for falters in the make-up, for shimmers in the illusion. Due to this keen study, Shirka one day noticed telltale signs of a mirage in the middle of the desert, though the mirage was of nothing but sand dunes. To most the signs Shirka noticed would have simply been heat waves, but he knew. He knew.

He took the risk, approaching the sand dune illusion that stood there. And after a few moments, he stood before a grand temple which was sinking into the sand in a state of ruin. Stunned by the find and suddenly hopeful of lost treasures, Shirka explored inside.

The temple was inhabited, but not by men or beasts. The being it had originally been built in honor of had been long since forgotten, but that being had not forgotten their temple. As Shirka stepped within, he felt a powerful force slam into him, his eyes flashing white.

What happened after that point is known only by Shirka and the icon of worship from that forgotten temple. In truth, the icon of that temple’s worship now inhabits Shirka. The two are one, and the mysterious force has granted Shirka incredible powers in exchange for his service. Now able to manipulate light at will, bending it and forming mirages of his own, Shirka weaves together light magic and melee combat to become a terrible foe for all that oppose him.

[faulty-writes]

This is a little different than most of my other works, but I'm trying to branch out and write for more of the secondary or minor characters. I actually adore the Todoroki family, especially Fuyumi and Natsuo. So I hope you guys enjoy this little appreciation piece featuring Natsuo who no doubt deserves more love considering he's a very interesting and complex character, at least in my opinion.

[ Natsuo is known as 'the nice guy' on campus despite also being recognized as a "Todoroki" and many knowing of the relation he holds to the number one hero, Endeavor. He's had plenty of experiences where people have used him because of this, but the latest one leaves him a tad heartbroken. What other choice does he have but to run to you? ]

The sound of his abnormally thick tears landing on the tiled flooring of the hallway faintly echoed as he continued on his way. Ignoring all the looks and obvious gossip that would come with the fact he was so shamelessly crying in the middle of a school day.

A sniffle came as Natsuo reached up and with some force, wiped his right eye with the end of his signature gray hoodie sleeve which he normally wore on campus. The very campus he had grown to love over the past year and the one Fuyumi had insisted he go to in order to study medical welfare.

It was funny, he could still hear her words echoing in his head, ‘Leave our family circumstances to me and go do what you want to pursue,’ and that he did. He knew he shouldn’t have been surprised that his sister offered to take the brunt of their family problems and encourage him to do what made him happy.

But at the same time, Natsuo hadn’t originally wanted to leave his sister or youngest brother behind. He didn’t trust their well-being with ‘Endeavor’ around, despite his mother having long since recovered from the mental and physical abuse the so-called "number one hero" put her through.

Since the death of his eldest brother, Touya. He couldn't shake this protective and anxiety-ridden feeling that had been slowly growing inside of him. He'd be damned if anything happened to his remaining siblings, even if it meant he'd experience more emotional trauma in the long run.

Much like today. College was supposed to be a fun time, and while Natsuo understood that some enjoyed ‘experimenting’ and partying rather than studying. He was never much of the party type and while he knew he was attracted to other genders, he never outwardly acted on it.

Knowing how his father treated his mother was the one thing that drove him to desire a true romantic relationship and that was what he thought he had. Unfortunately, there was a cruel reality that came with being the son of Endeavor, and while he should be used to people trying to get close to him when they found this out.

He never thought they would sink so low as to try and date him on the off-chance they'd get to meet the number one hero. His fingers sunk into the front of his hoodie, twisting the fabric as a soft ache coursed through his chest.

Which he could only describe as a broken heart and despite wanting to go back to his own room, bury his face into a pillow, and hide under his covers. There was one person he wanted, no needed, to see. It wasn’t his mother or sister, not even his youngest brother. It was you.

Strangely, since the start of his first year in college. He seemed to gravitate towards you, at first he believed it was only due to the fact that you were also studying something related to the medical field. But as your friendship continued and he got to spend more time with you, he realized that he genuinely enjoyed your company.

The fact he found himself telling you things, secrets that he wouldn’t have thought of sharing outside of his family was a pleasant surprise. Maybe you were just easy to talk to? He wasn’t sure, but he did know that unlike most.

You weren’t going to use him just because of his relation to Endeavor, though he knew you were interested in hero studies. There was no worry in his mind that you’d use him for some hero-related advantage.

Another sniffle came before he reached up to once more wipe away his tears, even if his effort was in vain considering more just came. He took a deep breath, trying to both collect and center himself. ‘Man, this backpack feels heavy,’ he thought as he clenched his jaw and focused his attention on the floor.

Counting the familiar shapes in the tile that he knew would eventually lead to your room. The logical reason for his backpack feeling so heavy was due to the fact it was filled to the brim with various textbooks and a few notebooks that were scribbled with his writing.

He could feel the slight bitter sting of frost beginning to grow on his tear-stained cheeks which he ignored for the moment. Still, he wiped his eyes once more before picking up his pace. He soon began to speedwalk which turned into a jog which eventually led him to frantically running and accidentally stumbling into your door.

Once more, he seemed to get stares from the passersby. But in a way, he couldn’t blame them. He wasn’t even sure how he looked slumped against another student's door with his arms stretched above his head and his hands closed into fists.

His forehead was pressed against your door and his tears continued to slowly fall. His eyebrows came down and for a moment, he wondered what he was doing before the door suddenly opened. “Hel-” your sentence came to a stop when the white-haired boy stumbled forward and your hands instantly grasped his arms.

Your stance stiffening as you unconsciously seemed determined to stop him from falling. One of your legs was bent back, and the other bent forward. An awkward silence filled the air before you heard the soft sound of something hitting the wooden floor of your room.

It reminded you of water and a few seconds later, Natsuo lifted his head. You instantly noticed those tears and felt his hands curl into the front of your shirt, funny you hadn’t noticed or felt the pressure of his hands there before.

But in a way it made sense, Natsuo was always very gentle. Even when handling the few people who volunteered to pretend to be "patients" during his medical welfare classes. In fact, it seemed he was downright cautious when it came to others.

Never necessarily wanting to cause trouble and sometimes acting rather shy unless you happened to bring up a topic he didn’t like. You had long since learned the reason why he preferred to keep the topic of ‘family’ out of conversations.

Yet, you wondered if Natsuo was crying because of something related to just that. But you knew you shouldn’t jump to conclusions just yet. Still, you couldn’t help but look into those blue orbs of his. The look of hurt was clearly visible, not only in his eyes but also indicated by the way his face was twisted.

Then he leaned forward, allowing a soft whimper to escape in the process. Partly burying his face into the front of your shirt as he lifted his leg up. Then without warning, he slammed his foot against the floor. Which caused you to jump, but you didn’t dare release Natsuo.

Especially as his tears soaked into the fabric of your shirt, unlike most Natsuo's tears were always cold. You assumed it was due to his quirk, but before you could say anything the sound of Natsuo’s cracked and broken voice caught your attention.

“D-Damn it,” the stuttered words filled the air and you frowned, wanting nothing more than to run your fingers through that white snow-like hair of his before you glanced back up. Noticing a few people staring into your doorway, you honestly didn’t know why they were staring or why they weren’t minding their own business.

But you did know that something was clearly wrong with Natsuo and whatever that something was caused this reaction. You shot the bystanders a glare before focusing back on Natsuo. You opened your mouth to speak, but were interrupted by the sound of his voice once more.

“I...am so sick of this,” his words, of course only confused you. What was he sick of and how did it relate to his current state? You managed to straighten out your legs, however, Natsuo continued to cling to you.

His tears hadn’t ceased nor those soft almost desperately gasps for breath. “I’m sorry,” he suddenly said before he turned to look over his shoulder. His hands remained curled into the front of your shirt as he looked at the many people staring at the two of you.

Some seemed curious as to what was happening and others amused to see the almost grown man crying in the arms of his friend. With more strength than he intended, he once more lifted his foot and slammed your door shut.

The noise it created echoed through your room and though Natsuo felt guilty for having treated your door in such a manner, his chest was already aching profusely. When he turned back to face you, the fact he had small bits of ice underneath his eyes and on the skin of his cheeks didn't go unnoticed by you.

Your hands left their position on Natsuo’s forearms to gently cup his face, it shouldn’t be a surprise that he was cold to the touch. You knew that was yet again another semi-harmless side effect due to his quirk, despite the fact you had never actually seen him use it.

Part of you wondered why that was. Still, you couldn’t help but allow your thumbs to run over those specs of ice stuck to his moist cold cheeks and the desire to get a warm hand towel to clean his face was strong.

You weren’t sure if you wanted to ask what happened first or calm him down enough so he would tell you with as little of a fight as possible. Your touch was welcomed as Natsuo reached up and laid one of his hands over yours.

“Do you...want to sit down?” you questioned and Natsuo looked momentarily confused before he glanced away as if he were thinking about something. Sometimes when he acted like this, it annoyed you. You knew how guilty Natsuo could feel over things that he either shouldn’t or weren’t even his fault.

He was here crying into your arms, but you knew somehow he'd make up a reason to feel guilty about it. ‘Well, that isn’t going to happen today,’ you thought as you released his face and reached down to take hold of one of his hands.

Even though they too were always cold, you couldn't help but find some odd sense of comfort when you were holding him by the hand. Despite the fact, Natsuo was significantly larger than you. But, you assumed that was only due to the fact that he physically took after his father.

The fact he went to the gym daily only added to that overall intimidating stature of his. Regardless, you squeezed his hand in reassurance as you guided him towards your bed. He made no move to resist your guidance and once you had him sitting down, you gently laid your hands on his shoulders.

Those tears were now single drops that slowly slid down his icy cheeks and you'd be lying if you stated it didn't hurt seeing Natsuo like this. You took a deep breath. “Stay here,” you instructed, “I’m going to get a warm towel, you have ice on your face,” Natsuo seemed rather surprised and reached up to touch his cheek.

Using his thumb to glide along the skin and sure enough, he could feel the smooth surface of the small patches of ice. “Oh…” he said before a sniffle came. “Sorry,” though most would know not to apologize for something beyond their control.

Still, he couldn’t help but fold his hands into his lap. Squeezing them between his thighs. His feet were nervously tapping against the floor, creating a rhythmic pattern and if one listened carefully enough, they’d recognize it was the pattern of a standard heartbeat.

In a way, it was amazing how much subconscious knowledge you could obtain. Natsuo failed to notice the rhythmic pattern, but you could hear it clear as day even from the bathroom where you proceeded to ring out the warm hand towel.

A soft groan escaped him, and his thighs were the only thing keeping his hands in place. Else he would be running them through his unusual spiky hair and possibly pulling it out. ‘What am I even doing here man?!’ he frantically thought.

‘Y/n...is always the person I run to, I keep bothering them but I’d rather be like this than…’ his jaw clenched when the thought of Endeavor entered his mind and a soft growl rumbled in his throat before he heard your footsteps which prompted him to raise his head.

You noticed he was looking at the wet towel you held with an expression only a curious and slightly confused child would make. “Mm,” once more he looked away, feeling the guilt continue to build as you sat down next to him and laughed.

"Don’t tell me you’re feeling guilty again,” you stated, and not to your surprise, Natsuo turned his head to look at you. His tears seemed to be completely dry and you wondered if that was because he was here with you or that he simply overworked his tear ducts.

“Sorry,” he muttered, still focused on the towel you held and the small amount of steam that seeped from it. “I...get it's kind of crazy for me to keep running to you but-” you shook your head, quickly interrupting him.

“But nothing,” you replied as you leaned forward, “that’s what friends do and you and I have been friends since the start of our freshman year,” that had to count for something, right? You reached over, cupping one side of Natsuo’s face.

“Now stay still, I want to get that ice off your face, and then you can tell me what’s bothering you,” the words left your mouth almost like a friendly command. But like most of the time, Natsuo didn’t seem to take offense.

He simply nodded and gave you a look that you knew meant he understood. Very gently, you pressed the towel to his face. Applying some pressure to ensure the bits of ice chipped off and sure enough, you could see the clear cold pieces slowly begin to melt.

When you began to wipe his opposite cheek, you couldn’t help but raise the question. “Hey Natsuo,” you began, effectively catching his attention and the soft, “Hm?” he responded with. “I’ve never seen you actually use your quirk,” you pointed out.

“Is there a reason for that?” a gasp came when Natsuo suddenly jerked his head away from you. “Uh…” blinking once or twice. You lowered the wet towel to your lap and grasped onto it. Twisting the fabric between your fingers to allow the now lukewarm droplets of water to soak into the pajama bottoms you were wearing.

Maybe you crossed a line? Did this have anything to do with his family? As far as you knew, his mother possessed a rather powerful ice quirk. Was that the reason he never used it? You weren’t sure, but usually, when Natsuo acted in this closed-off manner it was related to his family.

“Sorry,” you said, “I didn’t mean to pry, I was just curious,” the explanation was simple and you hoped Natsuo would believe you. He took a deep breath and let out a sigh before bringing his hand up, running his fingers through his hair.

“It’s fine,” he replied, though you could tell his voice was a little strained before he turned to you. That’s when you saw the frown on his face and his eyes looked misted over as if he were going to cry again. You really didn’t want that.

“Natsuo are you-” though the answer was obvious, he wasn’t okay if he had come running to you in tears. But even so, Natsuo nodded. “Yeah…” he reached out, grasping the wet towel that you were previously holding before he got up.

You wanted to ask where he was going, but it was clear he was only heading to the bathroom. “It’s just…” you heard the wet plop of the towel landing in the sink before Natsuo walked back out and once more took his seat on your bed.

You reached out, laying your hand on his thigh. “You don’t have to tell me,” you offered with a kind smile, but Natsuo shook his head. “It’s fine,” he repeated yet again before allowing his hand to rest by his side.

“Big bro Touya and I used to play around with our quirks, but Touya was always so serious about his,” you watched as his expression grew dark and a clear hateful glance appeared in his eyes which seemed distant at the moment.

This was more than likely due to the fact that Natsuo was picturing his late brother alongside his father. “Uh…” you glanced down and watched as the hand that laid by Natsuo’s side began to curl into a fist, though you knew he would never actually raise that fist or cause harm to you.

It was just shocking how the subject of his family brought out this side in him, but you remained quiet and continued to listen. “Because of that...bastard and I hated seeing Touya like that!” he suddenly exclaimed, leaning forward as his fists began to tremble, and without much thinking, you laid your hand on his back.

"Natsuo…” you said, hoping your voice would bring him back out of the hateful moment he was in. His jaw was clenched and a shiver ran up your spine when you felt Natsuo’s trembling hand take a grip on your upper arm.

But there was still that familiar gentleness to it which indicated to you that even when Natsuo was temporarily blinded by this hatred, he was still aware of his surroundings and those that were important to him.

This was only confirmed when he lifted his head to look at you with a smile, though it was small. It was still present and seemed to put you at ease for the moment. “I’m okay but…” he once more turned away from you and a sigh escaped him.

“I convinced big bro to have fun with our quirks instead of doing what the old man wanted him to, but since he...died. I...I couldn’t bring myself to use my quirk again and I’m sure sis feels that way too,” your frown deepened, ah so that’s why.

Maybe he fears he’ll lose the memory of his elder brother if he were to use his quirk again? “What else happened?” Natsuo looked back at you, confused for a brief moment before, “Oh...right,” he said as if he had almost forgotten he ran to you in broad daylight with tears streaming down his face.

He turned, bending down to slip his shoes off before he slid his backpack onto the floor. Then he proceeded to climb onto the bed or rather proceeded to crawl over to your pillows and plop himself down.

Being surrounded by your familiar scent eased him as did the fact he could stretch both his arms and legs out. You looked at him all sprawled out and comfortable. ‘Well...I guess if it makes him feel better,’ you thought as you watched Natsuo stare at the ceiling.

His face twisting with a variety of emotions that made you wonder just what caused him to cry in the first place. He didn’t deserve that, or at least not in your opinion. “She broke up with me,” he suddenly said, his voice somewhat quick and you barely understood what he said.

“Who?” you questioned as you got onto your knees and pressed your hands into the mattress, looming over Natsuo much like how a dog or loyal companion would. "My girlfriend…” he muttered as he once again looked to the side, you assumed it was an attempt to look away from your gaze which was a mess of confusion.

“Why did she break up with you?” It was said that getting your heart broken was hard to handle, but there had to be more behind this. You sat on your knees, placing your hand on your hip as you looked down at Natsuo who slowly turned his gaze back to you but seemed to avert it just as quickly.

Despite his overall twisted expression that laid somewhere between sad and angry, you also noticed the faint pink tint to his cheeks. Was that from anger or embarrassment? You honestly couldn’t tell. But Natsuo normally didn’t get embarrassed around you and you knew he knew he could tell you anything.

‘It must be from anger,’ you concluded as you continued to wait patiently for his answer. “I’m so tired of it,” he said in a soft voice which prompted you to lean closer. “Tired of it?” you repeated, clearly not understanding where that was coming from.

“I’m sick of being recognized just because of the old man's last name!” he exclaimed once more, though his voice wasn’t raised too high. It still caused you to jolt back, then again you should have realized this whole thing had something to do with his family.

Natsuo turned to you and impatiently pressed his hands against the mattress so he could sit up. His jaw was clenched again and his eyebrows slit in anger and the way he kept his eyes locked on you made you feel a little uncomfortable despite the fact you knew his anger wasn’t directed at you.

Then a sigh came and Natsuo’s head dropped. You saw this often when he was trying to collect or calm himself down. It honestly worried you that he was always going between emotions, trying to keep himself in check for the sake of others.

His eyes were closed, but when he opened them once more you could see the absence of anger. “I wanted to study medical welfare to actually help people…” he confessed as he brought his legs up to his chest and you watched as he wrapped his arms around them.

Those long sleeves of his hood concealing the contraction of his muscles and biceps. He seemed to stare off into the distance once more. “I wanted to make a difference in the world so the name Todoroki could actually mean something to me, unlike the tie it has to that bastard,” he hissed and like a switch, that anger was back.

You could even hear that soft rumbling of a growl threatening to admit from his throat. “I don’t want to be recognized as a Todoroki just because of him!” you opened your mouth to speak, but all thoughts and actions escaped you when Natsuo turned to look at you.

Once more sporting that angry expression which was terrifying in its own way. But then, it slowly began to fade into sadness and he lowered his arms. Allowing his hands to fall back onto the mattress, you couldn’t help but glance down when you felt his fingers brush against yours before you looked back up.

