#( - words said shortly before disaster struck probably)

[markcampbells]

me: wow I really enjoy writing fics that are character studies

me, depressed at 8 AM: I really need to work on writing fluff

[nekoabiwrites]

The 5 Times Patton Tripped and the 1 Time Patton Fell (In Love)

Happy borthday @midnightsdarkangel​!!!

AU: Human Pairing: Moxiety Words: 3704 Warnings: Lots of tripping, brief mentions of pain. Anything else, please let me go.

Summary: Patton falls over a lot; always has, always will. But while he was used to it, that didn’t mean his new roommate and friend would immediately be okay with it.

--

Patton had always been clumsy. Ever since he was young, he’d been covered in so many little scrapes and bruises that his mother fondly nicknamed him ‘Dalmatian’. It continued well into his adult life and was just his normal; not once did he step out of his home without a plaster covering some sort of scratch. However, just because he was used to tripping so often, didn’t mean that everyone was used to seeing him falling to the ground.

It always happened in an instant. One second, he was upright and just fine. The next, his face was planted on the ground and something was stinging. Patton would simply laugh it off, pick himself up and continue on with his day. However, when he fell in front of his new roommate, Patton didn’t know that he wasn’t going to let it go so easily.

“Patton, oh my god. Are you okay? Are you hurt? That looked like it hurt a lot. Do you need help? What happened, oh god.” Virgil rambled in a single breath, falling to the ground beside his new friend.

Patton pushed himself up onto his knees, brushing the dirt off his hands. “I’m fine, I promise. Just a little fall, nothing big. I’m used to it.” He reassured him, though did wince slightly as the grazed skin moved in his attempt to stand. Patton went to brush the dirt from his leg, but Virgil’s hand gripped his wrist tightly before he could even get close.

“Don’t! You’ll get more dirt in it! There’s a bench a little down the street. Come sit. I’ll clean it. I have water in my backpack and some wipes, probably some tissues too.” The emo dragged Patton towards the bench as he continued to rattle off words. Patton didn’t have it in him to turn his friend down, so he simply did as he was told.

As Virgil was swinging his backpack over to unzip it, Patton glanced back to where he had pretty much made out with the pavement. He found that it was pretty flat, none of the stone were too out of place and made an obvious Patton-Hazard. Nothing around the area was showing as something that would be at fault either.

“Ow!” Patton yelped, flinching away from the damp tissue Virgil held.

“Sorry, but we need to get the dirt out…”

“Oh no, it’s okay! I didn’t mean to do that! I just wasn’t expecting it.” Patton reassured, relaxing more and giving Virgil his full attention. He still cringed when the damp tissue pressed against the graze, but Patton did his best not to worry his roommate even more.

Eventually, Virgil crumpled the tissue up in his fist and dropped the bottle back into his backpack, “It’s the best I can do for now. We should probably get back and put something over it though. Just to be safe. I’m gonna go put this in the bin over there, back in a sec.”

Patton nodded and went to stand back up, but something moving out of the corner of his eye caught his attention. Patton looked down at his feet, blinked for a moment and then sighed, “I swear my shoelaces were tied before… that was probably it.” He reached down to tie them again, but a sudden incredulous voice had him looking up.

“Are you serious? You think you tripped on your shoelaces?” Virgil asked, his eyes wide.

Patton shrugged, “I mean, yeah. I’ve done it loads of times. They just never wanna stay tied.” He pointed at the laces of his shoes and wagged his finger at them, as though he were a father scolding his child.

“Oh my god…” Virgil dropped to sit next to Patton on the bench, “Are you for real?”

The pastel-coloured man sat back up, finally having his laces sorted. He tilted his head in confusion, patting his body down, “Um, well… I think so?”

--

Virgil learnt quickly that Patton had a very special relationship with gravity. It seemed like it wanted nothing more than to have Patton be as horizontal as possible. He’d learnt that Patton had issues with walking on uneven surfaces, even surfaces… just generally walking anywhere. Patton’s biggest enemy, though, was stairs.

So, when they went to see a movie with some friends and they had to climb the steps to get to their seats, Virgil was already counting down the seconds until disaster.

Their two friends went first, making it up to the seats with absolutely no issues, as most normal people did. Virgil gestured for Patton to go up before him, just so he could see if and when his roommate was going to fall down. He counted each step.

One. Two.

It was going fine. He was halfway there. Maybe today was a good day and the universe would leave Patton alone.

Six. Seven. Ei-

Never mind.

The fall was spectacular. Since Patton was holding a full bucket of popcorn and his natural reaction was to throw his arms out to cushion the blow, the sound and sight of the snack falling all around him really made it look more dramatic than it was.