“I don’t want people trying to get close to me because of him either,” Natsuo stated and you gasped when you felt his cold hand engulf yours, taking firm grip as if he was silently gesturing to you that he needed some form of physical comfort.

“But that’s exactly what she did,” you felt that hand begin to tremble and you quickly gave it a reassuring squeeze. “She used you to get to your father?” you questioned, a little confused but still showing an effort that you wanted to get the story correct.

Natsuo nodded. “She’s an inspiring hero I guess," he said with a shrug, "and wanted to get close to me so she could have the chance to speak to my father,” his tone sounded like he had given up as he tilted his head back and stared at the ceiling.

That ache in his chest returned, but somehow your touch prevented it from growing any further. “Guess I was more interested in caring for her that I didn’t see it,” he commented before tilting his head back down. “Just tired of it,” he repeated.

"I wouldn’t introduce my father to anyone I’m with...they deserve better than to be exposed to him!” you could imagine that’s how the rest of his story went then. His ex-girlfriend trying to pressure him into introducing her to Endeavor only for Natsuo to express his concern and reasons for why he couldn’t.

Then from there she must have gotten angry and confessed the truth. The whole situation was unfair and you could feel your own anger brewing, using people was one thing. But using them for your own personal benefit, pretending to love them?

That wasn’t exactly forgivable in your book. No wonder he was crying. “I’m…” would saying you’re sorry even do anything? You knew Natsuo wouldn’t take offense, but it seemed unfitting for the current situation. Instead, you found yourself leaning over.

Releasing his hand in order to wrap your arms around him, nuzzling your head against his shoulder as you embraced him. Natsuo while not overly shocked at your friendly gesture, crossed his legs and wrapped his arms around your waist before pulling you even closer.

Though your back slightly hurt, you didn’t mind. Natsuo, while not completely touch-starved, still melted into anyone’s affection. You felt his stiff body finally relax and the cool touch of his cheek against your ear as he nuzzled the side of your head.

“Thank you,” he whispered, despite the fact, there was no one else around to hear you two. “I know I keep bothering you whenever-” you reached up to tug on the back of his hair.

“You’re not a bother,” you said in a stern tone, “and you should be happy that girl is now your ex, you didn’t deserve what she put you through,” your arms tightened around him just before you pulled back and grasped his shoulders.

Making sure he was looking at you before you continued to speak, “No one deserves that, you’re a wonderful person Natsuo and I know there are others that won’t care that you’re a Todoroki or that will help you make it into a name you can be proud of,” you assured him and watched as the faintest expression of hope washed over his face.

Just that alone meant the world to you and while you knew Natsuo didn’t need any protection, you still wanted to try your best to be there for him. “Come on,” you insisted as you crawled over him in order to reach the opposite side of your bed.

Though Natsuo took up most of the space, you managed to lay down and offered him your hand. That smile of his seemed to grow and as expected, he gently grasped onto your hand as he laid down by your side.

“You can stay here if you want, it’s still daylight and I don’t have any more classes for today,” you insisted and hoped he’d take the bait because you didn’t exactly trust he wouldn’t get emotional again later.

Natsuo always seemed to overthink things and maybe that’s where his sense of guilt came from. “Hm?” he glanced away and you were quick to speak. Taking a firm grip of his hand, you slipped your fingers between his and gave him a stern expression.

“Don’t let your guilt tell you that you’re going to be a bother, I want you to stay,” your words were accompanied with another reassuring squeeze, and once more his gaze was directed back on you.“...Okay,” he replied, you smiled and turned your attention to the ceiling.

Allowing your intertwined hands to remain nestled between you. Your mind was free of any thoughts, unlike Natsuo who was debating how he could even thank you for everything you did for him. Just listening to him was enough, but you went the extra step to dry his tears and invited him to stay for however long he wanted.

Was it that you knew he found comfort in you, your scent, your presence? Is there any way he could express his gratitude? Suddenly his own words came back, echoing like thunder inside his head. ‘I...couldn’t bring myself to use my quirk again,’ he held his breath and slowly lifted his free hand, turning it so he could gaze at his palm.

The sound of his and Touya’s laughter now softly echoed alongside his words. ‘It’s been years,’ he thought before he turned to glance at you, but ended up flinching when he realized you were already looking at him.

“Are you okay?” you questioned, now that everything was off his chest he should be, right? Then again, you have been wrong before. Natsuo almost seemed to be in a trace, though his eyes hadn’t left yours and his hand remained lifted in the air.

‘Would I even know how to control it? I can’t risk hurting Y/n but if this proves how thankful I am to them then…’ he finally seemed to make a choice and he slowly turned on his side causing the bed to shake along with his movements.

“Can I see your other hand for a moment?” he questioned, knowing that if anything did happen to go wrong with his quirk that he could use the basic knowledge he learned from his medical welfare classes to hopefully undo any damage.

“Hm?” you seemed a tad confused by his request and why he was holding his hand up, but once more you reminded yourself that Natsuo had no ill intentions. You maneuvered yourself on your side much like him and slowly held your free hand out.

Natsuo smiled and carefully connected your fingertips, then he took a deep breath. Channeling his long-forgotten quirk to the center of his palm, though he could feel the cold rush. It came as a surprise to you. In fact, the sudden drastic drop in temperature coming from Natsuo's hand was an utter shock.

Even knowing quirks existed, this almost seemed impossible. “N-Natsuo?” you worried something was very wrong when you felt it, the cold rough texture of tiny ice crystals growing across your skin. You almost wanted to pull away as there came a slight pulsing pain with the bitter coldness that was Natsuo's quirk.

But instead, you looked to your hand, your jaw was clasped closed and your eyes were wide. Too focused on those ice crystals that continued to grow and slowly frost over the top of your fingers. You stared in amazement.

“I...b-but you…” your words were all jumbled together and you almost missed the fact that Natsuo’s palm was covered in a thick lining of ice and how red the skin surrounding it was. Still, even if this brought him some minor discomfort.

He couldn’t help but smile as he watched your reaction, the small feeling of heartache numb for the moment and replaced with a small dose of happiness. Partly due to you and partly because he was relieved he could in fact control his quirk even after years of refusing to use it.

“I just wanted to say thank you for being there for me,” he stated and though still astonished, you glanced back at him. Even though the small mishaps would more than likely continue to happen as well as people that would attempt to use him for their own personal benefits. You somehow knew he was going to be just fine.

[formenis]

Rest [NSFW]

Anon asked: "We need some Near nsfw in our life 🤍 could u do one were Near is stressed from his work & his S/O wants to make him “relax”"

A/N: I can finally use long-haired Near twt

pairing: Near x gn!reader

|| warning: NSFW, mention of oral sex, handjob + blowjob, pet names (I guess?). Be careful ||

requested: yes

Y/N worked with Near since the Kira case, on 2009. Together with Lidner, Rester and Gevanni, Y/N was a member of the SPK, the youngest one to be precise. Despite Near and Y/N hadn’t an important age gap, Y/N was treated in step with the rest of the team: they were well-known for being a precise and discreet agent, with a sharp flair and great initiative. Everything Near needed for his investigation team.

Not long after the end of the Kira case, something between Y/N and Near (or rather L) changed, in a positive way of course. Now that the pressure of that case disappeared from Near's shoulders, he noticed how good his team was. And this appreciation included Y/N too.

«L, I received a call from Watari and I think this case will interest you»

«Excellent Y/N. Let me see the details on the screens, please»

Near trusted Y/N's tastes about cases. They knew Near will accept only cases in "L's style": interesting, complex, with a good amount of thrill and a notable pay. Not that it matters for Near, he just wanted to solve them.

And that was how the relationship between Near and Y/N started. At first it was a mere working relationship (since Near was Y/N's boss after all) but month after month, year after year, it changed into something else. Something more private, more heartfelt.

This alarmed Near: he wasn’t used to those things, people and social interactions weren’t his strong points. But with Y/N was different, he noticed it immediately. With them, Near didn’t need to explain each deduction, each statement or all his decisions. A particular stare, an unusual movement or just too much silence were enough for Y/N to understand Near.

Soon enough, Near came to conclusion that he had feelings for agent Y/N L/N. And he was sure Y/N noticed it. Whenever a new, dangerous case would involve Y/N, Near would make sure not to drag them in it.

«It's too dangerous, Y/N»

«I know but it's my job!» they replied annoyed for the umpteenth time.

«I'm well aware why you were hired but I need you here, Gevanni will take care of it»

«L, please…» Y/N walked closer to him, careful not to step on his toys scattered on the floor, and kneeled behind him. «I know you're worried about the safety of your team but trust me, I know what I'm doing»

«I'm not worried about the others. It's yoursafety my priority at the moment» he said while playing with his cards.

So yes: Y/N knew Near had feeling for them and Near, on the other hand, hoped they would understand what was hidden behind his words. And Y/N accepted the message behind those words.

Truth was that Y/N felt something for Near too, hence they were hoping to hear some sort of "confession" from him. It was nothing openly said but the way his dark eyes would become soften when looking at them or he would tentatively touch Y/N's hand was enough for them.

Near was stressed. Truly stressed actually. And said stress was clear on him: tired face, heavier and darker eyebags, messy clothes. Y/N was worried, it wasn’t healthy for him.

It was late night, the SPK was already gone to bed. Near and Y/N were the only one still working: the young detective was writing something at his computer on the floor while Y/N had to organise some dossiers. However, the SPK agent was more focused on Near's health rather than work.

«L…I'll take care of it, you have to rest»

«I'm not sleepy, Y/N. I have some important work to do…you may go if you want» Near quickly replied with a weary voice. It was clearly betraying his current state and this upset even more Y/N.

«I'm not going anywhere if you don’t come with me»

«I guess it will be a long night then»

He could be such a brat sometimes: stubborn, good looking detective. Y/N's eyebrow twitched nervously. «Is that so?»

Then, like a flash, a very good idea popped out in their mind. «You know, L, you're right. We don’t need to go to bed to relax…» a smirk adorned their face, a sinful smirk.

«What do you mean, Y/N?» Near asked without turning to look at them. Big mistake: Y/N walked in front of him. «Y/N I'm trying to work-»

Near hadn’t the time to finish his words of protest that Y/N silenced him. How? With a kiss on the lips: if agent Y/N L/N wanted Near to relax they had to turn off his brilliant brain for a while. Since the beginning of their relationship, the two of them shared many kisses especially on the cheeks and forehead but when it came to lips…Y/N knew Near would go on the fritz.

And that was what really happened: for the first time after a while, Near's mind was blank. His brain couldn’t produce any logical deduction, any refined statement, any truth. He wasn’t clear headed enough to kiss Y/N back but they didn’t care, they had Near on the hook.

Y/N didn’t give him the time to come back in his senses that they moved again: Y/N licked Near's lips asking politely access to his mouth. Near, however, was not so distracted and he denied said access. Y/N didn’t quite agree and sunk one hand in his long, silky white hair, pulling them slightly.

Near groaned in the kiss and Y/N seized the opportunity to French-kiss him. If the white haired detective could be rather mean and impressive at work, when he was alone with Y/N he would show more caring emotions. Near was still a bit insecure –since he shared with Y/N his first experiences- but he secretly loved being vulnerable in front of his favourite agent.

When oxygen became a need, Y/N broke the kiss, a trail of saliva still connected the two. Near was breathing fast, his half-lidded eyes hid something more than just "passionate feelings". «Did you like it, Nate?»

The detective nodded, looking at them with love and…need. «You'll be a good boy for me, alright? Let me take care of you» they said with alluring voice.

«W-What do you want to do?» was everything Near said before watching Y/N descending on his thighs. A faint blush covered his pale, adolescent face but he tried not to think about it by focusing back on his work. They unbuttoned as slow as they could the zipper on his light-coloured pants; with the same slowness they removed them in few precise movements.

Y/N knew that Near needed few minutes to get excited since he had low libido, hence they slowly started moving their hand around the tip of his manhood. On the other side, Near was truly trying to finish his work but for him it was almost impossible: he was suppressing moans and sighs with great difficulty.

Y/N chuckled at his efforts to stay silent, his body was telling them something else. And when their fingers got wet due to his pre-cum, they moved their face closer to his dick; after moistening their lips, they took the tip in their mouth.

Near had enough. He abandoned his computer and grasped Y/N's hair with both hands. «Ah~» he sighed, his breath was becoming harder and harder. The SPK agent smirked mentally, singing a mental victory song, and decided to take his entire length in their mouth.

«Y/N!» he finally moaned their name, shiver after shiver were shaking his body in excitement. His back found support against a big 3D printer he had on the floor and the grasp at Y/N's hair became even stronger.

Eager to hear more of Near's sweet sounds, Y/N decided to massage his balls too while they deepthroathed him. This caused the detective to quiver in pure pleasure.

«Come for me, Nate. Be a good boy~» Y/N said with a whisper, their hot breath on his smooth skin was too much for Near. The muscles tensed, all his body paralysed and the cock twitched in their throat. After few seconds he surprised them with a large amount of load which Y/N swallowed.

Y/N kissed their boyfriend's manhood and then looked at his sweaty face with a cute smirk. «Are you ready to rest now?»

«Y-Yes…» he replied rather tiredly, he was going to fall asleep there on the floor.

«Now let's go to bed, shall we?» Y/N replied still smirking.

[princessphilly]

All Bets Are Off: Chapter 1

Word Count: 2068

CW: not yet, except for some bad language

Note: I don’t always write long chapters. Some may be closer to 2000, some closer to 5000, it depends on the chapter and what is going on. 

taglist: @nazdaddy @texanstarslove @shortstacks-blog @missymore @hockeywocs @puckbitchesgetmoney @defiant-mouse @myhockeyworld87 @chicagostylehockey​ @barriesweet

Join the tag list here!

Chapter 1

“Look at my girl, moving up in the world!”

Nina could hear her mother’s voice in her head as she moved around in her office in the Lemieux Training Complex. Today was her first day working not just as a physical therapist for UPMC but as a physical therapist for the Pittsburgh Penguins and Nina felt like she was going to burst from nervousness. ‘Not bad for a girl from Clairton,’ Nina thought as she went through her schedule.

Nina had pledged never to come back to Western PA when she graduated from Clairton High. Now, almost eight years later, she was back and working with the hometown hockey team. After doing undergrad at Penn State, aka grades 13-16 with everyone from the area usually going there, Nina went down south to the University of Florida for her Doctor’s in Physical Therapy after getting her B.S. in Kinesiology. The warm weather was so much better than the fucking snow of Western PA but UPMC was offering the most money out of all of Nina’s job offers. After thinking about her student loans, UPMC was a no fucking brainer.

Taking a centering breath, Nina pasted her best professional smile on her face and got ready to go meet her first client. Before she could do that, her door opened and three men stepped in.

“Here is our newest physical therapist. Unlike Mike and Trent, Nina is a DPT,” Rick Dvorak, the head physical therapist explained to the two men with him.

Nina smiled and reached out her hand. “Good morning, my name is Nina Jackson, nice to meet you.”

Of course, she knew who the two other men were. One was Super Mario, Mario Lemieux, Pittsburgh legend and co-owner of the Pens. Next to him was Sidney Crosby, superstar who had just won his third Stanley Cup. Mario had a friendly professional smile but Sidney was looking at her like she… Nina didn’t quite know how to place that look. She kept her professional smile on her face while inwardly grimacing. Of course, the star of the team would feel some way about a black physical therapist.

“Sid looks a little starstruck,” Mario joked.

Sidney laughed self-consciously, his cheeks reddening adorably. Nina kept a straight face, thinking, ‘I hope I never have to treat him.’

Sidney smiled and his whiskey-brown eyes brightened. “Just a natural reaction to a pretty girl.”

Nina rolled her eyes inwardly, her professional smile getting strained. Sidney wanted to give himself a bag skate as he could tell that she was turned off. He felt awkward as hell and he wanted to curse but this wasn’t the time. He laughed, wishing that he wasn’t anywhere but here. Nina replied, “I’m used to turning heads but I didn’t quite expect to do that here,” with a laugh.

Sidney had met his fair share of gorgeous women, probably more than his fair share. Yet, his breath was taken away when he first saw her. Clear brown skin, dimples when she smiled, and dark brown hair pulled into a bun, nothing unique. But when Nina smiled, all Sidney wanted to do was drown in her smile and see what he could do to keep her smiling like that forever. Then, he got a look at the rest of her body and Sidney wanted to not only keep her smiling forever, he also wanted to find out what would get her to scream his name.

Then he faltered and realized that he really had goofed. Nina’s hand was still outstretched and he forgot to shake it. Sidney gave Nina an apologetic look and took her hand.

Nina didn’t know what happened when Sidney took her hand but she felt something electric, hot, and intense as hell. It was scary and she carefully pulled her hand back as soon as she could. Whatever it was, Nina was sure it was just another omen that today was going to be the worst day on earth.

Sidney gave Nina his best smile when she let go. He never felt such a connection when he had met a woman before but fuck, he had to change her mind about him.

Nina spent the next five minutes mentally willing the team owner, the captain, and her boss out of her office while making small talk. Luckily, the men left pretty quickly after wishing her luck on her first day working with the team. Sidney Crosby was the last to leave and Nina busied herself with arranging her papers. She could feel his eyes on her and Nina had no desire to interact with him. Then he finally left and she sighed deeply. Nina took several deep breaths before refocusing herself on her day ahead.

**

“Nina Latreice Jackson, now you know I ain’t raise no fool!”

Nina let out a low groan as she thought about another thing her mother loved to say. As much as it seemed like Crosby didn’t like her, Nina decided that she would be completely professional in every way. It wasn’t that hard; athletes were pretty much the same no matter where they were. Just like the Florida Gators players she worked on while in school, the Pens players fell under several categories. There were the jokers, the serious ones, the ones who lived to flirt, and players who fell under all of the categories.

For her first weeks, Nina worked at creating a professional boundary with the players she was working with. For the majority of the time, they were decently behaved. It was mid-season so there were all kinds of lingering issues, some more serious than others. Nina figured out pretty quickly that some of the players were going to follow directions while others were going to slack off until their issue made it impossible for them to ignore it.

However, today was her first day working with Sidney Crosby after her first day. Like she expected, it was a little awkward and his teammates didn’t help. The leader of the chirping was Geno Malkin. The guys kept walking by, sending suggestive looks and comments. Sidney’s cheeks were a dull red midway through the session. After a while, Nina got annoyed. 

The straw that broke the camel’s back was when Geno and Jake came by for the third time, making kissing noises. Nina snapped, “Unless you need treatment, I don’t understand why you are in here.”

“Ouch,” Geno replied as Jake laughed. “She mean.”

Sidney rolled his eyes as he gave his teammates a warning look. As Nina wrapped his ankle, Sidney tried to take several deep breaths. He had rolled it a bit during practice. It wasn’t major but with the other trainers unavailable, Nina had decided to look at it.

“Why are you so stiff?”

Sidney looked up at Nina. She was checking out his ankle with pursed lips but when her eyes met his, Sidney sucked in a breath. Nina was really… words failed.

“I’m waiting,” Nina prodded with a sarcastic chuckle. This was making her feel really uncomfortable. All of the others players were relatively easygoing but the captain, he was so stoic around her. It made her feel like he didn’t really want her and Nina had observed enough over the last weeks that whatever Sidney wanted, he got. If he said one thing, she would lose the extra money from working with the team and Nina couldn’t afford that.

Sidney gulped before deciding just to admit the truth. “It’s a bit hard to be around such a beautiful woman like you.”

Nina laughed before giving Sidney a sardonic smile. Sidney felt his heart break into two. He didn’t even get a chance to ask her out before fucking it up. “It’s true,” he whispered.

Nina swallowed before focusing back on his ankle. “You should be good, Mr. Crosby. I don’t diagnose injuries; I just help treat them but you should be good to go for the next practice and everything.”

“Call me Sidney.”

Her eyes met his again and Sidney was looking at Nina with the most earnest expression she had ever seen.

“Ok, Sidney,” Nina forced out with a fake smile.

Sidney groaned before getting off the table and sliding his feet into his crocs. Nina took a deep breath and rolled her eyes after he left.

Gretchen, one of the athletic trainers, came in and snickered. “I’m surprised he made it without self-combusting.”

“What?”

“Yinz don’t know? He likes you, Nina,” Gretchen explained.

Nina shrugged. “Yeah, right.”

“He’s always staring-“

Nina interrupted Gretchen as she said, “I’d rather go and get lunch. Panera Bread sound good?”

**

 Nina counted herself lucky that she was able to avoid Sidney after that day. Her luck ran out in the worst way. Nina was rushing out to make it to a dentist appointment when she ran into a hard chest. Tripping over her feet, Nina fell on her butt. 

“Owww!”

“Are you okay?”

Nina looked up and it was Sidney Crosby, of course, holding out a hand. She cautiously grabbed it and let him pull her up off the floor. Like the first time they met, Nina felt the electricity when their hands touched. This time, Sidney held her hand even after she was off the floor. 

“Seriously, are you okay,” Sidney pressed. 

Nina felt her cheek feel hot as she replied, “Seriously, I’m fine. It was an accident.”

“I mean, I don’t want to give you more reasons to hate me.”

For the first time, Nina noticed that Sidney looked vulnerable. Pulling her hand out of his grasp, she murmured, “I don’t hate you. I think you’re the one who may hate me.”

Sidney blinked in surprise. “I don’t hate you! But I would love to take you out for dinner sometime.”

Something made Nina feel instantly happy at his words that he didn’t hate her and wanted to take her out but it couldn’t work. “Nice to know that you don’t hate me but dinner isn’t going to happen. I gotta go, I’m going to be late!”

Sidney watched Nina race out of the building to her car. He was losing and he wasn’t used to losing. Gritting his teeth, Sidney vowed to himself that he would get Nina to warm up to him, sooner or later.

**

“Hey girl, how was your appointment?”

Nina smiled as she FaceTime with her best friend Lauren. “Not bad, no new cavities or anything. I talked with Dr. Smith about maybe getting adult braces and she said I don’t really need them.”

“Sounds good for someone who was freaking out,” Lauren teased. “So, what’s going on at work? Meet any hot players? Anyone you’d hook me up with?”

“Girl, no. I keep it strictly professional with them. I don’t even want them thinking anything is going to happen,” Nina replied. She half considered sharing her interactions with Sidney Crosby with Lauren but her BFF had a bad case of loose lips when drinking. So, Nina kept that to herself. 

“Is Sid hotter in person than he is on TV? You know I love my Steelers but I gotta know.”

Nina snorted before saying, “Meh. He’s alright.”

“He’s alright,’ Lauren said in disbelief. “Oh, there’s a story here.”

“There’s nothing because I deal with him at work now and then.” Nina rolled her eyes as Terrible Tess, her cat jumped in her lap. Steely, her dog, was at her feet. “Anyway, did you get the tickets for the game yet?”

Lauren was a lawyer and one of the perks was tickets to Steelers games, usually either in a box or on the 50-yard line. As diehard fans, Lauren and Nina tried to take advantage of that perk as much as possible. Lauren stated, “Oh yes, we got tickets. And there’s this guy…”

Nina listened to Lauren talk about her newest guy she was interested in as she petted Terrible Tess. As much as she didn’t want to, she couldn’t help but think of the look on Sidney’s face when she basically told him thanks but no thanks. He actually looked hurt; not an egotistical hurt that most men got when they were told that they aren't as great as they thought they were. But it was like an honest hurt. It didn’t matter though; past heartbreak taught Nina that getting involved with anyone even affiliated with work was the worst idea ever.

[ceridwyn2]

This may seem like a stupid (and unpopular with some) question, with AO3, is there a way to filter out some writers in search results? I’m doing a search through a particular fandom (no, not stating which one, as I’ve seen it across more than just one fandom) at the moment, and there is a lot of crap there amongst the good gems. I’m picky when I read fanfic 😅 , and a lot of times I don’t have time to wade through hundreds/thousands of stories to look for the good ones.

By the way, this ended up being a lot longer than I originally intended 😂 as I was thinking it through. What I like in the stories I read as follows:

A) Be grammatically correct

B) Spelling correct

C) Sentence & paragraph structure correct. Dialogue for each character in separate paragraphs.

D) Point of View: maintain one person’s point of view either for the whole scene or whole story. Especially important if stories are written in first person (I/My/Me) or second person (You/Them/They). These stories are often harder to write and maintain throughout well. If it’s first person, you’re only writing from one character’s point of view: on how *I* see/hear/experience the things around *me*. *I* don’t/can’t know what the other characters are thinking/feeling other than what *I* see/observe in their behaviour, unless they tell *me* what they think/feel. Writing in second person is equally difficult to maintain unless you’re very skilled at it. You’re writing as though your addressing the reader/person directly, as if you know them personally, intimately (does not need to be sexually) by using *you*. / Example: You love to write; you should do it more often. / If you’re of a certain age and remember the ‘choose your own adventure’ child/young adult books of the 70s-90s, they were in a person point of view.

Majority of fanfiction, and fiction in general is written in third person. Third person is like you’re the audience watching a tv show/film/play/book. You’re a non-active participant of what is happening and cannot affect the direction or outcome of the story. The primary subject of the scene is referred to by their name or rank and their pronoun(s), and is often the first character mentioned at/near beginning of the scene / Example: DCI Cassie Stewart walked into the incident room of her Historic Cases Unit, with a quick glance at her officers before heading into her office. It wasn’t long before her second in command, DS Sunil Khan, or Sunny, as he preferred, wrapped on the glass window pane of her office door. / That scene is dictated from her point of view, how she directs those around her and how those around her interact with her. Had it been slightly different, but same scenario: /DS Sunil Khan looked up as the door to the Historic Cases Unit opened and saw his boss, DCI Stewart, make her way to her office, glancing at the team as she did. Having got some new leads on their current case overnight, Sunny headed towards her office to notify her ahead of the day’s briefing. / This obviously changes whose point of view is the primary for that scene to Sunil.

Third person It allows the writer to explore different perspectives and viewpoints of different characters to move the story forward. However, that being said, to avoid reader confusion, pick one character - a main character, supporting character, or a villain - as the primary character of that scene and stick with their focus/perspective for the duration of a scene/chapter. If you want to express multiple character’s reactions or points of view to a specific same scene (like say a team of detectives coming onto a murder scene) and if it makes sense to do so, you can write the scenes same but different as each character will have their own take on what they saw/perceived/when they entered/exited the scene - but each character that you’re writing about will have a separate section, separated by punctuation marks, above and below the change of perspective. However, that can easily come across as too repetitive for the reader. Might be best to put that in a notes page each scene of how each sees the same scene - because you as the audience can visualise the characters as being there, when they arrived and what they observed. When you write the scene, write it from one character’s point of view, but as you have the other characters interacting with them, they can comment on what they saw observed, contributing to the overall pieces of information, without repetition, unless it contradicts or adds to a specific point being made.

E) Age correlateable. By which I mean, if someone’s going to write about established characters that are in their 40s, 50s, etc., their life experiences, maturity, have them act/respond to each other as such. I have read stories - or rather attempted to - but the mental maturity of the author was showing through characters in their 40s, 50s, and it was obvious the writer hasn’t grasped that maturity of the characters. Listen to the character’s voices (what they’re saying, how they’re saying, even what they’re not saying but expressing visually) you’re writing about. This really comes out when writing arguments and sex scenes, btw.

F) Physical/mental characteristics: If a character has an illness or physical disability, or like affecting joints or paralysed limbs, amputations, or anything that affects movement, be aware of that, esp if writing a sex scene (a whole other rabbit hole of bad writing exists there, see next item). If in an argument, you’re trying to express the character throwing something in anger, like a mug/glass, etc., for example, and the character has an injured/disabled arm, their strength to throw is going to be limited. Show the character’s frustration that the action they wanted had less effect at releasing that anger/frustration. If the character has a visual (partial or full blindness) or auditory disability (eg. hard of hearing, deafness in one or both ears, over-sensitive to sound/volume), take that into account. Esp in arguments, if one of the people in the scene has a tendency to mumble, they may not be understood as words run together are not easily decipherable either by sound or lip reading. Mental health /illness (eg PTSD /complex PTSD [cPTSD], depression, anxiety affects physical health responses. If the characters have mental health disorders, be aware and maintain that continuity through the story. Don’t need to mention it all the time but be aware it can affect movement/physical responses, behaviour. And unless you’re House, you don’t need to include every odd, weird, very rare symptom he seems to need to diagnose something for the character 😂 .

G) Sex scenes: some are done so well that it’s seamless and flows well with the other parts of the story, where the intimacy blends well. Others, very much no so. Unless it’s a specifically written PWP (plot, what plot) story, and those can work when written well. Trust me, I’ve read otherwise well-written stories ruined by a sex scene that reads like a bad porn with characters that otherwise had physical limitation(s) in the rest of the story but were suddenly able to pull off manoeuvres of someone 20 years younger and fully able-bodied. Like someone just tacked on an explicit sex scene on that didn’t mesh with the story as if they were two completely different people that happened to have the same names as the ones in the rest of the story.

H) Continuity. Whether your story is short or long, be aware of where your characters are/what they’re doing. Having a sense of timing. Helpful to have a notepad (digital or paper) sometimes to keep track of movement. They can’t be in two concurrent scenes at the same time. Passing off information between the characters; don’t assume one character (or group of characters) knows what the other(s) are doing, unless they are in contact with each other (visual/audio/both/text). Cause/effect. Action/reaction. There may be delayed effects or reactions (over scenes/chapters), but reference them back to the original cause or action and why there was a delay. For example, somebody witnesses or experiences a tragedy, war, fire, sexual assault, accident, or other traumatic experience, and it triggers a delayed emotional or physical response hours, days, months, years later. The character may or may not be able to explain to their partner, colleague, friend what it was that caused effect/reaction. Similarly, following onto earlier example of a thrown glass/mug/vase, if it smashes there could be subsequent injury from ceramic/glass/etc. like a cut finger/palm of hand if picking up the pieces/cleaning the mess. So maybe it requires a bandage or wrap. Continuity would include making further grasping of things discomforting or painful, maybe a comment from another person inquiring what happened later on if they’re noticing a bandage that wasn’t there the last time they saw them.

I) Alternate Universe stories. I don’t mind AUs when done right - so that even if the characters are placed in a different setting, their general personality traits are very recognizable. I’ve read quite a few that nail this perfectly. Others, not so much. When it works, it works. Otherwise it’s just slapping familiar names onto original fic just to get more eyes on a story.

[sneezefiction]

embrace

Tsukishima x Reader - Scenario 

@belli-jelly’s event request: “#7 with Tsukki ❤️ thank youu!”

a/n: “embrace” with Tsukishima is such a soft idea. he just needs a hug and to feel loved n supported n stuff, ya know? i hope u enjoy!! <333

warnings: slight language, angst (but barely?)

wc: 1990

---

Tsukishima makes his ways through the apartment door, kicking off his shoes a little more forcefully than usual. The thunk of the soles on the tile embodies whatever vexation he’d been simmering in for the duration of the day. A weak, frustration-fueled sigh exits his body.

From the kitchen, you can already tell that something is off. He hasn’t called out to you with his usual, “Hey stupid, I’m home.” You hadn’t even received his typical text telling you he was leaving the gym. The tense silence seeps into the airspace as he makes his way toward you, Tsukki’s feet dragging with every step.

As he turns corner, you’re greeted by features taut with fatigue. It’s as though he’d been running on empty all day, barely making it home with only fumes of energy leftover.

Tsukki’s eyes were undoubtedly strained. The white, intense light of the gym combined with deep concentration kept him on high-alert with eyes wide open at all times.

His shoulders maintained a somewhat slumped position, losing an inch or two of height in the process. The mental weight of handling everything on his own had finally reached him physically.

This hadn’t been a good day, per se.

And if Tsukki had the energy to speak, he would probably tell you how much he would rather be in a month-long coma than experience that level of misery again.

But the hushed air remains and a bizarre staring contest takes place between you two instead of passing words. It’s hard to speak when you know that, deep down, words could never do his terrible days any justice. That even a thoughtful sentence or a well-intended comment would simply drown under Tsukki’s sea of thought, never resurfacing or coming up for air to be heard or understood.

He’s too exhausted to process even the shortest of loving dialogues. And you can tell.

So you sift through other possibilities.

Ways to calm him. To remind him that you care and want to look after him.

Should you make him dinner? He’s probably already eaten. Watch a movie together? No, the light would bother his tired eyes even more. Just go to bed? He would only continue to stir through his disappointments and be kept up by the throbbing of soreness in his legs.

As your eyes trickle down the length of his body, which is now leaning on the countertop as he takes a long sip out of his water bottle, you come to one final alternative…

But it’s always a bit of a gamble. A slight risk.

To touch or not to touch.

Would he lean into it like a self-satisfied, curious cat, tilting his lean body into your affectionate antics? Or would his brittle, biting character and miserable mood cause himself to crumble and fall away from the warmth and comfort of your smaller arms?

On one hand, you might experience your beloved Tsukishima’s gentler side. The one that held you as though he were a mama bird wrapping her wide-spanned wings around your precious form. Instinctively protective. A second-natured response to the way you circled your arms around his torso, tugging him into your field, requesting closeness and vulnerability. It could potentially get his mind off of the day and focus him on the here and now.

But on the other hand, Tsukki had a track record of off days. Jumping away from the soft glide of the pads of your fingertips. On those days, your embrace seemed to resemble that of a thorny, roseless bush to the wavy-haired blonde. The chance of him tugging away, leaving you drained and drooping, was higher than you had ever wanted to bet on. The possibility of him ending up at the opposite side of the bed seemed to increase after experiences like these.

And to be honest, you could never be sure if the touch-deterring wall he built up was to protect himself or you. Yet you always try to find ways to chip away at his salty, skeptical barrier without overstepping any fragile, unspoken boundaries.

It’s a simple concept. However, avoiding his sensitivities is an endless dance and is much harder than it may look. Especially at the end of a long day of pro-league practice, where sweat, sulking, and inferiority complexes don’t usually mix well.

But this was the only viable option left, so you get over your own worries and approach Tsukishima’s weary form. You stop just a few inches before him, his eyes dropping to meet yours. He was even more beaten down up close. The defeated expression he carried in tandem with his worn-out demeanor made you physically ache for him. 

“Tsukki… you’re not lookin’ too hot right now.” You let out a breathy laugh, slowly lifting yourself onto your tiptoes to brush a hand through his messy hair, testing the waters.

He doesn’t flinch away from your movements, so you sink back down onto the soles of your feet, letting your hand run down the side of his face.

“No shit, Sherlock. I don’t exactly feel great either.” He shoots back, but there’s a somber, troubled tinge.

Tsukki inches toward you, looking away as he tilts the side of his head into the palm of your hand. Your fingers cup his cheek.

Everyone knew how Tsukki acted when he was annoyed or angry. Snappy, sarcastic comments would be strewn in an almost poetic manner, kindly crushing those under his scrutiny. Many had seen Tsukishima after a merciless game, beaten and worn out. He would still have a muted fire behind his efforts and would carry himself with dignity, even if he didn’t feel confidence rise inside of him.

But gloominess? It doesn’t suit him. Not now, not ever.

And currently, he’s emanating a dreary, depressing sadness, like being caught in a rainstorm without an umbrella to shield you. It’s helpless and uncontrollable. Utterly humiliating.

You can practically feel the strain of the day radiating off of him. Tsukki had a tendency to wither slowly and cautiously. Not allowing anyone to watch as his snarky comments fizzled out and his sharp gaze gradually dull. By the look in his golden eyes, it was obvious that something in him had already snapped like an old tree branch. Battered and bruised by storm after brutal summer storm, finally shattering under the repetitive pressures of failure and imposter syndrome.

In the past, he had let apathy take over in order to not burden you. Withholding affection, thinking it would keep you safe from his sinking atmosphere when in reality he wished to drink in your tenderness. To fall under your grasp, sinking his head under your chin and lay across your chest.

But maybe it was all too much.

Too much to hold in. To carry alone.

“Kei…” At the use of his first name, he physically softens. Drawing his arms around your middle and clasping his hands behind your back, he gently rests his chin on your head.

“You can always lean on me.” You whisper into the fabric of his shirt.

Your words carry a deeper semblance. That you really are here for him. Physically, mentally, and emotionally ready to lift him up.

You picked a good time for physical touch because he only pulls you in tighter.

He’s pretty warm and smells like sweat mixed with deodorant and his cedar-scented shampoo. You grasp the cloth and squeeze him into you, making sure to keep him steady and balanced. His breathing falls into a gentle rhythm, almost as though he were falling asleep standing up.

“If you weren’t so lanky I would pick you up, but you’re a damn tree.” You sigh, poking fun at him.