Virgil quickly hopped up the stairs, taking them two at a time. He crouched by Patton, offering a hand to help him to his feet. Patton got back up and looked down at the popcorn all around them, a slight wobble to his lower lip as the guilt punctured his heart.

Patton turned to his roommate, “I’m so sorry, Virgil.” He whispered, clearly trying not to let tears roll down his cheeks, “I shouldn’t have held that. I knew I was gonna fall. I just wasted it all.” He suddenly gasped and tried to push past to make his way back down the floor, but Virgil stopped him and steered the man into his seat. “Virge! Let me go! I need to go tell someone!”

“No.” Virgil responded firmly, pushing his own popcorn bucket into Patton’s grip, “That’s why I got two. And I’ll go find someone. You stay here. Logan, make sure he stays.” When their friend nodded, Virgil turned on his heel and sped back down the stairs. He quickly located the nearest usher, let them know what happened and made his way back to his screen. The lights had dimmed, and the adverts had started to play, so Virgil creeped back up the stairs and slipped into his seat beside Patton. Before he’d even had the chance to relax, a pair of hands gripped his hoodie sleeve.

Patton looked to be right on the edge of crying when Virgil turned to look at him. “Virgil, did you find someone? Is everything okay?” He whined pathetically, sniffling like a hurt child.

“Yes, I did. They said they clean it once the movie’s over. No one was mad.” Virgil whispered back, awkwardly patting Patton’s hands to try and be reassuring. After Patton smiled softly and turned back to looking at the screen, Virgil let out a silent breath he didn’t know he’d been holding.

--

“Virgil! Virgil! Come out here! Look, look!”

Virgil groaned and forced himself to sit up in bed. He checked the time on his phone, only to find it was around 8am, far too early for Virgil to be awake. But, the constant happy squealing noises from outside his room forced his hand and he slid out from under the covers, exiting his room in a sleepy haze, “What?” He grumbled, rubbing his eyes tiredly.

“PUPPY!” Patton held the dog up to Virgil’s face, causing the emo to yell suddenly in surprise and take a step back. “Sorry, I got really excited.” Patton had a light blush to his cheeks, but his grin still remained as large as ever as he petted the small animal.

“Right… um, so… why is there a dog here? You didn’t, like, get one without telling me, right?” Virgil tentatively asked, trying his best to hurt his incredibly sweet and cute roommate’s.

“Well…” Patton swayed back and forth, trying to pick his words carefully, “My mum’s friend is out of town for a bit and she needed someone to look after her dog. She asked my mum, but my mum is really busy and already has two dogs that she can just about look after and they don’t really like other dogs. And, well, long story short, I kinda said I could look after the dog for a while… and now she’s… here?” Patton offered with a sheepish grin.

Virgil looked between Patton and the dog for a moment, his sleep-addled brain trying to come up with something to say that wasn’t embarrassing. He eventually just shrugged and turned back to go into his room, “Whatever, just make sure it doesn’t destroy anything. I’m going back to bed.”

Patton let out a high-pitched squeal of happiness, “You’re the best, Virgil! I’ll make sure that she’s good!” He called out as the door shut behind his roommate, not allowing him to see the light blush the compliment put upon the emo’s cheeks.

A few uneventful days passed by with Patton fussing over the dog every second of every hour while Virgil awkwardly listened from either in his room or from the couch. It seemed like everything was going just perfectly. But then…

A loud squeal and yelp sounded, with several more noises that struck fear into the emo following shortly after. Virgil jumped to his feet, wrenched open the door and practically threw himself out into the living room. “PATTON?! Are you alright?!” His gaze trained downwards to the man sat on the ground before him, with the dog cautiously approaching him again.

Patton rubbed his butt while he smiled sheepishly, “I didn’t see her down there. I just fell back after I felt her on my foot. I’m okay!” As he started to collect up his belongings that had fallen from his grip, the dog had seemingly deemed Patton safe and started to jump up to lick his face again. It distracted him enough to drop his things back to the floor and just be reduced to pure giggles.

Virgil let out a sigh of relief and moved across the room to pick up Patton’s stuff, “Next time, just don’t carry so much crap with you. I don’t need another heart attack like that, okay?”

Patton nodded, holding the dog in his arms with a wide grin and shining eyes, as though he had the best life he could possibly ask for and hadn’t just fallen on his ass a few minutes ago. The sight had Virgil’s world stopping dead for a moment. Just enough for him to commit it to memory.

--

“And you tell me that my room is a mess…” Virgil quipped as he opened the door to his roommate’s bedroom.

“It’s not that bad!” Patton protested with a huff. He’d taken a few steps in and turned to stare at Virgil with a pout. It was hard enough to see where his feet were as there was a pile of clothes just in front of him, as well as other piles of random objects around the rest of the floor space. It had clearly been like this for a long time, as there seemed to be something akin to pathways running between the mess – going from the bed to the desk to the door to the window.

“Uh huh… sure.” Virgil carefully took his first steps into Patton’s room. “So, what was it you needed help with?” He asked, peering at all the pictures that littered the shelves closest to the door.

“Oh right!” Patton spun on his toes and wandered over to the tallest bookshelf, “Can you help me reach up there?” He pointed to the very top, “Something accidentally got up there and I can’t quite reach by myself…”

“I mean, I can try.” Virgil cautiously stepped around the rest of the mess and joined Patton just in front of the bookshelf. “How do you wanna do this? I’m not exactly that much taller than you. I could… maybe… try and lift you up to reach it, or something…”

Patton gasped, his eyes lighting up, “That’s perfect!” He grabbed Virgil’s arms and tugged him closer, “I didn’t even think of that!”

Virgil opened his mouth to ask how else he was supposed to help but thought better of it. He crouched down a little and wrapped his arms tightly around Patton’s legs, “Are you sure you’re okay with this?”

“Yup! I’m ready!” Both Patton’s hands were ready on Virgil’s shoulders, in case he needed to steady himself.

Carefully and slowly, Virgil stood, lifting his roommate up in the air. Patton’s grip on his shoulders was tight, but not entirely uncomfortable. It was a bit of a shock that Patton was as light as he was, and that Virgil was as strong as he was. Neither expected this to go so well. Patton, with a moment of hesitation, managed to reach up on top of the bookshelf and feel around for the missing object. The moment his hand came in contact with it, he gasped, “I got it!” He grabbed a hold of it tightly and pulled it close to his chest. At the same pace, Virgil dropped him back to the ground and let him go.

It was only once they’d fully parted that Virgil got a chance to see what it was.

“I’m afraid to ask why that stuffed cat was on top of the bookshelf, but I’m apparently too stupid to keep my mouth shut.” Virgil cocked his head, raising a questioning eyebrow.

Patton blushed and clutched the plush toy tighter, “It was an accident… We were dancing and just, all of a sudden, he went flying…”

“Dancing?”

“Yeah! Like this!”

Patton started to slow dance, holding the cat’s paw in his hand as though it was his dance partner. He twirled around the room, humming to himself. It was a little silly, but ultimately endearing. At least, it was for a while.

Somehow, a rogue bottle rolled into the space Patton was dancing in and got under his feet. In the moments he was going down, Patton’s eyes widened in fear and he reached out for the closest thing to try and keep himself upright. Unfortunately, the object he grabbed a hold of was not steady enough and both of them fell to the ground. Patton let out a pained squeak and shut his eyes tight as his head hit the floor, the blow only somewhat cushioned by the mess beneath it.

“Owww…” he whined, going to reach up to rub his head. It was stopped by something sorta squishy yet still firm. Patton’s brow furrowed as his hand grasped a hold of whatever it was that was in his way and his eyes opened, only to be met with a familiar pair of eyes underlined with dark eyeshadow. “Virgil…?”

The emo’s face was a deep red as his blush spread across his face. He opened and closed his mouth several times, his eyes darting between Patton’s face and the hand that was curled around his forearm. Eventually, Virgil managed to croak out a few words, though they were no louder than a whisper, “You… you okay?”

Patton muttered a gentle “yeah”, as he seemed to almost forget where he was, staring up into Virgil’s eyes. They seemed to be getting closer, but Patton couldn’t say if he was seeing things or not. They’d eventually get off the floor and have a long chat, but for now, this was fine. The pain was gone too.

--

Over time, Virgil had done everything he could to make sure anything that was a trip hazard was either removed or given more height. It did mean that the rug they had was now pretty much glued to the floor at the edges and the coffee table was like a mini dining table, but less injuries were far more beneficial.

Virgil was relaxing on the couch, watching some show for the umpteenth time while scrolling through his phone absent-mindedly. In the kitchen, he could hear the sound of the oven and dishwasher – both of which Virgil had been supervising helping with since Patton almost toppled over or walked into them whilst loading them up. Thankfully, they happened on separate occasions, but it was enough to have Virgil’s anxiety going crazy if Patton was alone in the kitchen too long. His roommate was currently in his room, on the phone with his family. It was a calm afternoon, something Virgil needed.

After a while, Patton’s phone call ended and he practically skipped out into the living area, ready to greet his roommate. He’d only gotten so far as to open his mouth, when his foot caught on his other and he went plummeting to the ground.

Thankfully, he’d been close to the couch when his feet got all tangled together.