The touches were cathartic. Healing. Authentic. Your lighthearted comments kept things comfortable, hindering him from drawing away due to feelings of unworthiness or self-consciousness.

“Wow, okay, bold words for someone who can hardly seem to pick up a bag of flour. You couldn’t hold me even if you were my height.” He snickers, tension releasing and adrenaline wearing off from the high-energy day.

You shift to look up at Tsukki, your chin gently pressing into his chest. He’s already staring down at you. You can’t help that a blush works its way up your neck and onto your cheeks, the warmth from his unusual touch sending you unwarranted fuzzy feelings. As much as you wished this embrace could be all for Tsukki, you’d wanted to hug him with all your might for a while now.

“Y/n… Honest question, so don’t laugh at me. Why are you doing this?” Tsukishima breaks eye contact, arms shifting to lean your chest more on top of his as he sinks a little deeper onto the counter, his back supported by the ledge.

“What do you mean by ‘this’?” You inquire, eyes still fixed on him, searching his expression.

“I mean... You know when things are going to shit. You know when I need something. A back massage, a slap to the face, hell, even a coffee sometimes.” He snorts, trying not to take his own question too seriously.

You’re the one to sigh now. Doesn’t he know how these things work by now? That being in a relationship with him meant more than insulting the daylights out of each other and going out to dinner? Apparently even Tsukishima lacks a lot perspective when it comes to loving another human being.

“You’re stubborn as hell.” You state plainly, your face going blank.

“What?”

“You refuse to see that you need help too sometimes, babe. Hate to break it to ya, but I actually like listening to and hugging you.” You break into a small smile.

“What does that have to do with anything?” He rolls his eyes at your confusing sentence.

“Are you that dense?” You express with mock disdain at his response.

“Tsukki, I’m saying that you don’t burden me! That I want to be there for you even after shitty days like these! You’re an absolute dumbass!” You snicker and your smile reaches your eyes, crinkling and squinting as his meet yours.

Instead of saying anything, Tsukishima rests in place, dumbfounded.

It’s true, you always were there for him.

Cheering at every game. Cooking dinner for him when you knew he would get home way too late and practically starving. Letting him rant relentlessly about losses and seemingly endless practices.

So why was it that only after breaking down in every way possible, he would finally let you see his most vulnerable thoughts and fears. That he would allow you to witness his exhaustion only once it had reached its peak. That it took Tsukki completely collapsing to let you wrap you arms around him.

And you both guess that it’s because old habits die hard.

Tsukki would always be Tsukki. A little too cold and relentlessly set on drenching others in his never-ending supply of sarcasm. Reluctant to accept help until it was already showing through the bleeding cracks of his figure and laced within his pained speech.

Because for someone so good at putting up and breaking through blocks, Tsukishima needed help with the walls that he had built up under his skin over the years. He needed to see that he couldn’t always protect you from his fears, but that you would be there to help him fight them. Or at least hug them away when it all got too much.

And as he presses a gentle kiss onto your forehead, you know it will be okay. Because embraces like these are what chip away at walls of fear. It’s the first step and you can already feel the tension crumble away, allowing warmth to surround the two of you. 

So you begin to remind him more and more that you like hugs. And he lets you hold him far more often, slowly but surely letting you deeper into his mind and into his arms. A much needed and highly welcomed addition to your everyday life.

---

tags: @cherryonigiri, @yams046, @miss-rin, @shou-kunn, @senkuwu-chan, @super-noya, @stcrryskies, @holaaaf, @sugacookiies

(comment or send an ask to be added to my general tag list) 

[x0401x]

Given the Movie: TV Guide Interview

Nakazawa Masatomo: “Both Eguchi-kun and Asanuma-san are reliable people, so I didn’t feel nervous during the recordings!”

Eguchi Takuya: “Asanuma-san himself is a bundle of talent.”

Asanuma Shintarou: “Nakazawa-kun has, if nothing else, tolerance.”

The TV series “Given” aired in 2019, portraying the youthful drama of young people having a heart-to-heart through music. It became a hot topic by depicting the love circumstances of mainly Mafuyu (Yano Shougo) and Ritsuka (Uchida Yuuma), while its continuation, “Given the Movie”, was finally released on August 22nd after having the release postponed. We had the main cast of the movie – Nakazawa Masatomo, Eguchi Takuya and Asanuma Shintarou – discuss inside stories about their mental state, the recordings and the movie’s highlights.

——The story of “Given the Movie” centers around Haruki (Nakazawa), Akihiko (Eguchi) and Ugetsu (Asanuma), who are played by the three of you. How was it when you heard about that?

Eguchi: I was simply happy, like, “So they’re going to depict it that far!”. I felt that I was looking forward to the condition of the adults’ romance, which is a bit removed from the high school romance of Mafuyu and Ritsuka.

Nakazawa: I was surprised, and at the same time, a bit anxious. There are many things in my life as a voice actor that I am experiencing for the first time through “Given”... but both Eguchi-kun and Asanuma-san are reliable people, so I didn’t get nervous during the recordings!

Asanuma: Ugetsu didn’t appear in many episodes of the TV anime, but in the movie, I got to read the preliminary narration for the first time. At the same time as I got to personally feel that I was in a position of main, I also felt the high spirits of the production team, so I was also quite nervous at the beginning (laughs).

——After the TV series, Haruki, Akihiko and Ugetsu gradually change. Mafuyu’s existence is indeed big.

Nakazawa: In the TV series, Haruki, who was in a position similar to caretaker of the band members, took notice of Mafuyu’s talent and was influenced by Mafuyu’s song, so the feelings that he had been avoiding to look until then were portrayed as steadily growing bigger. Besides, he also felt impatience at Mafuyu’s sudden growth spurt and created a complex. As always, he is in the role of being swayed around in the movie too (laughs), but his emotions become unclear, so the amplitude of his character grows a lot.

Asanuma: Ugetsu is a genius violinist, and it is exactly because he is a genius that he doesn’t turn his eyes towards things other than music very often, but through coming in contact with the song of another genius, Mafuyu, he starts having interest in them. Ugetsu, whom nobody can grasp, changes even more upon coming in contact with Mafuyu, who speaks out his thoughts straight up, so I think this is also one of the highlights of the movie!

Eguchi: If I had to say it, it might be that Akihiko’s change starts from the movie. He seems like the kind of man who’s insanely good at swimming with the tide, but in the movie, the moment he confronted the issues he was deeply involved with, I felt a change in that his capability of dealing with things worsened... The one there is the awkward and realistic Akihiko. During the recordings, I tackled Akihiko while thinking that I should, in a good sense, skillfully destroy what he had become until that point.

——Then, were there any changes to everyone’s relationships from when the TV series and when the movie’s recordings ended?

Asanuma: There wasn’t much of a change, right?

Eguchi: Because, although the TV series and the movie have different forms of display, what we have to do doesn’t change. But maybe we managed to record more relaxed and enjoyably for the movie. I personally feel that we have managed to create something good. Also... I remember that the taiyaki they gave us as snacks were delicious!

Nakazawa: Yeah, yeah! They were tasty.

Asanuma: The sweets that (the author) Kizu Natsuki-sensei bought for us were delicious too.

Nakazawa: True, true... If it goes on like this, the fact that the snacks were yummy will turn into the main topic of the inside stories (laughs).

Asanuma: That might be bad (laughs).

——Then, was there any moment during the recordings in which you have sensed each other’s talent?

Asanuma: Nakazawa-kun has, if nothing else, tolerance. Haruki does, too, so he might be the one who is closest to the character he plays out of the three of us. He envelops you warmly no matter what you do, so you find yourself thinking, “I wanna try causing him trouble” and, “I want him to spoil me”.

Nakazawa: So that’s what you thought of me! I’m happy!

Asanuma: This was my first time participating in a BL series, but when I found out that Eguchi-kun was the one who would play Ugetsu’s partner, Akihiko, I was very relieved. After all, Eguchi-kun also grants a feeling of security with his precise acting.

Eguchi: You say that, Asanuma-san, but you’re a bundle of talent yourself, so I always felt that the way you clad yourself in the air of a genius when you’re playing Ugetsu was amazing. I sometimes think, “If I were playing another character, how would I perform them?”, but frankly, your interpretation of Ugetsu surprised me.

Nakazawa: Right! Asanuma-san’s Ugetsu feels like a different kind of existence. The feeling that he silently oozes out his aura is honestly so cool.

——I am looking forward to watching the movie even more now.

Nakazawa: I believe that the story of how these three people who have listened to Mafuyu’s song will show their feelings for one another is told in a very natural manner. I want people to enjoy it by all means.

Asanuma: People have nothing to lose when they are high schoolers, so they convey their feelings straightforwardly even when it comes to romantic love without thinking about the consequences, but when they turn into adults and accumulate experiences, they come to know feelings of inferiority and complexes, so they end up learning how to deal with others by distancing themselves from them. When they do that, the forms of romantic love naturally change. I see the phrase, “I’ve become an adult” in many works, but I think “Given the Movie” literally depicts the romance between three people who “have become adults”.

Eguchi: That’s right. The taste of the romance changes in comparison to the TV anime. It’s the kind of series that makes you think, “Human beings are such a pain, so complicated”, but taking all these points into account, it also makes you go, “Human beings are great”. By all means, I want people to watch it!

[laughing-with-god]

Quarter Quell II

Yandere Jungkook, Hunger Games AU

Warnings; gore, death, yandere behavior, killing, strong language, kids murdering other kids, male on female violence (special trigger warning: if you have suffered abuse or are extremely sensitive to like-mannered scenes I want to take a moment to warn you that there is certain scenes in which male tributes will hurt and overpower other female tributes. If this will trigger you, please refrain from reading and I apologize beforehand.)

Words; 12.8k

The Capitol of Panem maintains its’ hold on it’s 12 districts by forcing them each to select a boy and a girl, called Tributes, to compete in a nationally televised event called the Hunger Games.  Every citizen must watch as the youths fight to the death until only one remains.

The end had arrived.

Faintly, in the back of your mind, you could hear a doomful melody accompany your death march.  Hauntingly beautiful bells and strings swam in your consciousness, making the awfully bleak scene even more gothically tragic.  A personalized soundtrack for your promised annihilation.

On either side of you was a peacekeeper, each of them holding a gun to ensure your spineless obedience.

You followed them silently...wordlessly...mindlessly.

The sound of footsteps echoed in your ears as they bounced off the surface of the concrete walls.  They guided you deeper into the grey, sterile and fluorescent-lighted corridor. Each pace forward only further locked in your fate. And as a slave to ruthless destiny, you continued onward.  

You were marching to your death.  

Yet, you felt no anger.

No fear.

Not even a lick of grief or pity entertained your empty mind as you followed the path of your own demise.  

Your body had gone into a semi-shock, not allowing you to fully grasp the severity of the situation in hopes of postponing a mental breakdown.  All functions had suddenly gone numb, protecting you from the wrath of panic that would thunder upon you if you focused too closely on this dire moment.  You welcomed this sensation and allowed it to coax you into a zombie-like state, even if this tranquility was phony you still willingly clung to it.  

Perhaps the reason for your lack of reaction was due to an acceptance of death.  You held the benevolence of a queen approaching the guillotine, if nothing could change your sentence than the least you could do is hold your head up and never let them see you break.  

You kept the charade up until the peacekeepers halted beside a door marked ‘10 F’.  

Your breath hitched.  

One of them then reached over to open it, the other grasped one of his gloved hands onto your arm to hold you in place, somehow expecting a fight, before shoving you into the room.  

It was the resounding slam of the door that finally cracked your resolve.  

Tears began to well in your eyes as you observed the last room you’d ever see before the hellish arena.  

It was small, as to be expected.  White tile lined not only the floor but also the walls, the bright lighting reflected off of them and almost blinded you in the process.  In the center of the room was a metal table, sat upon it was the tribute wear. Dark grey camo pants lined with utility pockets, a tight black tank top, and a blue windbreaker-like jacket.  To top it all off, a pair of black combat boots sat on the floor next to the table.

The outfit you would die in.  

You choked back a sob as the postponed sadness made it’s belated arrival.  

It seeped in like a flood does to a house with a weak foundation.  The sticky and awfully heavy dread took its’ time peeling away the decaying layer of denial with steady ease.  Then, it clung to your bones…. melting itself further and further until it eventually made its’ way to your core and wrapped itself around it.  

You suddenly couldn’t breathe.  

The air had evaporated before it could reach your desperate lungs.  Replacing it was the icy shock of terror as it consumed every fiber of your being.  In response, your chest began to heave up and down as your body began a hyperventilation process in search of more oxygen.  

“I-I’m too young to die.”  your broken whisper barely penetrated the pathetic whimpers and wheezes your body was also making.  

Out of nowhere, a tiny spark of anger ignited within you.  Anger at who, you did not know. But you felt an unfairness like no other in that moment.  You felt robbed of basic humane rights, such as living your life up till it’s natural and uneventful end.  Why? Why cut your life so short? You never thought of yourself as young but goddammit, you didn’t think your teenage years were enough to be called a ‘full life’.  How heartless were people to look at the youth in the tributes and demand such short lives of potential to be cut even shorter?  

“Dearie, what good would crying do at this point?”  A purring yet somehow also grutal voice called out from behind you, breaking your inner dialogue of misery.  

You turned to face your designer in all her capitol glory.  

Her name fit her in the most pretentious way.  They called her Topaz, and her bronze skin, that was always pressed with expensive Capitol body oils, resembled the characteristics of the infamous gemstone.  To compliment this coco complexion, she often wore gold makeup with green or yellow dresses that flowed behind her tall amazon body. Her black curls were always flowing freely, sometimes with a crown on her head to feed the superiority complex she without a doubt had.  

But today she toned it down for the seriousness of the occasion.  

Her figure-hugging dress was black, as if to attend your pseudo funeral because you sure as hell weren’t getting one after this.  Her curls were tied up into a tight bun to further emphasize her slender and bare face that was free of any noticeable makeup besides and odd golden-glittery lipstick.  

“I know you must be very scared, but we only have a few minutes to get you ready.”  She placed a hand on your shoulder whilst shooting you a soft and barely sympathetic smile that didn’t quite reach those amber orbs of hers.  Then rather roughly, she proceeded to guide you to the table and gestured for you to take your clothes off.  

Such invasion of privacy would be uncustom if she had not waxed your entire naked body and hosed it down the minute you entered the capitol.  

Slowly, you peeled away your casual outfit as Topaz eagerly handed you the tribute one, bit by bit.  

It was awkward, tense and additionally pathetic with the occasional sounds of your sniffles and continuous streaming of tears.  All the while she eyed you with this soulless blank stare that unnerved your already high-strung nerves. You briefly wondered how many times she did this exact ritual.  How many kids from your home district did she watch break down and dress in the clothes they’d eventually be slaughtered in? Did she also smile at them and offer forged empathy, pretending to understand what it was that they were going through in their last moments...as if she wouldn’t return back to some Capitol cafeteria and eat a luxurious brunch whilst watching the bloodbath that would unfold.

Instantly you got a wave of nausea.  

How was it that both you and this woman were both species of the same human race, with beating hearts, souls and brains yet one could turn so corrupt while you ended up with the fate of a mere prey?  Was even a tiny molecule of her guilty for the kids she looked in the eye before sending them to their premature deaths?  

You avoided her gaze with a new sense of disgust and focused on zipping up your jacket.  

“Don’t forget the boots.”  Topaz added before reaching down to grab them and hand them to you.  You took them wordlessly and knelt down to put them on. Whilst you were doing this, your designer apparently felt the need to lighten the dark aura around you with some ‘comforting’ words. “You know Y/n, you’re actually quite lucky that you’re playing this Quell.  No weapons means no bloodbath. The first ten minutes of most games are the deadliest but that can’t really be said with this one. I doubt there’s even going to be a Cornucopia.”  

Oddly enough, this was indeed slightly soothing.  Although you felt very offended that she dare call you ‘lucky’, she did have a point. No weapons meant that there wouldn’t be a race to get them, and the first ones to get their hands on them couldn’t turn and attack the others.  That should at least buy you enough time to slip away and find cover, if no one bigger decides to gang up on you.  

Suddenly you got a flash in your minds’ eye of a certain black-eyed career who made his infatuation with you all too known.

You physically flinched at the prospect of Two getting his hands on you the first thing in the game.  

All you could do was pray that the gamemakers took mercy on you and didn’t station him too close.

Blearily, you stood back up and looked towards the corner of the room to spot the item that would eventually spit you up into the arena.  It was a glass tube, nothing spectacular about it. But you knew the moment you would step in it, the rounded glass doors would envelop shut and trap you in.  You stood there for a minute, staring at it as if your stare could eventually burn right through it if you truly tried.  

But alas you were without luck or fortune.  

“It’s about time, Y/n.”

The ominous words were enough to stop the beating of your heart.  

A pitiful and begging voice began a mantra in your head, ‘I don’t want to die.  I don’t want to die. I don’t want to die. I don’t wan-’

A nudge was given to your back and successfully shoved you closer to the tube.  Goosebumps raised on the surface of your skin and the instinct to dry heave became too much to bear.  

Topaz continued pushing you further and further, until you were at the edge of the object and a mere inch away from being in it.  Your body had frozen stiff in attempt to plant yourself to the ground, but it sadly wasn’t enough to alter your fate.  

With one more final shove, you were in the tube.  

Topaz was half in and half out of the cylinder, her hands on your shoulders and her chin by your shoulder to whisper her last version of ‘break a leg’.  

“If you win this, I’ll personally buy you a name-brand dress.” You could practically hear her proud smirk as she said this.  “Good luck, hun.”  

The audacity was enough to make you whip around in preparation to slap that smug smile off her face.  Was the need to live not enough motivation? Did she think that hanging an expensive piece of cloth over your head would be the push you needed to survive?  How fucking dare she-

You opened your mouth to holler and even raised a hand, but when you fully turned around the glass doors had enveloped shut and Topaz was on the other side of it, waving ‘bye’ in a content manner.  

Your jaw dropped in horror as you heard an odd ‘whoosh’ sound occur from above you.  

You looked up to see that the roof of the tube had slip open.  

Right above it was the arena…. waiting for you with the utmost promise of lost innocence and bloodshed.  

Your heart and breathing began to accelerate as you felt the pedestal beneath you begin to slowly rise, bringing you closer and closer to the top.  

Closer.

Closer.

And closer.