Patton’s landing was cushioned by Virgil’s hands and his face pretty much ended up directly in the emo’s lap. His cheeks flushed a soft pink as he raised his head to smile up at the man on the couch, “Whoops, sorry about that…” However, Patton didn’t move from the position – other than tucking his legs under himself so he was more comfortable. His head rested back down onto Virgil’s lap and Patton relaxed, one of the hands that had caught him now gently running through his hair.

Virgil let out a playful sigh, “What are we gonna do with you?”

“Hmm, I dunno. Sure you’ll figure it out though.” Patton reached up and interlocked his fingers with Virgil’s free hand, pulling it close enough that he could place a soft kiss upon the metal band.

“You might be a lost cause, but we’ve got plenty of time to find that out…” Virgil’s voice was low as he looked down at the man resting in his lap, a gentle smile tugging at his lips.

--

Patton was positively giddy with excitement. He’d not been able to stop smiling since the moment he woke up. His day had been absolutely magical, something he’d treasure for years to come. He felt stunning in his gorgeous, tailor-made white dress with flowing long sleeves and soft makeup, all complimented wonderfully by his partner’s darker tastes as they stood side-by-side.

Finally, he was in his partner’s arms, slowly swaying to the music. Nothing over-the-top, no spinning or twirling, no choreography – much to their friends’ dismay and frustration - just a sweet moment for a sweet couple. At least, that was what Patton thought was going to happen.

All of a sudden, his hand was grasped tightly, and three words were whispered into his ear.

“Hold on tight.”

Patton had no time to even ask what that meant before he heard the song change and he was spun out and back in. He could only laugh in surprise, when he caught the playful glint in Virgil’s eyes and they both started to dance with more purpose. It was still far from choreographed, but it didn’t matter to them.

Patton’s smile had widened into a grin as he continued to laugh. Once more, as the end of the song approached, he was spun out and back, but this time he felt his weight tipping backwards. He squealed in shock, reaching up for Virgil with his free hand and grabbing a hold of his shoulder. Patton didn’t even reach the floor, however. Instead, he felt his weight being supported by Virgil’s arm beneath him.

“Gotcha.” Virgil said quietly with a grin. His partner burst into giggles and Virgil returned him upright, wrapping him in a loose hug.

“That wasn’t fair, Virge!” Patton jokingly chastised his new husband as they took their seats at the head table with the rest of their wedding party.

Virgil simply shrugged, “You’d fall at some point today anyway. Why not get a head start?”

“Virgil!” Patton whispers, lightly tapping against his arm with the back of his hand causing them both to smile at each other.

Later, once the speeches had concluded and food had been served, Virgil was looking over to his now-husband. He’d been under strict instruction from Patton’s mother to keep as close to Patton as he could for the duration of the wedding and reception, in order to save him if he tripped over. Not only to avoid him any embarrassment, but also save the pristine white dress from any dirt so the pictures would look good. But, it was bound to happen at some point during the reception. Patton was going to find some way to end up falling over and he would probably scuff the dress up a little bit. Patton would immediately feel so awful about ruining it, even if it could just be dry-cleaned later. So, Virgil had concocted a plan.

He purposefully grabbed his drink with more force than necessary, causing a few drops to spill over the edge and at least one tiny splotch to appear on Patton’s dress. Virgil gasped exaggeratedly in order to grab Patton’s attention, “Oh my god. I’m so sorry, Patton. I spilt my drink on your dress…”

Patton looked down and noticed the little mark, “You didn’t. It’s just a tiny little mark, it’ll be fine!” He cheerily reassured his partner, who shook his head.

“No, no… I really did ruin it. It’s no longer… perfect. I’m so sorry.” Virgil emphasised that it was his fault.

The cogs clicked in place and Patton’s expression slowly turned to one of understanding, “Ohhh…” he breathed out as his smile returned, “Well, it’s still okay. No harm done to either of us, right?” Patton winked unsubtly.

“Yeah, no harm at all.” Virgil pressed a kiss to Patton’s cheek before returning to his food.

Patton couldn’t help but stare at his husband for a moment. This man had gone from fretting and worrying about Patton’s little falls and trips to making sure that Patton wouldn’t be upset with the consequences of a little stumble on their wedding day. It was enough to make him fall all over again, and this fall wasn’t one he’d ever want to pick himself up from.

--

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Haikyuu Masterlist

Toru Oikawa x F!Reader

Song ~ Wedding Dress by Levi Hummon

Warning - Swearing maybe? I can’t remember ＼(≧▽≦)／

Fluff SFW

Word Count ~ 2.6k

Part 1 <you are here>| Part 2 | Part 3

Posted 09/07/20

July 16th, 2018. That was the day that Toru Oikawa stood proudly next to his best friend Hajime Iwaizumi as his best man. 

"What if she's changed her mind and ran away? That she thinks marrying me is a huge mistake." Oikawa rolled his eyes at his best friend, in all the years he had known him he has never seen his best friend this anxious, not even in a volleyball game against a powerhouse school back in high school if anything, it was Iwa trying to calm Oikawa. The poor lad was all jittery. 

"I wouldn't worry so much, you know Y/n is there with Emiko, and we both know how much she loves you. Y/n will get her here on time, and the second you see her in that stunning white dress, you will cry." Oikawa stepped forward, smoothing out the white shirt before straightening out his mint blue tie and peach coloured rose corsage. 

"Remember if it weren't for you and Emiko, I would not have met Y/n and fallen for her. Y/n will not let anything happen to Emiko; no a hair will be out of a place or an eyelash on her cheek, we owe the pair of you too much for matching us up so your wedding today will be flawless." Oikawa gave his confident smile and patted his best friend on his shoulder, Iwaizumi slipped his hand in his mint blue slacks as he closed his eyes, taking a deep breath. 

Fishing his phone out of his pocket, Oikawa spotted that it was only a couple of minutes to one, the ceremony would begin shortly. He spotted the text on his screen from Y/n - on our way see you soon (♡ω♡)

He smiled at the message before; sending back his own kaomoji o(>ω<)o, the pair were obsessed with sending kaomojis back and forth.

Locking his screen again before smiling at the photo, it was one of his favourites taking by Emiko herself. It was taken back last year when the four of them went to the beach to celebrate their engagement. Oikawa was giving Y/n a piggyback, his hands under her thighs, they were both in their swimwear, soak from swimming in the sea. Y/n had one arm wrapped around his shoulder with the other outstretched in from of them as she threw up the peace sign. Her h/c thrown up in a messy beach swept ponytail, her chin resting on his shoulder with a broad playful closed-eyed smile spread across her lips, Oikawa could see his matching grin spread across his face as his head was leant against hers. 

He loved that photo. She was showing off her natural beauty. No makeup or hair done up just right, with the tiny scar above her right eyebrow, he couldn't see it in the photo, but he knew it was there, he knew it was from a childhood accident of that one time she fell out of a tree when she was playing with her brothers. He knew all the scars, and where they were, his fingers had traced them all, knowing all the different childhood stories behind, ranging from messing around with her brothers to the one of her breaking her arm and the bone sticking out when she fell rock climbing. 

"Oi Shittykawa." Iwaizumi hissed bring the love-struck boy out of his memories and back into the church. "She's seriously got you wrapped that tightly around her fingers, huh." He stated as he hit the old Seijoh captain around the back of the head. 

"Ow! Iwa-chan that hurts!" Oikawa grumbled as he slipped his phone back into the pocket of his mint blue slacks, before rubbing the sore spot on the back of his head, but he was glad that Iwaizumi wasn't quite as nervous as before, "You're being vulgar again." 

From behind him, he could hear Matsukawa and Hanamaki stifling there laughs at the pair, he sent a glare over his shoulder to the two groomsmen, who were wearing white shirts with peach coloured slacks with matching ties and corsages. 

Before either of them could comment, the music began to play, the guest stood. All turned towards the door, Oikawa could not help but smile as he watched Takeru walk down the aisle as the ring bearer in his outfit matching the two groomsmen. Next to him was (niece's name) dressed in a tea-length peach coloured ball gown dress. It was so cute to watch them walk along together, (niece's name) throwing little flower petals as she walked, Takeru proudly carrying the wooden box with the glass window in the lid showing the rings sat on the velvet mint coloured pillow. Next, to walk along was Emiko other two bridesmaids, wearing peach coloured a-line asymmetrical chiffon dresses with a sweetheart's neck. Their hair was curled, and a half was styled back, each holding a small bouquet of peach roses in their hands. Oikawa knew who was next, it was his beloved, he knew she would be wearing mint blue to match him, but he had no clue what dress she would be wearing. 

Emiko and Iwaizumi, well mostly Emiko, had decided they wanted a peach and mint summer wedding, the groomsmen and bridesmaids would be in peach while the maid of honour and the best man along with the bride and groom would be in mint. Well, Emiko would be in white, but she would have accents of mint to her hair and in her bouquet.

When Y/n stepped through the door, Oikawa could do nothing but stare. She looked stunning in her floor-length a-line dress. He loved the sweetheart neckline and the way the sleeves were off the shoulder. He loved the way the chiffon fell and made it look like she was gliding along the floor, the peach coloured roses of her bouquet stood out against the mint blue of her dress. Her hair was tied back into an intricate bun, and she donned a light layer of makeup that brought out her sparkling crystal-like e/c eyes.