You clenched your eyes shut and tried to soothe this upcoming panic attack that was looming over the horizon of your sanity.  

You took a deep breath and attempted to rationalize.

Blurry memories of previous games fogged up in your mind like some sort of warning.  Images of shell-shocked tributes in the throes of denial who would stay frozen during the opening of the game, unable to fully process their situation….they were usually the first to go.  

You couldn’t let that happen to you.  

‘Calm down, the first minutes of the game are detrimental.  If you freak out now and stall, you’ll miss your chance to escape.’  You thought to yourself.

As awful as it was, you were in this game for better or worse.  No time could be saved for moping, survival mode had to be switched on now or never.  From here on out, you would have to think like an animal and solely focus on methods to outrun the predators.  Humanity had to be abandoned.  

The pedestal stopped rising, letting you know that you were now fully in the arena.  

You swallowed, whether it was to help your mouth that suddenly gone dry or to keep the bile at bay you did not know.  

The temperature around you was cool, yet also somehow humid and damp. Your nose took in a voluntary sniff and discovered a scent of must, earth and...mold?  

You opened your eyes to behold the 100th Annual Hunger Games arena.

You were underground, all around you were gigantic rocky caverns.  It was similar to a dome, except the walls in which you were enveloped were ridgy and a hundred feet high.  There was also smaller tunnels at the edges of the arenas’ center in which the tributes were located. They were so huge and abyssal that one felt like an ant standing in the middle of it all.  Everything was dark due to no natural lighting beyond the small cracks in the rocks above that allowed very little sun to seep through.

You looked around in awe.  

The arena was a series of underground caves.  

You would’ve preferred a forest or a jungle.  At least then there would be more chances for food and water.  But you supposed you should’ve been grateful that it wasn’t an arctic habitat or a desert one.  

You quickly turned your attention to the other tributes.  

As custom, you were all aligned in a giant circle.  The closest kids to you were still ten or so feet away.  You noted with relief that you couldn’t make out Jungkook anywhere near you.  But to be fair, it was hard to make out anyone in such dim lighting. But from what you could tell it was the boy from Four and the girl from Nine stationed on either side of you.  

Unlike any other games, there wasn’t a Cornucopia to behold.  

All you could see was an orange, hologram number ‘10’ floating about 50 feet in the center of the circle of tributes.  

A robotic voice thundered the arena with a chilling, “Welcome to the 100th annual Hunger Games.  May the odds be ever in your favor. We begin in 10…”

The holdram morphed into a 9 to symbolize the beginning of a countdown.

“9.”

“8.”

“7.”

“6.”

“5.”

“4.”

“3.”

“2.”

“1.”

The sound of a cannon shot through the silence as the hologram instantly depleted into nothingness.  The sound so chilling, especially when you know that the cannon would be the first of many.

Adrenaline rushed through your veins as you flew off of your pedestal like a bat out of hell.  

You threw your body in the opposite direction of the circle, rushing outwards in hopes to seek cover in one of the smaller tunnels and worm your way far from all the other tributes

You heard yelling and the sounds of wrestling or tussling, but you refused to look back to witness the unraveling of any tribute-on-tribute amicability.  You briefly just hoped that Chenle and Taehyung were agile enough to get away without any trouble.  

Your boots hitting the rocky ground was the only sensation you allowed yourself to focus on, along with the sight of a medium sized cavern that you had your sights set on and were running towards.  Your heart was beating so fast it would’ve been a medical mystery how it didn’t burst out of your chest, but you only had one instinct to escape. If luck was on your side, the tunnel wouldn’t be a dead end and could eventually lead you into another one.  

You were about 15 feet away from entering the cave when something caught around your ankle, causing you to fall face first with your arms barely coming out in time to catch the brunt of the fall.  When you were fully on the ground, something heavy and strong began to straddle your hips, successfully pinning you down.  

You looked up to see the boy from Four.

He smirked down at you, his sun kissed skin glowing eerily in the dim lighting of the cave.  

You didn’t know if he was a career or not, but he was a strong tribute that scored well during the personal assessment and wasn’t one to be messed with. You don’t recall doing anything to offend 4, so to say you were confused would be an understatement. The way he glared down at you was terrifying and implied some sort of personal vendetta.  

“Get that scared shitless look off your face, doll.  I’m not gonna hurt you.” He laughed humorlessly in response to your pathetic squirms.  “You see, Two demanded that we try to get you first thing in this game. You’re kinda my meal ticket into that career alliance.”

Your heart only raced faster, finding no assurance in his promise to not hurt you.  

Fuck, he was one of Jungkook’s little foot soldiers and was planning to use you as some sort of trading piece.  You now felt so foolish for assuming that Jungkook would be your only problem, his allies would be gunning you down as well.  

You began to thrash wildly out of fear, desperate to get him off you knowing that his plans would lead to a fate worse than death.  Panicking, you began to plead for your freedom. “Please, you don’t understand! Jungkook is lying! There’s nothing going on between us!”  

Four just stared down at you blankly before rolling his dark eyes and pinning your arms above your head.  

You suddenly went limp as tears began to stream down your face.  You looked around you and saw that most if not all tributes were making a mad dash to the hidden caves, no one stopping to help you or pay you any mind in favor of saving their own asses.  

Four was huge and if he didn’t want you to get up, then you weren’t getting up. You had a better chance of melting into the very ground beneath you than fighting him off.  

The tanned boy smiled in response to your now powerless form, all too grateful to see your cooperation and lack of hope.  “There’s a good girl. Now-”

A loud ‘crack’ sounded, prematurely cutting him off.  

Four’s eyes suddenly rolled into the back of his head before his entire body slumped forward.  

A black haired, tall, pale but sturdy boy stood behind Four.  He was holding up a rock and you concluded fairly quickly that it was he who smashed it into the back of four’s head.  Your lungs began to hyperventilate, not knowing if he was going to use that same rock to bash your head in next. His dark eyes drank you in, noting your panic and seeming to scoff at the display, oddly unimpressed by it.  The boy then dropped the make-shift weapon before breaking into a sprint.  

As he passed you, he yelled one thing.  “Run, you idiot!”  

Those were apparently the magic words you needed to hear.  They snapped you into action as you hurriedly scrambled out from underneath Four’s heavy but unconscious form to continue your journey into the tunnel.  

One thought stayed with you all the while, long after you made it into the dark, empty but safe cave.  

Why did 12 bother saving you?   --

Part two

“Every time that cannon goes off, it’s music to my ears.  I don’t care about any of them.” -Finnick Odair, Victor of 65th Annual Hunger Games.  

The cave was very small, you found it after running into a large tunnel, taking multiple random turns and searching very hard to find a hidden little hole that was closed off by some large boulders.  It was so tiny that one had to army-crawl to get in, but you liked it that way.  This meant that you weren’t out in the open, that you were so well hidden that tributes would walk past it without knowing you were even there.  

It was a cramped but perfect little hide-out, you barely had enough space to cross your legs and rest against the wall but you didn’t mind.  At least you felt safe.  So thus you sat in pitch-black darkness and listened closely to the sounds of your breathing echoing back to you in the intimate little spot you now called home.  

You closed your eyes and tried to focus on calming down.  

The adrenaline was still running through you like some sort of drug, the hairs on your arms stood stubbornly and your chest continued to heave up and down with a sense of pending doom.  Your body wasn’t allowing you to relax, somehow still expecting a surprise attack and not wishing to fully give into tranquility.  You had to pull a mind over matter and trick yourself into not having another anxiety attack, which is very hard to do in the middle of an arena.  

If your sense of time was correct, the game had been on for about 20-30 minutes.  

Meaning, the canons were scheduled to go off any minute now.   Usually after people scrambled from the bloodbath and the careers did their killing, the gamemakers would sound off all the canons at once.  This only happens on the first day though, after the first day the canons would trigger instantly when someone dies. But since most deaths occurred on the first day and happened all in quick succession during the bloodbath, it suited both the tributes and viewers well to count the canons after everything had calmed down.  

As if reading your mind, a booming sound pierced the fragile blanket of silence.

The sound was thundering and vibrated the entire arena, or maybe it was just your mind that perceived it that way due to your current circumstances.  Nonetheless, it was terrifying.  Especially when one keeps in mind that one cannon symbolizes one childs’ life cut short.  

They began to trigger, one by one.

“One.”  You counted to yourself.  “Two.  Three.  Four.  Five.  Six.”  

The series of cannons suddenly halted and bled into another irksome silence.  

Six…

Six lives lost just a meer half hour ago.  

Six lives that could’ve been you….but weren’t.  

A montage of all the tributes suddenly ran through your head, taunting you as you couldn’t help the famished hunger to know who died that burned through your chest.  Was it Taehyung?  Was it Chenle?  Did the boy from Four survive the blow to the head?  Did ‘god’ really answer your prayers and killed some of the career pack?  Maybe even, dare you say it, Jungkook himself?

Your heart raced faster as you shook your head, not liking where your train of thought was going and the added affect it had on your body.  Your attempted to rationalize with yourself, you could wait until tonight to see the faces of the fallen tributes via the hologram update that happened every night.  You would just have to wait until then, you wouldn’t be doing yourself any favors by going crazy with worry now.  

Instead you decided to do some mental math.  Twenty four minus six equates to eighteen 

Eighteen kids were still alive.  One of which was you.  You now had a 1/18th chance of making it out of here.

The feeling was bittersweet.  Because although each trigger of the cannon represented a life lost, it also meant you were that much closer to the end and possibly being the last one to survive.  Maybe you should shift your mentality to one of pessimistic idealism?  Perhaps the key to getting through this was by seeing the good in the bad.  Yes, every death was awful and you’d never condone it.  But, if they were dead anyway then what’s the harm in trying to take their demises as well as possible?  It was always best to think positively, right?  That’s probably how past victors thought, given the mental stability was just as important as the physical stability.  

You remember past games where tributes lost their minds.  One boy from Six even went crazy and started eating the corpses of other dead tributes.  You couldn’t eat meat for a week after watching that. A girl from Eight once went loopy from the freezing cold arena and stripped her clothes off before breaking out in song and dance.  There was also a really old game, probably one of the first ten games, where the arena was a desert and there was no water, you vividly recalled watching a young kid of probably 12 or 13 cut himself just for the sake of lapping up the warm blood.  

You couldn’t allow yourself to fall into that-

Wait, what were you thinking?  

What was wrong with you?  You’d only been in this arena for an hour or so and were already allowing your morals to be compromised if it could buy you some cheap peace of mind.  Of course every death was depressing, no one deserved to play in this game! What was wrong with you?  Why were you almost relieved that kids were dying and putting your chances into a better perspective?

Maybe you and the careers weren’t so different after all….

This conclusion was so bone-chilling and vile that you couldn’t help the small whimper that escaped your lips.  

You quickly concluded that pondering was no longer for you.

Another rule you’d have to adapt; your mind can be your worst enemy in here, best not get lost in your thoughts.  

You suddenly felt awfully exhausted.  Not a type of tired where you’ve been up for a little too long or had just done a tedious amount of physical work, but a type of tired where you simply no longer wanted to be conscious or aware.  Your body felt somehow extremely light but heavy at the same time, your eyelids drooping in insistence for some shut eye.  

But you couldn’t fall asleep just yet.  

If you fell asleep now, then there was a chance that you would miss the fallen tributes segment.  You needed to stay up, if only just to find out if Chenle, Taehyung and Jungkook were still out there.  

For the next few hours, you just sat there.  Blankly staring at nothing and trying to busy yourself with dumb little songs or riddles that you allowed to occupy your mind for the time being.  You never thought you would say this; but when you weren’t fighting for your life and clawing for survival, the games could be rather boring.  It was a ridiculous notion- to be bored in this very vital time period where your life is a stake with every waking moment you spend in this arena.  But it was the truth, there was nothing to do.  

Until, something abruptly halted your colorless daydreams.  

You didn’t know how to describe it.  And to be honest, you felt it more than you heard it.  

The ground beneath you suddenly began to shake with such intense ferocity that you couldn’t help but wonder if it was an earthquake.  Then your ears picked up on the noise; and what awful sounds they were.  

First, it was like a crash that never stopped.  A sudden falling of countless heavy objects, most likely rocks or boulders given the habitat.  It sounded as if they just kept raining down, their heavy mass hurling upon the ground and striking anyone in it’s way.  

Next, the screams followed.  

They were tortured and pained hollers that echoed down the tunnels and vibrated the air around you.  You heard both male and female voices, crying in agony and begging for help in what you could assess was a little less than 20 yards away.  

Your body began to shake as you cupped a hand over your mouth to avoid crying out.  

You were hearing the last wails of young kids who were surely going to die.  

Boiling hot tears streamed down your cheeks in realization on what must’ve happened.  

But, did you dare wander out of your safe cocoon to investigate?  

It wasn’t the smartest choice, but what if one of those desperate shouts belonged to Taehyung or even Chenle?  

With that concerning thought, you were hastily crawling out of your little hideout with little regard for your own safety.  

Once you were out of your miniature cave, you hurriedly snapped your head side to side to see that the tunnel was void of any other tributes.  Knowing you had very little time, you broke into a sprint and followed the direction of the screams.  

As you ran through the dim and mossy cave, you only had one thought running through your mind.  

‘Please don’t let it be them.’  you prayed.  

When you finally reached the site of such mayhem, your stride completely stopped as you lost all strength in your legs due to utter shock.  

You fell to your knees and gagged, the luxurious breakfast you had in the Capitol was seeping its’ way upwards and threatening to make you vomit.  

The sight in front of you was…. grotesque.  

One of the caves had given out and collapsed.

And in result, tributes were crushed.  

Their mangled bodies were twisted inhumanely under such hefty rocks that were now stained ruby red with their blood.  Some of the tributes had eyes budging out of their sockets, along with their tongues due to the numerous amount of pressure that was weighing down on them.  You only saw two bodies, but you heard choked screams of some others that were out of sight.  

But all those cries were ignored by you, your focus solely on one body that was also pinned beneath such monstrous boulders.  

His eyes were shut, face peaceful yet blank and body limp as if boneless.

He almost looked like he was sleeping….but the puddle of blood that dripped from his mouth and onto the ground told you everything you needed to know.  

And if that didn’t, then the cannon that sounded sure did.

Taehyung was gone.  

--

Part Three

“He wasn’t much but...he was from home.”  -Johanna Mason, Victor of 71st Annual Hunger Games.  

You didn’t know how long you’ve been crying.  

But from the way your eyes were practically swollen shut, head pounding ruthlessly and throat dry and scratchy in result of your numerous groans of grief, you could conclude that you must’ve carried out this sob fest for at least a couple hours now.  

The scene of your distract mates’ death was stained to the back of your eyelids, greeting you with gory misery everytime you so much as blinked.  This would obviously cause another round of cries from you and thus began a never-ending cycle.  

Taehyung was dead.

But not just any type of dead.  He was crushed to death and most likely suffered through every single pound of rock that slowly sucked the life out of him.  His body was squished so brutally, as if he was nothing but a small insect for the gamemakers to step on.  

Somehow the nature of his death offended you beyond belief.  

Taehyung wasn’t a loud or overly-sweet person, but he deserved more than to have his life ended like that.  He was quiet, but you knew that beneath his silence lingered a remarkable intelligence and code of honor.  His face was always wearing an aloof expression, but that’s just due to his guarded nature and unwillingness to let anyone see his weaknesses.  He wasn’t the closest to you, but the way he helped you with Jungkook showed his true nature- he had the protective instinct for you that you’d assume an older brother might have.  

Something about his end just didn’t sit right with you.  

Taehyung was gold-skinned from hours upon hours out in the sun, hands calloused from rough labor, he was tall enough to have to peer down at almost everyone he spoke to, body lean but sturdy and voice so deep and grutal that you couldn’t even picture how he must’ve sounded as a pubescent boy.  Taehyung was such a strong figure worthy of respect in your eyes.  

So to see him pale, limp, lifeless and under thousands of pounds worth of debris and rock was….unnerving to say the least.  

How the mighty have fallen.

After you saw Taehyung, you had cried for a minute before vomiting up your breakfast, being unable to stomach the sight and ultimately losing the battle with your stomach.  You were tempted to stay with your District mate until the very end, to wait by his side until the ship would take his body, but the pained groans and cries had seemed to attract other tributes to that area as well.  

You had heard footsteps echo from the tunnel opposite of the scene, across from where you sat next to the corpse of Taehyung.  

It sounded like a group of people, you couldn’t make their words out properly but they sounded curious and were confidently jogging closer and closer to the disaster.  

Somehow you just knew that it was the careers.  

You felt conflicted; you wanted to stay with your counterpart until the very end, but there was only one person in this game who terrified you to your very core.  

District Two’s Jungkook.  

Otherwise known as the head of the career pact.  

And if he spotted you…

Your flight or fight instincts took over.  

You had rushed towards Taehyung and hastily pressed your lips against his forehead, trying not to cringe at how ice-cold his skin was.  

You whispered one thing to him, logically aware that he couldn’t hear it but wishing that his greater conscious would.  

“I’m sorry.”  

Then like that, you quickly turned around and ran as fast as you could back to your little-hide out.  

And here you were hours later; huddled up in your little hole whilst still shaken and miserable.  

One could argue that it was ridiculous to be so sad about his death, given you could count on both hands how many conversations you had with him.  But it was not for someone else to understand; the feeling of losing the one person who originated from the same place as you.  Everyone else in this arena was just a bunch of faceless threats from places beyond your knowing.  Taehyung was the last piece of home you had left, the last person you could fully relate to and to have him ripped away from you so soon...you felt robbed and alienated.

Your last goodbye to him suddenly entered your mind.

You didn’t know what you were sorry to Taehyung for, but you just felt like you needed to say it in that moment.  Maybe you were guilty that you didn’t try harder to become his ally and team up in the arena.  Or maybe you were just sorry that his end had to be like that, that you didn’t get to him sooner. Perhaps even being sorry that you couldn’t stay with his body like you had wanted to.

Yet maybe it was a good thing that he died on the first day.  Some might even say that those who died first were the luckiest...they wouldn’t have the torture of carrying on the game for days on end.  

This stream of thought was prematurely cut short when the Capitols’ anthem suddenly began to echo inside the caves.

You were dreading seeing Taehyung’s face splayed up as a fallen tribute for everyone to see, but you had no choice but to watch and get a full count of who was left.  Reluctantly, you crawled out of your hole so that just your upper half was out, peeking out like a turtle in case there was any other tributes.  