Their eyes locked with one another's and she gave him a gentle smile, she took her place on the bride's side of the aisle, giving him a wink before Y/n looked down the aisle with a proud look. Oikawa's eye's flickered to the doorway where Emiko was stood in her pure white lace ballgown dress, with a v-neck neckline. Her hair was in an even more intricate way with braids and curls going into a bun, with mint blue gems weaved into her hair before they flickered to Iwaizumi. Oikawa could see the tears welling Iwaizumi's eyes as he saw the love of his life stood there with her father ready to walk down and to give her to him for the rest of lives together. 

The ceremony was beautiful. Oikawa's eyes would continuously flicker to where Y/n was stood and back to the bride wonder what she would look like in a wedding dress. He wanted to see that; he knew he was going to marry her one day. Still, the pair had agreed to take it slow, they didn't want to rush a thing, and with Oikawa being a professional Volleyball player for Argentina it was hard enough for him to have this time off for the wedding. 

The wedding breakfast was great, filled with great food, booze and of course the speeches, Oikawa teasing the newlyweds but also congratulating and thanking them both for setting him up with Y/n. 

He would quite often see Y/n tear up at the speeches and when Iwaizumi and Emiko did there thank you speech and handed out the presents to their parents and the wedding party. Emiko was especially thankful for Y/n, "Honestly Y/n if it wasn't for you I think this wedding would have been a disaster, you kept me grounded through all of this, if I were having a meltdown you would be on a flight from Argentina to me that night, I don't know how many times you did that-"

"She did it thirteen times we had a travel case sat by the front door of our flat ready~" Oikawa interjected with a smirk winking at Niko.

"Don't worry I spent his money on the flights~" Y/n smiled as she leaned into Oikawa's side planting a kiss on his cheek as he fake gasped at the fact she stated. The room laughed at the couple. 

"Toru you a professional volleyball player, get over it! Anyway, if it weren't for you Y/n I would have probably thrown in the towel and cancelled everything on many of occasion, so I must also thank you Toru for letting your girlfriend come and help me at the drop of a hat and fly back here to Japan. Honestly, if it weren't for you two, this wedding wouldn't have been a disaster." Emiko grinned, raising her champagne glass "To Y/n and Toru!" 

"To Y/n and Toru!" The room chorused after her, the toasted pair stood there with there arms wrapped around each other, and there own champagne glasses in hand, Y/n rested her head against his chest as Oikawa planted a kiss on the top of her head as he whispered: "I love you, baby girl."

The first dance was beautiful, just Iwaizumi and Emiko slow dancing across the dance floor to I'll Be by Edwin McCain now and again Iwaizumi would twirl her around. They were whispering to each other. Both grinning, ever now and again kissing, either on the cheek or lips or in Iwaizumi's case her forehead too. Once again, Y/n was cuddled into Oikawa's side, holding her newly filled champagne glass to her chest as she smiled the tears welling up again.

Oikawa was happily chatting away to his old Seijoh teammates. He wasn't sure where Y/n was she said something about catching up with her old high school friends. His ears pricked up at the sound of the music, Oh, Pretty Woman by Roy Orbison was playing. Knowing how much Y/n loved this song from the movie Pretty Women, his eye's drifted to the dance floor, where he instantly found the bridal party and their high school friends dancing together singing along. Y/n and Emiko were doing some kind of ballroom dancing, their hands linked together spinning around and laughing, he loved this side of her, she was just having fun and letting loose not caring what people thought of her and her dancing. The next song to come one was Love is Strange by Mickley and Sylvia. Oikawa sighed he knew the DJ was playing the song from Dirty Dancing and he knew them all seeing as Y/n loved that movie as well. Their eyes lock at a certain point, and they both smirked.

'Sylvia~' Oikawa lip-synced to the song. 

'Yes, Mickey?' Y/n hip swayed to the song as she slowly, swaying her hips as she moved closer to him.

'How ya call your loverboy?' He was leaning against the pillar, knowing that his old teammates and her friends were watching

'Come here, loverboy!' using her head to signal from him to come to her. 

'And if he doesn't answer?' He smirked grew 

'Oh, lover boy?' giving him big doe eyes, her hands linked behind her back trying to look innocent, still quite a bit away from him

'And if he still doesn't answer?' He pushed himself off the pillar

'I smiply say, baaaaby' She couldn't help but giggle at him when he did the air guitar to the song.

'Ooooohhhh, baaaaabbyyy' Now stood toe to toe both laughing at Oikawa as he continued to do the air guitar. 

'My sweet baabbyy, you're the one' Planting a kiss on his lips before returning to the girls on the dance floor. 

"Damn you are whipped, aren't ya!" Yahaba laughed patting his shoulder, he just shrugged, he knew he was and he did not care, he loved her wholeheartedly. He continued to watch her on the dance floor once again thinking back to how he wanted to see her in a wedding dress, maybe it was the champagne going to his head, but he wonders if he just went up to her right now and went down on one knee, would she say yes? 

Y/n continued to dance with Emiko before they disappeared out the door so Emiko could change into her evening dress, something a little lighter and more comfortable to wear. 

Later into the evening, Oikawa's eyes locked onto Iwaizumi walking up to the DJ, he didn't miss the smirk that Iwaizumi sent his way. Not long after Iwaizuki walked away, a song began to play that Oikawa instantly recognised. It was his and Y/n song, I Was Made For Loving you by Tori Kelly began to play, he's eyes darted around the room looking for his beloved, he felt a hand on his arm. He grinned, taking her hand in his placing a kiss on her knuckles. 

"Come dance with me," She asked, placing his drink down on the table next to them. He smiled as and followed after her to the dance floor, her left arm wrapped around his right shoulder, and his left arm was gently wrapped around her waist and their free hands conjoined, Oikawa held them to his chest, her head placed gently against his chest as well. They both had gentle smiles on their face as they slow danced on the floor. They didn't see the looks on Emiko, and Iwaizumi faces as they watched the pair, it was just them on the dance floor. 

"We did a good match with those two." Emiko smiled her head resting on Iwaizumi's shoulder. 

"That we did, I think when you throw the bouquet, aim it at Y/n." Iwaizumi commented.

"I already had that planned." The newly wedded couple smirked at each other. 

It was nearly midnight when the after-party started to wrap up, the couple were heading off on their honeymoon, but first, it was time to throw the bouquet. As Emiko said she was going to aim for her best friend, she wanted to see her married to Oikawa; she wanted their children to grow up together and be best friends, even if they would be in different countries. 

Turning her back to the group of girls, Emiko looked over her shoulder, winking at Y/n before she threw the bouquet over her head.

Oikawa was praying that she would catch it, he wanted to propose to her all night, he already planned to buy a ring when they get back to Argentina.

The peach coloured rose flew through the air and landed perfectly into Y/n outstretched hands. Y/n eyes met Oikawa's as he gave her a look that said well we're going to have to now, the blush flushed Y/n cheeks, as she made her way back towards him, cradling the bouquet in her arms.

Iwaizumi and Emiko smirked to one another, knowing they had worked there magic once again, they knew it wouldn't be long till Oikawa would propose now, knowing he wanted to all day anyway, they could tell by the way he looked at her. 

"I'll gladly be your matron of honour," Emiko said nudging Y/n arm as they joined the blushing couple. 

"Give me a shout when you need a best man." Iwaizumi lightly punched Oikawa shoulder as he smirked. "I've already got bits of the speech planned." Catching the scared look that crossed Oikawa's cause the other three to laugh.

"So, if I asked you, would you say yes?" Oikawa asked as his arms snaked around her waist once again. 

After that, there were lots of goodbyes, and even more congratulations as Emiko and Iwaizumi left on their Italian road trip honeymoon. 

"Blue topaz~" Was all Y/n said as he placed a butterfly kiss against his cheek, waving after the car as it drove away.

Part 1 <you are here>| Part 2 | Part 3

©️ All content  belongs to lilmissbeanie, do not copy, edit, repost or translate. 

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[give-me-back-my-rhodey]

Let’s Burn the World Down - AUgust Day 6

Title: Let’s Burn the World Down

Author: Purple_ducky00

Rating: Teen

Relationship: Clint Barton/Tony Stark, Background relationships: Bucky/Natasha, Steve/Sam

Link: Read on AO3

Summary: Tony falls in love with the guy he keeps meeting in the ER. Too bad the guy already has a girlfriend... or does he?

+++++++++++

For a billionaire, Tony has to go to the hospital very often. Whether it’s a lab accident, a car accident, an assassination attempt, and/or anything else, Tony finds himself in the ER at least once a month. His insurance is higher than his standards, which isn’t saying much, Tony surmises, because he’s halfway in love with the guy he sees almost every time he goes.

 They’ve seen each other so frequently that they’ve started nodding to each other and saying, “What are you in for?” like they do in the movies at the police station.

 Although he’s being truthful, Tony knows that most of his incidents sound very made up. “Oh, they sent someone to assassinate me, but I managed to flirt my way out of it with only a stab wound.” “My lab exploded.” “My robot dropped a steel sheet on my foot.” “I tripped on something and fell off my porch to the porch below.” But he is even more disbelieving of this man’s injuries.