You quickly found the segment projected onto the ridgy walls of the rocky caverns.  Right now it was just the bright blue symbol of the capitol as the trumpets and drums continued to play.  You braced yourself, held your breath and waited...and waited...and waited.  But eventually the anthem just faded out as the symbol remained.  

Your face scrunched up in confusion.  

Had the fallen tributes segment glitched?  Why hadn’t any faces been displayed?  

Out of nowhere, a smooth and deep voice purred over the unseen speakers, almost startling you back into your ‘shell’.  

“Why, I see so many befuddled expressions out there.”  

A gleeful chuckle followed.  

Your eyes widened as you recognized who was speaking to all the tributes.  The only person allowed to make announcements was the one and only head game maker.  And when the head game maker went out of his way to speak to the tributes...well, it was never a good sign.  

“As part of the twist of the Quarter Quell, the gamemakers have decided that knowing your enemy is a huge advantage.  It can be argued that it’s rather generous of the Capitol to allow you such luxury of seeing the fallen every night.”  A brief pause.  “We then wondered how you all would fare if you didn’t know who was alive and who was dead.  So for the first time ever, the fallen tribute tradition has been temporarily...suspended.”  

Your jaw dropped as you slowly but surely realized what was happening.  

They couldn’t, could they?

“Instead, every night we will display a number.  This number will represent how many tributes are still alive.”

Reacting to his words, the capitol’s symbol instantly morphed into a giant number ‘14’.  

The head game maker let out a thoughtful hum.  “Fourteen of you left. Interesting… may the odds be ever in your favor, one out of fourteen isn’t a bad shot when you really think about it.”  The statement shook you to your core, the makers’ soothing and accented voice saying those words was somehow too real for you to handle.  He finally concluded the announcement with one more farewell, a smile being heard in his voice as he finished it all off with a simple; “Goodnight.”  

The display depleted back into nothingness as the speakers cut out with a definite ‘click’.  

If the goal of such announcement was to taunt and rile the tributes, then they achieved this goal rather well.  

A burning itch of irritation bubbled under your skin, your face burning bright red and a random desire to yell out curses to the gamemakers overtook your mind in that very moment.  The audacity to not tell the tributes beforehand, the slimey pettiness to rub it in their faces via an announcement and the offensive “one in fourteen” comment was all too much for you to bear.  You weren’t a violent person by any means, but if given the chance you’d probably bash the head gamemakers’ face in.

You weren’t naive.  

You knew what they were doing.  

This wasn’t planned until later, because if it was part of the original agenda; the tributes would’ve been briefed on it so they could strategize accordingly.  The game makers decided on this later, most likely because they thought it would make better ratings or quicken some tribute-on-tribute story lines.  

But what could’ve made them pull the trigger on something like this-

No way.  

A horrid epiphany struck you as the gears in your aching and groggy mind began to turn.  

Who was the most beloved tribute of this game so far?  

Two.

What was said tribute most vocal about during his interview?  

You.

And who did district four try to obtain you for?

Him.

During his interview it was obvious how wrapped around his finger he had the viewers.  It wasn’t a far stretch to assume that most if not all of the Capitol truly bought into his one-sided romance propaganda.  So, if you were an average viewer of the games and saw that you and Jungkook weren’t together... then maybe it truly would be more entertaining to not have you two know if the other is alive or not.  Did they want to see the ‘secret lovers’ break not knowing if their soulmate was okay or dead?  

On top of that, you could only assume that many tributes were also separated from their District counterparts and were understandably concerned about their partner’s fate.  This was, regrettably, the perfect way to get in their heads and could even be traced back to the quell’s theme of ‘no support system.’  

You hated how evilly brilliant it all was.  

Although it didn’t seem like much, the paranoia didn’t take long to seep in.  Was Chenle still alive?  Did the boy from Twelve make it out?  And most importantly; was Jungkook still out there...looking for you?

Instinctively you crawled back into your little shelter, as if just thinking about him would magically make him materialize in front of you.  

You instead refocused your mind onto the number displayed just seconds before.  

14 people were still alive.  

Earlier, you had counted six cannons.  Which means four people would’ve had to died during the cave collapse, although you didn’t spot every single corpse in favor of mourning over Taehyungs’ specifically.  So all in all, ten children died today.  This left a little more than half of the original tributes left.  

Out of nowhere, the bleak yet bittersweet feeling spiked within you once again.   It was hard to feel any good about the short lives that were ended unfairly, yet if the games kept going at this pace then the whole nightmare showed signs of being be over sooner rather than later.  This thought lead into another question; how come so many died today?  

Natural diasters weren’t uncommon and they were obviously simulations created by the gamemakers.  They usually happened within the second half of the games though, when deaths were slowing down and the viewing experience became a little too boring for the Capitols’ taste.  So how come they chose to start off with a disaster right away?  

It was terrifying and worth concern for everyone, especially when considering that tributes could do nothing to combat them if the gamemakers just chose to have a volcano erupt near you or something like that.  When you think about it, anyone could’ve been in Taehyung’s place.  It was just a matter of being at the right place at the right time.  Luck was a bigger theme than odds were.  How hypocritical of them to say may the odds be in our favor when they’re the ones constantly manipulating them against us?  

You sighed and tried to rest comfortably against the wall of your little cave.  

You decided to just conclude that they must’ve made the cave collapse to make up for the lack of blood bath deaths.  It was the only explanation that made sense.  In other games with a Cornucopia and weapons, so much as 10 or 13 tributes would die trying to obtain supplies.  Obviously this couldn’t have been done with no weapons to fight over and most tributes just scattering away this time.  The gamemakers must’ve brainstormed other ways to up the death count and decided on collapsing part of the arena.  

You just hoped that tomorrow would be more bearable than today was.  

You hugged your jacket closer to your from after zipping it all the way up and buttoning it for good measure.  You didn’t know much about caves, but you figured that they most likely got really cold at night.  

You were weary with exhaustion, all the running and crying had drained a significant amount of energy from you.  Part of you wanted to stay up all night and be on the lookout for any other tributes, but it wouldn’t be realistic nor smart to begin a cycle of sleep deprivation this early in the game.  You would have to set your paranoia aside for some much needed rest.

You allowed your eyelids to fall as you tried to steady your breathing.  

A few minutes passed and the ever comforting rem cycle was not too far away from you, yet your nose suddenly twitched at a foreign smell, bringing you out of the lulling state.  

A gentle yet heavy scent of lavender and cinnamon overpowered your senses, startling you and causing you to open your eyes to investigate.  

You couldn’t see anything due to how dark it was in your hide-out, but the aura was only growing more and more potent every passing second.  Weirdly enough, your body was growing limp and relaxed although your mind was panicking and racing for some sort of explanation.  

You cupped a hand over your mouth and nose, suspecting that this odd fragrance was the cause.  

You hurriedly tried to crawl out of your nook, the task being difficult with just one hand available to you.  But when you finally made it out, you saw what was truly occurring.  

You felt like a bucket of ice was dropped onto you as you quickly caught onto what was happening.

The barren tunnel was seeping out some sort of fog-like gas.  It was artificially purple and smelled sickly sweet, almost enough to make you gag.  You mentally cursed the gamemakers before holding your breath and making a mad dash in the opposite direction of the gas.  

It must’ve been poisonous to anyone who breathed it in.  Why else would it be here?

You kept running and running, trying to ignore the burning of your lungs knowing that any breath you take will most likely be your last if you didn’t get away from the fog.  

But the gas was gaining ground at an alarming rate, almost biting at the back of your ankles with how close it was.  

Your eyes welled up with tears as your face grew blue due to how long you starved yourself from oxygen.  

You spotted another cave a few yards away and pushed yourself to it, knowing it was your only hope of escaping.  But when you entered it, you let out a frustrated scream at what was there to welcome you; more gas.  

It was attacking you from every direction and you were unable to hold your breath any longer.  

Your eyelids grew droopy as you fell to your knees.  

Was this the end?  

Black spots entered your vision, growing in size until you couldn’t see anything else.  

Your body fell over and the last sound you faintly remember was the triggering of a cannon.  

--

Part Three

“No!  I can still do this!  I can still do this.  One more kill.  It’s the only thing I know how to do.  Bring pride to my district…. Not that it matters.”  -Cato Porcious, fallen tribute of 74th Annual Hunger Games.  

Jungkook didn’t know what to feel when he first woke up to the second day of the 100th annual Hunger Games.  

First, he felt relief.  

He thought for sure that the violet gas of last night had taken him out for good.  

But then, he felt confusion.  

It took only a few seconds for him to process these emotions, study his surroundings, then jump up to his feet in bewilderment.  

In all his years of watching the games and preparing to one day play himself, he never could have anticipated this.

His jaw dropped as he slowly swiveled his head around in order to fully observe what had happened during his rest last night.

The arena….it changed.

It was hardly believable and didn’t make a lick of sense, but there was no doubt about it.  The musty and dark caves no longer encased them. Instead, Jungkook and his allies were lying in the middle of an abandoned street that was surrounded by tall yet barren buildings.  

It looked to be a city, or at least it was at one point.

The metropolitan area had endured lots of damage, some buildings even looked as though they have been bombed at some point.  There were loose bricks and concrete debris spread everywhere; dust, dirt and shards of glass caking lots of surface.  The skyline above was gray and cloudy, an odd film of brown stained the horizon in what must’ve been a pseudo pollution detail.  

It was a massive dystopian city.

“What the hell?”  

The groggy yet deep voice of the boy from One interrupted Jungkook’s silent awe, causing him to snap his attention back to his allies.  

They were just waking up, although Chanyeol seemed to have the head start as he was already sat up and studying what had become of the underground cave system with eyes of exasperated wonder.  For a moment the two were silent, waiting until Joy and Jeongyeon fully awoke and also realized the situation they were in.  

“Well,”  Jeongyeon stretched her arms above her head and yawned leisurely, somehow totally causal despite the giant revelation that just collectively went off in their heads.  Jungkook could never tell if she was genuinely as friendly and aloof as she acted, or if she was just that good at putting on a show for the viewers.  “at least now we know that the purple stuff wasn’t deadly.  Probably was just used to knock us out.”  

Jungkook rolled his eyes and refrained from scolding her for pointing out the obvious.  He routinely wondered to himself if he had the patience of a saint for putting up with District One’s peacock ways.  Their thirst for screen time would’ve been laughable if it weren’t for Jungkook’s high strung nerves that made him more irritable than usual.  

Luckily, Joy also saw the comment as stupid and had no trouble pointing that out.  “No shit, bimbo.”  

Jeongyeon frowned at this, still not used to Twos’ blunt and borderline mean nature.  She turned to her counterpart in search of back up, but the tired oaf of a teen just offered her a shrug and stood up for a morning stretch of those long legs of his.  

“How is this even possible?”  Jungkook murmured to himself, still trying to piece together all the logistics of how the gamemakers did something as drastic as changed the arena with all the tributes unconscious.  

“I don’t know man.  Who are we to question their high-end shit?  They probably just built all this stuff around us.”  Chanyeol said, overhearing Jungkook and budding in as was his custom.  

Jungkook scowled and tried his hardest to swallow down the hellish tick that crawled up the back of his neck.  

Now, he never thought that the games would be a cake walk per say.  Even the strongest of victors had to go through some pretty odd and seemingly unbearable circumstances to win.  Jungkook just assumed that he was capable enough to put up with any shit the gamemakers tossed his way; and it shouldn’t be a lot given he played into their little game and charmed his way into the forefront of the viewers’ minds.  But he guessed he could finally conclude that he underestimated just how difficult they were going to make this Quell.  

It was hard enough to attempt to track you down in the series of underground caves, how the hell was Jungkook going to find you if the very arena changed every single day?  

He felt his eye twitch on its’ own accord as he scanned every single building that stood proud in the doomsday skyline, knowing that there was no possible way he could search through every single one in his journey to find you.  

If you were alive.

14 tributes remained but no one said you were one of them.

His face darkened.  

How foolish had he been to assume that the gamemakers would just give him his love?  They were going to use you like bait, reeling him in and making him jump through hoops as if he was a dog yearning for a treat.  But to be fair, his pride was reduced to that of a dogs’ when it came to you.  

Joy took notice of her counterpart’s gloomy mood.  She licked her dry lips before commenting on it from her criss crossed position on the vacant road. “What’s your problem, loverboy?  Shouldn’t you be happy we’re not dead?”  

The rest of the career pack turned to their ‘leader’ who currently had his back turned towards them.  It was a bold move to taunt Two’s infatuation for you by calling him such nickname, but Joy was just a bold person in general.  It has yet to be said if Jungkook held a soft spot for her by allowing her passes to say such things, or if he was just waiting for the right time to bash her head in.  

“Of course it’s good we’re not dead.  But this twist is going to make everything so much harder.”  Jungkook bluntly responded, pretending to not notice the subtle jab.

Joy snorted.  “You mean it’s gonna make everything harder to find Ten.”  

Jungkook’s sudden silence only made her laugh harder.  

“Yeah, about that…”  Chanyeol trailed off, wondering if now would be a good time to ask the unknown.  “What is going on with you and the girl from Ten?  Why are we looking for her?”  

“She’s mine.”  The reply was short and brutal on Two’s part, shutting down any further inquiries as if he believed that any elaboration would be wasted on such fools.

Joy’s snorts only got louder as she eventually rolled over, clutching her stomach in delirium.  

“Like your girlfriend or something?  I thought the whole thing was an act.”  Jeongyeon scratched her head in confusion, how the hell would two tributes get into an exclusive relationship in the week before the games?  

“Or are you trying to track her down and fuck her?  I heard that the kids from Districts like that stay virgins till marriage.”  Chanyeol conversed, it wasn’t totally unknown for tributes to try to get their rocks off before or even during the games.  Lots of kids didn’t want to die virgins and found the solution within each other.  Of course, this never blossomed into a real romance given there could be only one victor.  Survival outlasted all other primal instincts.  

Jungkook suddenly found himself wondering if it was too late to become a lone wolf in this game.  District One was proving to be as dumb as ever and his own counterpart wasn’t helping matters in the slightest.  

The brute of a teen opened his mouth to spit out a retort, but quickly closed it when he realized he didn’t even know what to say.

The thing was; Jungkook didn’t feel the need to explain shit to anyone.  It wasn’t for them to understand.  Hell, even if he tried there was no possible way he could properly describe it... much less get them to understand.  

“Everyone shut up!  We need to get moving.  There’s still nine other tributes out there that we have to kill.”  Jungkook ordered, smirking in slight satisfaction when they all immediately stood up and got ready at the metaphorical snap of his fingers.  

The next two hours of the day consisted of the pack roaming the ruined streets of the city, silent and on high alert for any other tributes unlucky enough to come across the blood thirsty four. The only sounds to be heard was the light ‘crunch’ of the debris under their combat boots that resulted with every step they took.   What also followed them was an odd chemical smell that appeared to loom in every crevice of the city; a burning rubber scent that caused a scrunch of ones’ nose.  Jeongyeon voiced her concern for it being radioactive, but the three just shrugged, it’s not like they could do anything about it even if they wanted to.  

As the morning faded away to be replaced with the afternoon,  it became barringly obvious that all other weaker tributes would be spared given the careers had yet to spot a single soul.  This lack of action mixed in with hunger and thirst spiked tensions.  Soon enough Joy halted her steps in favor of plopping down on what looked to be a curb, pouting up up at Jungkook in bratty refusal to move any further.  

The pack halted and set their gaze on her.  

Two pairs of eyes peered confused, while the last pair glared ruthlessly.

“The games is more than just killing other people, Kook.  We need to survive too.  If we don’t find food or water soon, we won’t even be able to overpower others.”  Joy complained loudly, rubbing her sore ankles as if to prove her point.

Jungkook let out a low growl under his breath, wiping the sweat away from his forehead while trying to remind himself that he was on camera at all times.  

‘Don’t blow up, don’t blow up, don’t blow up’

“Joy might be onto something.  God only knows what arena we’ll wake up in tomorrow.  The only food we could get from the caves were insects and algae, we should search through these buildings for any scraps.”  Chanyeol attempted to be the voice of reason, without a doubt catching on to the fight that loomed in the near future if Joy and Jungkook didn’t get on the same page quickly.  

“I need to find her.”  This was said through gritted teeth, Jungkook’s patience being worn too thin to play the amicable act any longer.  

“Why must everyone suffer for the sake of your obsession?!” Joy scoffed, irritated that some mute country girl from Ten was being placed as priority one over her well-being.  

Jungkook felt his brow tick.  The familiar burning itch of a fury only infatuated men could understand graced his sensations once again.  The fact that your importance was being questioned was almost blasphemous to Jungkook.  Were they blind?  Of course the first objective had to be you, everyone else was just mere distractions getting in the way of his goal.   He was the big dog in this game, the undeniable winner and if his fellow “allies” knew what was good for them then they’d play along to his plan.  

“Joy, get up.”  Jungkook licked his lips before continuing in a bleak voice; “I won’t ask again.”

Joy rolled her raven eyes and stood up, taking one step forward towards the pseudo leader with a snarl-like expression twisting up the usually pretty features of her face.  “Like hell I’ll follow you! If you’re willing to place some random girl over your allies then maybe we need a new change in leadership.”  

Jungkook could practically feel the unseen cameras zoom in on the scene. The viewers most likely gasping in shock or clutching their pearls with excitement at the power dynamic impasse that the most powerful alliance in the game was facing.

It was silent for a moment, Jungkook boring his ruthless eyes into hers as if to give her a second chance to step down in submission.  

But she never did.  

Instead she looked at the pair from One, whom for once looked rather uncomfortable, and called out in a smug grin; “I’m sure you guys are thinking it too.  Is it irrational for me to question the head of our pack when he values a random girl over our lives?”

Neither Chanyeol nor Jeogyeon answered, instead they both avoided eye contact.  

Jungkook let out a humorless chuckle at her failure to sway a rally against him.  

Now, it was his turn.  

“Joy I’ve been nothing but lenient with you because we’re from the same District and two heads are better than one.  But if I have to strangle that pretty little neck of yours until your face is blue and that cannon goes off, then I will.” Jungkook’s voice was emotionless and barren, as if he was simply reciting lines and not truly expressing his inner most thoughts.  The only reaction to be seen from him was the slight smirk he had when he witnessed Joy’s proud expression drop into a look of doom.  

He continued, “In fact, I don’t owe anyone here anything.  If I truly wanted to I could kill all three of you and not even feel a lick of remorse.  I could rid myself of liabilities and dead weight to further myself in the game.  This alliance is hindering my full potential.  It is me who shows you mercy, keep that in mind with every waking second of your life in this game.”

Joy took a step back whilst Jungkook took one forward.  

“You all saw what I did to Four.  I’m not above killing other careers if they get in my way.”  

“Kook-”

Jungkook raised his hand and silenced her with a harsh backhand to the face. The speed of the action was so quick that the only way Chanyeol and Jeogyeon even realized what had happened was the echoing sound of the hit and the response of Joy cradling the left side of her now redden face.  

Jungkook wasn’t finished either.  

In fact, he seemed all too proud to make an example out of his very own district mate.  

He snatched her hair and dragged her to the ground, forcing her into a crouched position as he lifted his knee to jut her in the stomach.  

She let out a tortured scream at the pain, looking at her other allies for aid only to cry at the realization that she was alone to face his wrath.  

She stared up at the monster of a man, pleading to spot some remains of mercy expected of rational humans.  

But his orbs were empty of any emotion other than pure hatred.  

Jungkook raised a clenched fist once again as Joy screamed.  

--

Part Four

"You know, they're not the only ones who can form alliances" - Victor Katniss Everdeen to Rue Culler in 74th Annual Hunger Games.  

It was the third day of the games.  

You awoke to a feeling of sticky humidity clinging onto your skin.  It was only when you managed to tear your swollen eyes open and sit your weakened body up did you finally discover what hell awaited you that day.

It was a jungle, an awful hot and loud one that was crawling with various types of animals far beyond your understanding.  This was evident in the different sounds you heard echo amongst the trees and bushes; monkeys, birds, frogs and god knows what else.  All the plants around you were vibrant and bursting with colors, practically stunning your tired retinas with the intensity of the shades.  

Perhaps if you felt better you would’ve taken a moment to observe the strange and foreign land that you’d never get to experience again, but the third day was already proving to be the biggest hurdle to overcome.  

The lack of food and water was finally taking its’ toll on your body.  

Your stomach was persistently growling and your lips were so cracked and dried that you’d routinely have to lick off blood from them.  Your esophagus burned due to the scratchy lack of moisture while your cranium pounded ruthlessly.  Even as you got up to stand, you managed to stagger as if half of your strength had magically depleted overnight.  

If you didn’t find food or water soon then you were as good as dead.  

As you took off your wind breaker to tie it around your waist in attempt to adapt to the sudden climate change, you began to ponder possible ways to obtain food and water.  Luckily this new arena was filled to the brim with animals that you could hunt and consume.  Although eating possible insects or exotic pests wasn’t exactly something you’d be proud to do, it was all in the name of survival.  

However you decided that water was the more vital need.  You were already pushing the envelope for dehydration, the expected time without it was three days.  If you had to, you could last a few more days without food.

Jungles meant waterfalls, right?  

Or at least rain?  

You wiped your forehead and heaved a deep breath in preparation for another day that could be your last.  

Although it wasn’t the best strategy, you had no choice but to wander seamlessly without any direction.  What else could you do when the arena changes every 24 hours?  Any knowledge you could retain about your surroundings would prove to be useless come the following day.  Thus you set off into the tree line, hoping to come across some sort of clean water source.  

Out of the three natural settings you had been put into, this jungle was quickly becoming your least favorite.  The very air was heavy with the worst type of heat; a sticky and itchy one that delved into your very pores.  Bugs were constant and slowed you down, they swarmed you as if your blood was a siren and continuously bit at an open surface of your skin.  There also wasn’t any clear pathways to follow, you had to fight your way through all the greenery.  You just hoped that none of the plants you brushed past were poisonous.  

If you had to guess, you would estimate that it had been 15 minutes into your aimless journey when something rather unusual happened.  

You heard a rustle occur from a few feet away from you, a slight one that shook some leaves from a bush nearby.  

Normally, this would be cause for concern in an arena. Yet this jungle was so noisy and bristling with movement that it was hardly noticeable at first.  Hell, it was practically more alive than you were at this moment.  

Your logic was that it was most likely an animal of some kind instead of another tribute.  Nonetheless you stilled and held your breath, anticipating a sudden appearance.  You hardly bit back the urge to run as fast as you could in the opposite direction, but if it was indeed an animal then that action would only trigger a violent reaction against you or even a brutal hunt.  

You fought against the instinct and waited while counting the passing seconds. ‘One, two, three, four-’

A boisterous yell broke from deep within the chest of an unseen attacker.  

In a blurry spasm of movement, you caught sight of a tall yet slender female form burst from the greenery in an insane jump to get to you.  

You barely had time to leap backwards, and even then it was far too late.  The strange girl managed to land on top of your legs, successfully pinning you down to the jungle floor as you helplessly wiggled and tried to get a clear view of her face.  

Her long brown hair managed to block most of it, but by the little glimpses you struggled to get you could see that she was extremely pretty.  Her face was slender yet round with well-defined features and near flawless skin.  Her body was sturdy as she had no trouble keeping you down, even letting out a casual huff as she pushed against your shoulders to keep you in place (as if you were more of a slight bother than a real hassle) when you attempted to sit up and swing.  

You wanted nothing more than to give her a good hit before booking it and never looking back, but the odds were insurmountable.  It didn’t take long before you deduced that she must’ve been fairing far well compared to you.  While your energy had been burned down to simmering ashes as hunger and thirst consumed you, this nameless tribute seemed all too healthy and willingly aggressive.  

Her hands against you shoulder slowly crept up to your neck, slowly curling around the base and pressing her sharp nails into the skin.    

You let out a strangled cry, your dry throat not being able to manage a full out scream.

“Wait a minute.”  Her husky voice rasped before she took one hand to brush her hair back, allowing the sun to capture her now bare face.  

Your breath caught in your throat and suddenly your struggles became more frantic.  

It was the girl from Seven.  

While not a career by any means, she still proved herself a worthy competitor with a high personal score.  And by the way she was glowering above you, it was obvious that she was not afraid to kill to get ahead.

“Aren’t you the girl that Two is in love with?”  She questioned with an indescribable look upon her face.

You stilled.

There are moments in every game where you can directly affect your fate in a very drastic manner.  Camouflaged in her simple question was a bigger dilemma that could either make or break you.  The issue was that you didn’t know which one it will be.  Either you can agree that 2 was indeed in love with you and maybe even give a little white lie about him being your ally.  That had a high probability of scaring her, as who in their right mind would want to mess with him, and by extension you?  However it could be argued that it was also a double edged sword.  Perhaps she was just as ambitious as the careers, if not more so, and would have no problem poking the bear that is Jungkook via killing you.  Maybe she would even enjoy it more knowing that she involved herself into the ‘star-crossed lovers’ story line and put an end to it all, stealing attention from you to her.  

Your eyes furiously swept side to side in attempt to get a better view of your surroundings.

All chances of escaping were futile.  

If you disagreed, her plans to hurt you wouldn’t change and she’d carry on with her murdering of you.  But if you went along with it, there was an almost sure guarantee that she’d have a reaction.  That reaction could be good or bad, but it was the only chance you had.  It was scary to flip a coin on your chances of survival, but what other options did you have?

“Yes, w-we’re together.”  You stuttered out, hoping that she took your awkward tone as a result o her practically smothering your windpipe and not you lying through your teeth.  

Her brow raised at that, her stern expression uplifting for a brief moment to form an over-exaggerated look of confusion and concern.  

“Where is your boy toy then?  Pretty stupid of him to let you wander on your own.”  

“He’s nearby.”  you fibbed, faking confidence and glaring up at her as if she just signed her death wish.  

Jennie let out a giggle, a sound that would be somewhat cute if the circumstances were any different than her about to commit murder.  “Let’s say I believe you.  Do you think he’d get back in time to save you and capture me?”  

You hated to falter, but she did have a point.  

If she was smart, she’d take her chance now to get rid of you because god only knows when she’d come across you again.  And clearly she had the advantage, you had no ability to fight back.  Even if Jungkook was close (which he wasn’t),  she’d still have ample time to end you and run far into the jungle before another tribute could even stumble across the unfortunate scene.  

Tears welled up and blurred your vision.  

You were going to die.  

The end of your simple, short but honest life was going to occur in the middle of some artificial habitat, via a bloodthirsty stranger making a show out of your demise in which your friends and family from home would be forced to watch along with the rest of the nation.  May your corpse be one of many examples the capitol shall use for warning against any possible rebellion.  

You lasted three days, a pathetic 72 hours would be the wrap up of your entire existence.  In some weird twist of desperation you thought about how you could’ve played this game differently.  Would you have survived if you teamed up with Two and the rest of the careers?  If you tried harder to ally yourself with your District mate?  Or if you decided to chase after the kid from Twelve and form a team?  

But while those different paths were clouded in unseen potential, they were void of anything tangible much less useful given your current circumstance.  

You fell limp and gazed up at her hallowly, managing to catch a glimpse of your crying expression in the reflection of her dark orbs.  

She stared back at you; a mutual understanding of what was to come.  

Gone was the show or theatrics, now all that had left to be done was the actual act itself of killing you.

She the predator, you the prey.  

“Any last wor-”

A blurry and hurried movement cut her off, it was so sudden and unexpected that all you were able to process was that 7 was now off of you.  Instead of gazing up at her, your line of sigh was now met with the blue sky and branches of the taller trees.

You blinked slowly in bewilderment.  

Seven was seemingly knocked off of you...but how?  

Strangled yelps and more wrestling movement occurred somewhere beside you, the vibration and intensity of it causing the ground underneath you to quiver, but due to your state of shock you weren’t focusing on it at all.  You were slowly gaining your senses back, you body taking it’s time to adjust to the new ability to breathe freely all the while adapting to the sudden postponement of your death.  

You sat up, ignoring the pounding ache that your cranium responded with, and twisted your head to the side in order to behold what became of your killer.  

You let out a bleak and disbelieving chuckle at the scene that greeted you.

The hunter became the prey.

In some ironic twist of fate, Seven was now pinned under another tribute.  By the throat to be exact, an almost perfect replica of the position you were in just seconds ago.  

Seven was spluttering out, trying her best to yell or at least make some type of noise, but all attempts to do so were futile.  

She stood no chance against the girl on top of her.  

Said girl had inky black hair that was strictly fastened into a high ponytail, her skin was fair and glistening with what must’ve been sweat and her body was lengthy and muscular; making the act of strangling Seven look like a walk in the park.  

It was odd to feel sympathy for the girl who almost just killed you, but watching Seven’s face turn red and eventually blue as she silently screamed was heartbreaking enough to almost make you want to push the mystery girl off of her.  

Almost.  But not quite enough.  

It took some time to strangle someone, so by that logic you should have enough time to get up and run.  This would’ve been a flawless plan if it weren’t for the fact that your legs were numb due to all the time you had Seven on top of you, and thus essentially rendered useless.  

The absolute most you could achieve was some pathetic army-crawl, and obviously that was not going to get you far enough.  

But could it be argued that if this unknown girl truly wanted you dead then she would’ve let Seven had her way with you before offing Seven herself?  

That line of thought was your only chance of getting out of here alive.  

The struggles of Seven eventually subsided, her eyes glazing over unfocused before closing entirely.  Her body went limp as if she suddenly fainted, but the truth was she finally succumbed to the lack of oxygen and died.  

The sound of a cannon shot through the jungle.  

You watched as the girl slowly got off of Seven, heaving a huff and rubbing her hands together as if exhausted from the strenuous activity of literally wringing the life out of someone.  

You lips began to move on their own accord, both pleads and questions racing to get out first.  

She turned to face you.  

Your jaw dropped.  

Technically you weren’t lying at all to Seven.

Two was indeed close by, but it wasn’t Jungkook.

It was Joy.

Her porcelain face was marred with blue and purple bruises, the color so contrasting to her otherwise flawless skin tone that you couldn’t help the inaudible gasp that escaped your lips.  

Who did that to her?

She scoffed down at you, unimpressed with your spineless yet shocked state.

“Calm down, I’m not gonna hurt you idiot.  Why would I save your sorry ass if that was the case?”  

“What do you want then?”  You attempted to bark back, trying to keep some sense of pride in this obvious imbalance of power.  

“Allies.”  She shrugged, as if it was the most obvious thing.  

“And why would I team up with you?”  

She glanced at the fresh corpse behind her before looking back at you, staring at you meaningfully as she said; “Because I’m the only one who knows the truth about you and Jungkook and probably your only chance of fighting back.”

--

^^^ me pretending to not see the 100+ people glaring at me for taking literally months to update.  Anyway, I’m sorry Jungkook isn’t in this part that much but this will be the last part before Y/n’s and Jk’s game fully intertwine.  I planned a really big plot twist to end on but I think I’m just gonna save that for it’s own chapter bc I think I’d need like 10k to do that twist justice.  I think part one was better but like...oh well.  Please comment, reblog and send asks in, all that good stuff.  I miss writer/reader interaction, bro.  Also, the reason the scene descriptions of the arenas are short is bc I originally had plugged in photos of the habitats but the links weren’t working on tumblr.  I can repost them if anyone’s interested.

EXTRA INFO; For those of you who were with me since part one, I did a beta reader thingy for chapter two and I’d really like to do that again for chapter three.  Last time I gave out a quiz and the winners got the chance to read the first 5k and eventually have 24 hour access before it was posted publicly.  This time, I want more in-depth analysis.  So if you wanna be a beta reader for chapter three, please reblog this with an analysis of your own about the story and my writing.  At the end put something like (BR) so I know you are trying out for a beta reader position.  I think I’ll chose around 8-10 people.  And I will reach out to those people when I have them picked out.   

[nightswithkookmin]

I am a hard Taekook shipper but recently Jikook have been melting my heart by being so cute and cudly and loving. I understand and i am sorry for so mhch hate from Taekookers but trust me Taekookers are a bit shaken right now. I cannot disclose my name here but i would like to say if Jikook is real or they decide to come out which i higly doubt then i am 100% in support and also ur page helped me open my eyes and see a diff sude of shipping which is needed alot more. I am Loving Love ryt now.

C'est la vie!

So sorry for the late response love. You've always been on my mind.

I get not every Taekooker is wild and rabid just as not every Joker is sane and fake woke. Lol.

I mean I'm still holding on to my grudge against your people for storming my business pages and leaving shit reviews on my books- and laughing about it? What was that? Damn. Had to change my author name and everything and I've since been publishing under an alias- let me tell you, it's no fun at all.

In retrospect, I shouldn't have called y'all's ship dead- but honestly it dead, it dried up like a drop of sweat on a dessert. What can I say? People just don't want the truth, lol- had these angry thirteen year olds and fake woke Jokers coming for my ass and my business ass on the flamingo app. Chilee. Your people don't want to be civil. Sigh.

Some people just have no sense of personal responsibility and when they get called out for it they slap you with the whole, 'no one asked you to put yourself and your business out there' - this creepy behavior and mental adroitness is not far from rapists blaming girls for wearing short shorts and mini skirts or thieves blaming people for not putting up a fence and shit to protect their property. It's fucked up.

And don't get me started on what they do to Jimin or JK... or even Tae- not to make you feel bad or anything. It's just my people suck, your people suck, we all suck square- don't apologize for it unless you plan on doing something to change it?

As for Taekook, yea I don't think there is anything wrong with shipping them. They have a beautiful bond, they are both visuals and both funny as hell. If you won't ship them I will. Lol.

Just know the reason you are shipping them? If you are shipping them because you genuinely believe they are a couple too then you need to stop shipping them and start supporting them?

And once you start supporting them then I think you'd sooner realize there isn't anything there to support in the first place. Lol.

I support Jikook because I believe with my full chest they are real and are closeted- emphasis on closeted. And for the record, they are the only queer couples in BTS.

Tae lost his queer card when he accidentally outed Jimin on that radio show. 'I think he likes men' yea, straight up het behavior. Lack of homo sensitivity.

Did you see JK's reaction when JM was asked to spill tea on their pervy behaviors behind cams? My butt quivered. Chilee, I thought he was gone out JK too. Damn.

I think the word real and closeted have come loose and cheap on these streets these days. I don't think most of these shippers when they throw it around fully understand the term or realise what it means and what it takes. If they did, they wouldn't randomly be labeling every ship as 'real' within the fandom.

If you believe Taekook is real and that they are equally hiding their sexuality as well as their relationship within the group, then you should understand how severe and traumatizing this fact is and would be for them as gay men?

The thing is, they are not just hiding parts of themselves and their identity for the sake of their careers or military or whatever if they are real, they are lying to millions, millions of people at a time about who they really are by keeping their identity a secret. Secrets are lies honey, however way we want to see it.

If they are real then they are concealing their true identity away from not just their families and friends- if they haven't come out to them, but acquaintances from work, businesses who wouldn't work with them otherwise, brands, sponsors, Heads of states, their fans....

It's one thing for a heterosexual to keep their heterosexual relationship a secret, it's another for a queer person to keep their queerness and or queer relationship a secret.

A lie as heavy as this is bound to take a toll on them, no matter how good they are at hiding it. A secret gets heavy before it gets easy. Not to sell you on anything but do you see any such secret taking a toll on Taekook? Because I see it taking a toll on Jikook.

Do you believe Taekook are closeted? Because I believe Jikook are.

Being closeted means they have to carry the guilt of knowing that each time they pander to heteronormative roles in variety shows or interviews, or imply by omissions that they are straight, or make generalizing statements about their sexuality to avoid addressing their sexuality directly or give it away, that they are lying to people and spewing half truths- seven years in a roll.

Being closeted is not a joke. It's heavy. I think you need to grasp this before you claim it for anyone.

People like to throw the 'closeted' phrase around willy nilly but fail to comprehend its weight and complexity and consequences especially for people that they believe are actually queer.

It's not easy lying to people about who you are. Unless you are a pathological liar and a psychopath, it's like drowning each day you wake up. You die a little each time. Your sexuality is a huge part of your identity and when you deny it for so long by lying and suppressing it, it's like shutting out a peice of yourself and silencing your own voice. The more you push it aside the louder it screams and the harder it fights to come out.

It's a state of constant internal struggle. You wake up everyday contemplating whether to risk the perfect life you've spent years building just so you can turn off the guilt that comes with keeping a secret of this nature.

And each time you get better at omitting or generalizing and evading questions that hint at your truth, the more you hate yourself and the more guilt you feel. This guilt can become a driving force that pushes you to make risky moves and take impulsive actions such as 'borderline outing your relationship'- does that sound like Taekook to you?

If you are not driven by the love you feel for your partner, you are driven by the guilt and neither is a great place to be if you are queer.

You lie everyday, you get caught up in the lies and soon you start believing in the web of lies you've woven around yourself such that you don't even recognize who you are or why you are, anymore. As such, you are constantly searching for yourself, to reconcile the bits you've hidden away and perhaps forgotten, and you keep exploring your identity because you are unsettled- honey, that sounds more like Jikook than Taekook to me but c'est la vie.

Being closeted is not about moments that get cut by editors, or less interactions, or being seperated or seated further apart from eachother. These are just ship street parlance. Being closeted is an attitudinal, internal attribute rather than external manipulations or influences- it's a science. Lol

Coming out may be risky for any of these boys if they are real, but I promise you hiding is much harder for them.

And so When I look at Taekook, and I see how beautiful they are yet I don't in God's honest truth see them 'dealing' with any or all of these struggles Jikook deal with or have dealt with at one point, in my opinion- forget the homophobia, the wanting to come out, the low key microaggressions they deal with even within the group- 'the Jk never stops crying,' 'the real men don't do this and that talk' talk, the toxic masculinity and internalized homophobia traits JK and Jimin used to exhibit in their early days talking about 'real men don't twerk,' 'real men don't wear rings on their pinky'- all the times Jimin have had to defend his masculinity or even femininity, or stand up for Kook's within the group. 'Men, men, men. What is men?'

Jikook are the only two within the group that in my opinion have struggled most with their identity, with embracing aspects of themselves; you hear them complain about 'living a lie' 'tired of hiding, lying' and all these are themes consistent with closet behavior that they've both explored in one way or the other and even as of 2020 they are still dealing with or 'exploring' their identities perhaps as a means to reconcile their true selves? I'm really struggling with this post because I don't wanna get salesy on your ass. Lol.

Don't get me wrong, Tae struggles and deals with issues too- mostly with loneliness, lowkey depression in my opinion, lowkey bullying- sometimes, lol and he often expresses a desire to find someone and be happy and yet 'his supporters' don't recognize that...

You can wait till Jikook come out officially as queer, if they ever chose to, to support them- Or you can choose to support them and love them now because that's what they need in order to officially come out as and when they choose to? Ok I'm being salesy. Lmho. I'll stop. Don't mind me. But think about it.

Ship whatever ship you want but support Jikook. It's all I'm asking. And by support, I mean don't exhibit any anti homosexual attitude towards them- deadass. You and I gone fight, square up toe to toe, if you do. Lol.

People don't need to be afraid of Jikook. They just need to treat them as human beings and not reduce them to a mere ship. They are a ship too yes, but they are more than that if you ask me.

You sound nice. I love you. I'm glad you enjoy my posts. Merry Christmas and cheers to our ships.

Keep supporting Jikook. Jikook is real.

Signed,

GOLDY

[lairofsentinel]

Talking about the smidgens we saw of Gale, the wizard of Waterdeep.

[Baldur’s Gate 3 Early Access Spoilers]

Updated, AGAIN, because the hell of new aspects we saw when some bugs were sorted out. Warning:  all this analysis was done for game versions 4.1.83 and 4.1.84

Well, I had to rewrite all this because the explorations of dialogue options and the bugs being, somehow, solved, allowed me to see small details from Gale that stand out or end up being more than curious to me. I'll list his main features to make things short (hopefully), and useful for... eventual fics:

Gale is a char who approves any good treatment to animals (and creatures in general). He has a cat, a Library, and writes poetry sometimes.

He doesn't like gratuitous murdering which is implied in the anecdote he told us about how he stopped a massacre in a Waterdeep city inn just by buying a round to everyone. It is also implied in his approval in most situations; even in the one with the ogres having sex.

He gives you disapproval most of the time if you use violence and intimidation as your first approach in solving a situation. He prefers eloquence, diplomacy, and negotiation. However, he is flexible enough to approve a performance-intimidation in front of goblins to avoid bloodshed. Point (2) is primary. So... he truly is a pragmatic char. It's not white and black: “never use intimidation/lie” or that kind of over-simplistic view.

He likes logical and reasonable conversations. An action that earned his disapproval can be undone if the main char (MC) talks to him and explains their reasons. You can disagree with him without having approval penalties most of the time. You can question many situations and, as long as it remains a mental exercise, there are no penalties. That surprised me a lot. Most characters disapprove you if you wonder about a potential situation, but Gale no. He is the scholar, he will allow a safe space to think around things without being too judgemental. We will see if this attitude lasts in the full game. No wonder some players see in him “the Teacher” archetype. Quite so.

He was an Arch wizard while being Mystra's Chosen One, and fell from grace when she put him aside. What is hard for me to grasp is if he remained Chosen One and therefore able to cast silver-fire during that intermediate period when he stopped having Mystra's whispers and his folly with the netherese taint. We know that in that moment Mystra removed herself from his life completely. But before, she has only stopped whispering and sleeping with him. So far I understand, being her Chosen One doesn't imply sleeping with her, most of the time.

He was a teacher (not surprising, since his over-explanation vices and details such as the pronunciation of “Trashj” make us suspect it), and had some students that he could not keep longer since their ineptitudes irked him. 

Unlike the stereotypical “scholar” type, he knows how to cook, since he has been doing stews for the party in the camp. He also loves baths. A bit siding with the stereotypical “scholar” type, but a nice change for a “standard adventurer” type, in which most of the time it is implied that they are stinky with “animalistic” scents and uglier descriptors. No, Gale likes his lavender-scented baths. Good. 

He is an over-thinker strategist. And also a char who takes responsibility for his own mistakes to the point that, when he dies for the first time, a programmed image is activated to help anyone to revive him. Despite the fact that he is dead and can give a shit about that, he is still responsible of the catastrophe that may happen if that weird magic orb stuck in his chest erupts.

He is also forcing me to check the dictionary like no other game has done in a while... the fucker uses uncommon words a lot of the time. Smidges? really? Gale is a hard char for a non native English speaker.

We can assume that during his teenage time, he was a pretty prideful peacock to the point to be blind at the reality (well, yeah, he romanced a goddess; if that doesn't give you a hell of a ego boost...) He remembers his young self's pride with a thick level of regret. He is now a mature scholar that, for a change, does not patronise you or thinks of himself better than anyone. Sure, he over-explains a lot, but that's something that most scholars/teachers do when they are worried that, maybe, they won't be understood.

He is confident in his years of study (for that reason he is a capable wizard despite having lost Mystra's favours), but he acknowledges his limits. Which is a nice change to see in the “scholar” archetype, the typical know-it-all. He knows a lot, he knows that he knows (it would be ridiculous to hide his knowledge), but he is human, and like he says: “humans are fallible”. However, it’s more than obvious that he has a big ego for everything he does, which makes sense since he follows a motto in his life: “try to excel at everything”. High accomplished scholar lifestyle, indeed.

If you don't share the Weave with him, he will state that nights are lonesome. It seems he truly is looking for some connection with a keen fellow mind. Probably it's this loneliness which triggers his urge to see Mystra's face during the night. We also know he, in general, lives in constant fear due to the Netherese taint in his chest. So, very lonely, and very scared. 

I don't know if this is his poet side unable to be switched-off or it's another implication of how he sees sexual encounters: he never says sex (at least in my many runs, he never did it). He always gets around the word: love-making, art of the body, intimacy. For a scholar who is so prone to use the technical word for everything, and has already stated he is not coy at all, the use of these metaphors make me wonder if it's because he always conceives sex as something more than mere physical pleasure. For him, it seems to come with a more emotional connection (which makes sense if we think he will only sleep with those who connected to him through the Weave). Another small detail that may confirm this is when he asks the MC if the “other night” was wonderful. If MC claims it was “fun”, Gale shows a certain degree of uneasiness by that word choice, making us infer that he certainly doesn’t see sex as “fun” but as something else, deeper. 

His tadpole dreams are about Mystra (rather obvious). His most desperate desire is forgiveness. Mystra's forgiveness.

Mystra was his first love. The affair did not last long. And since soon after her abandonment he looked for the Primal Weave book and was infested by it; one could assume he has been focused on solving his problem for the rest of his life than putting some energy in romance, especially if we think about (13). It's hard to say with certainty (especially with banters like these), but since he is a char that you can only sleep with if you share a mind-connection through the Weave, it seems less plausible that he could encourage into casual relationships during all this period of his life looking for a solution to the Netherese orb. If he got previous relationships, they may have been meaningful, but clearly not enough to win over the goddess’ and his urges to see her, lol.

He did not mind Mystra having many other lovers besides him. It seems to be the same with the MC, since he will insist in sleeping with them even after the party and even after the MC slept with someone else (however, that only occurs if the romantic connection through the Weave happened.) This fact combined with (13) and (15) make me wonder if he certainly wants to be with the MC too badly, even in an open relationship. We need to see the rest of his romance to be sure.

Since he looks for forgiveness so desperately, he is a char who will forgive most mistakes made by the MC if they acknowledge them.

He is a char who knows how grey and complex situations can be. This is inferred by the way he speaks of the tiefling girl who tried to steal the idol in the Grove: “She is not innocent, but that doesn't mean she is guilty.” (of course there is a lot of self projection there). This is also implied in his (surprising) approval of raising Mayrina's husband and giving her the control wand to search for a solution in Neverwinter. That shows that he can accept the fuckest weirdest situations, recognising that “sometimes we can’t choose situations but we can try to do our best, not always having the best results”. Also self-projection.

He appreciates his privacy to the point to leave the MC if the abuse of the tadpole power continues. However, and honouring (4), you can abuse of these powers and convince him with reasons: if you don't lie to him and explain that you have a responsibility with the group to know what happens with his secret, he will understand, and despite disapproving the MC actions, will remain without major troubles.

Certainly, as long as you give him reasons and logical concepts, he can almost understand everything with no disapproval or at least little one.

Consent and negotiation are vital to him, apparently. However, this aspect reaches a flaw. He was too angry with Nettie when she almost killed the MC, and he made a short speech about how nobody has the right to decide your options for you. Yet, in his romance scene, we see that he deliberately hid his true relationship with Mystra and his bomb-condition in order to sleep with the MC. In fact, during the party, if the MC tells him that doubts if he is the one they want, Gale will drop a curious argument: “That’s because you’ve yet to find out what your’re missing” (implying that he himself is what you need), followed by his most curious “Doubt is a spoilsport. Cast it aside”. That coming from a scholar is rotten, lol. He tries every convincing argument to sleep with the MC (if they shared the moment of the Weave, of course)

This happens in every variation of the path: whether the MC sleeps with him in the party, or afterwards, Gale will always wait for sharing a night with the MC before speaking the truth. It's hard to read this aspect since, he is a char who, apparently, needs a mind-connection with his partner for intimacy (see (12) and (13)); so this terrible strategy is like his way of trying to guarantee that the MC will not abandon him. I guess there is something along those line, specially if we keep in mind the book he explained: a book which is not only about the art of the body and the night and sex, but of other things such as conversation, exploration, and acceptance of oneself and the other. He is expecting with this night to reach the MC to a certain degree of intimacy in which, despite the raw truth, the acceptance will prevail. Remembering (16), he truly wants to sleep with the MC, baaaadly. And somehow everything feels like he wants to push things in a subtle way to a certain degree of commitment. Following the concept in (12), I think he has been alone for too long, and desperately needs someone in his lonesome nights and in helping him to deal with his burden. Finding someone who connected to him through the Weave (such a personal experience for him as it is) made him a bit desperate or eager. We know his emotion for the MC may have grown over those days since the connection with the Weave. In two occasions he or the MC can ask if both of them think about that moment. Gale says yes with such enthusiasm, that it may imply...that maybe, he has been thinking about that more times than he truly wants to tell the MC. The Weave moment had such a strong effect on Gale that, if the MC spent the night with another companion and rejects Gale’s proposition later, he will trail off a sentence that implies he was convinced that the MC and he were heading into something serious and deep.

Of course, once he sleeps with the MC, he confesses the truth right afterwards, accepting--without approval penalties--the harshest responses that the MC can give. He clearly knows that such manoeuvre was truly disloyal, especially contrasting it with all his speech of consent and rights to know about the true situation one is in. In the next morning, he acknowledges it was a rotten thing to do and apologies. But this shows that his principles can be bend and even be broken when it comes to emotions. I'm still a bit wary of his emotional stability, what can I say.

Mystra is more than an ex-lover for him, it’s magic. And Magic is everything for him, even more than life. I wonder if, given the opportunity, Mystra forgives him and asks him to return to her side, would he accept it without second thoughts leaving the romanced MC? It's true he also acknowledges that all that fascination he had with the goddess was a product of his youth; he knows he was a plaything in her hands. But I don't see he got over with it. He still idealises her, as such a good poet does. Idealisation, especially when a Goddess is involved, is a terrible thing to fight against for the next partner. No matter what speech of loyalties and consent he states during the whole game, the MC knows that magic and Mystra are Gale's Achilles’ heel, and factors in which they  can’t predict his behaviour.

We also know that, because his bomb-condition, he tries to take all the opportunities to enjoy the little things of life that make him human.

Gale is a straightforward and honest (mostly, let's say) char. But we can see that he prefers to be honest in most situations, except in his Achille’s heel. Even when he wanted to hide all the stuff about the bomb in his chest, he did it by explicitly warning us that he was hiding something he did not want to talk about. Which is an honest approach considering the hardcore burden he carries and the immediate rejection it can mean if the truth unfolds too quickly among strangers.

When it comes to concepts, Gale has the symbol of the storm attached to him. So far, we see he talks comparing things with storms or storm elements: his lack of knowledge to explain why they are not Mind Flayers yet: the silence before the storm; the fear that rushes into his body when the Weave orb asks him for magic to consume: the thunder of a storm reverberating in his soul, the day it will erupt: the lightning striking, the consumption of magic: water running through a sore throat, Life itself: a tempest. When he asked the player if they were a wizard, he explains that he needs an Arch wizard and compares them with a Tempest. If we see the main image of Baldur's gate 3, it's clear that his main element is electricity/storm... so... full witch-bolt-guy here.

[updated later] The Weave moment is important to romance Gale. Leaving the moment in ambiguity will give the MC another opportunity to make their intentions clear during the scene of the Loss. However, remaining vague will lock Gale into a friendship path. What happens during this scene may suggest that the ambiguity in the Weave was enough to keep Gale thinking about the romantic possibility, but he will not engage into it by his own, which confirms (15). Unless the opportunity presents itself clearly before him, he will not pursue the MC. Further details [here].

Last moment detail: Gale says “I cherish you” when he explains he will await death alone if the Netherese orb goes out of control. I was not sure if that meant something more or less than love or like (I can’t not overlook the subtle meaning of the words coming from Gale’s mouth, he is a poet and his word choices matter). Checking the dictionary I found that “cherish” (in a relationship) is defined as to hold or to treat as dear, to feel love for and to care for someone deeply and tenderly. This man went straight into a commitment relationship without thinking it twice, and without (I believe) the MC knowing it either xD. 

Let's see how these characteristics shift or develop deeper once the full game is out there. Now we have to wait a lot :(

To see videos where all this stuff is inferred or explicitly said, you can check [here]

More videos added later [here] and [here]

More content of bg3 in general [here]

[byhalves]

on urGoh and skekGra (and urRu and skeksis in general)

just some notes that are relevant to my portrayal, which is shared with @andundone​ . personals do not reblog pls \o/

so each urRu and skeksis represents half of another, separate being; an urskek. this means that, effectively, they came into being with half of an existing personality and skillset, generally with opposing/conflicting traits (such as pride/humility, selfishness/selflessness, etc.) being almost entirely segregated into the respective beings.

the skeksis are generally considered to have inherited most of the “evil” traits while the urRu are considered to have inherited the “good” ones. it’s actually a lot more complex than that. while most skeksis display negative traits in the extreme such as arrogance, cruelty and greed, they also possess incredible drive and strong creativity. on the other side, while most mystics are kind and patient they often lack initiative and practicality. 

rather than “good” and “evil” it would be more accurate to say that the skeksis lack restraint, and the urRu have too much. while the skeksis are mostly evil, many sincerely lack the ability to control themselves once they have started indulging in their darker tendencies--and, while the urRu are mostly good, they frequently fail to act in order to prevent evil even when they are highly capable of doing so.

and then there’s urGoh and skekGra, who effectively wake up one day with the realisation of: hold up, this ain’t right.

effectively, their process of coming to terms with this--and each other--is somewhat messy. the first thing they do is talk to each other about it, which both of them find highly frustrating at first; but what they discover throughout this process is that, in essence, what one of them lacks the other one generally has--meaning that, together, they can counterbalance one another’s faults. for instance, what skekGra lacks in patience, urGoh has in spades; what urGoh lacks in drive, skekGra can likewise compensate. this leads to an additional realisation: the skeksis crave power, and the urRu yearn for enlightenment... but they’re both looking in the wrong place. they need each other to achieve their full potential.

with that framing, they feel pretty confident the others will see things their way... but, obviously they don’t. winners never quit, so urGoh and skekGra go back to the drawing board and decide to leave their trail of breadcrumbs for the gelfling while they vibe in the circle of the suns.

and some interesting stuff happens from there. during their time together, the once very polarised traits that existed in only one or the other become more evenly distributed between the two of them. for instance, skekGra gains a better grasp of concepts like remorse and empathy, and gradually becomes a kinder and more selfless person--but it doesn’t only go one way. urGoh also gains a lot of skekGra’s assertiveness, drive and even some of his worse tendencies such as spite. they are still their own distinct personalities (much to their dismay), but in many ways their sheer proximity to one another is “healing” their fractured personalities as best it can.

even moreso than other skeksis/urRu pairs, they are deeply connected; emotionally, spiritually and physically. while most skeksis/urRu share physical injuries, urGoh and skekGra often share even non-painful sensation as well as mental/emotional states. they also have a very powerful desire to be physically close to each other; at this stage, they are almost never apart, and separating them would be extremely traumatic. 

it’s been a long time, and they are still learning the parameters of their connection to one another, sometimes even actively experimenting with ways to feel closer. there are some personal traits that are a bit more fixed and difficult to overcome (i.e. urGoh’s extreme chillness and skekGra’s need for zoomies) but hey, give em another few hundred trine and they might just get there.