The guy says stuff like “I shot myself with a boomerang arrow.” “I was skydiving with my dog and my parachute got caught on a tree branch, and an eagle attacked me.” “I think that pizza I ate was too old.” “My old circus buddy tried to kill me. He failed.” “I fell out of the vents, and the bad guys beat me up.”

 Today Tony comes in because he had to jump through a window to avoid Sunset Bain. He now has glass sticking out of his side, and he’s sitting calmly until a doctor can see him. The man limps in, bloody and skin mangled on his leg. The others in the ER gasp as he signs in and takes a seat beside Tony. “Hey man, what you in for?” He asks.

 “Jumped out a window to avoid my ex.”

 “Mood.” The man nods sagely. “I just battled a cougar and won. Before you ask, yes it was the cat kind, although I don’t doubt that a middle-aged woman couldn’t do this if she was rejected.” He gestures to his leg. Tony barks out a laugh.

 “Oh, they could. Trust me. By the way, I never got your name. Or did you want to stay anonymous?” Tony asks.

 The man shakes his head. “We’d go great no matter how we do it. Name’s Clint.”

 “I’m Tony.”

“Yea, I know.” When Tony looks at him, surprised, Clint pats his shoulder placatingly. “You’ve got these people fooled with your greasy shirts and hats, but I never forget a face. Don’t worry, I won’t rat you out. But why do you come to this crappy ER all the time? Aren’t you supposed to go to the ones that are made for rich people?”

 Tony shrugs. Truthfully, the first couple time he came, it was because he had happened to be in the neighborhood when disaster struck. He had struck up conversation with Clint, and he decided that if he were able to talk with him, Tony would keep coming to this ER. “I don’t know. I’m in the area a lot, I guess.”

 Tony gets that he has problems. He knows that he quickly falls in love with anyone who will show him kindness or even just the time of day because he didn’t get enough love and attention from his parents as a child. He goes to therapy, and he does make an effort to figure out which people are being nice only because they want something, which people are just simply being nice, and which people are flirting. It’s still hard sometimes, like now. He doesn’t think Clint wants something because 1.) he just said that he won’t rat Tony out and 2.) he could have taken Tony’s wallet very easily many times. But is Clint just a nice dude, or does he like Tony?

 A nurse gets Tony just as another comes for Clint. Tony lies on his side for far too long as they pull glass from his body. When he’s cleared to go, the doctor tells him, “You have to be more careful, Mr. Stark. You’re not invincible, and I’d hate to see anything happen to you.”

 “Thanks Doc. I’ll do my best.” He shakes the man’s hand.

 On his way out, he sees Clint talking to a beautiful redhead. She is reaming him out in Russian, calling him and idiot and a few other unsanitary words. Clint tries to console her, but she grabs his hand and pushes him into her car. She speeds off, still shouting in Russian. Tony’s heart drops. He has no chance with Clint now. No one would give up a woman like her for him unless they wanted something.

 The next time Tony gets hurt, he goes to the ER near his home. He is in and out shortly, but Tony feels incomplete. He misses the easy camaraderie with Clint. I can still joke with him as friends, right? There’s no harm in that. He reasons, but he chickens out the next time, when he accidentally burns his arm with his blowtorch, and then when he gets shot. This keeps happening until it has been at least three months since he last saw Clint.

 Tony gets drunk in a bar | in Brooklyn. Very, very drunk. The thing about being a Stark – you can hold your liquor very well, and even when you are so drunk most people black out, you can still walk and talk albeit hindered a little. Well, Tony is that drunk, and this is when he tends to overshare. He’s telling the bartender, a beefy man with long brown hair, about Clint. “So, there’s this guy, you know. Only time I see him is when I go to the ER. He’s really cute, he’s got like tons of biceps, and he’s funny. We used to see each other all the time, and I think I love him. But one time, I saw him, and he had a girlfriend. Super, smoking hot redhead – like I don’t even stand a chance. So, I’ve been avoiding him. It’s dumb because he doesn’t know I like him, and I keep convincing myself that I can still talk to him as friends and such, but then my brain just tells me he has a girlfriend, and I end up going to an ER near my house. You know?”

 “Not really.” The bartender grins. “But I’m not an ER regular.”

“That’s too bad. It’s fun there sometimes.” Tony pats his hand somberly. “Sometimes we freak people out with our injuries. But we’re calm. It happens so much that we’re just like ‘meh’.  The doctor told me to be careful because I wasn’t invincible, and I was like ‘ok, I’ll tell my enemies to stop trying to kill me. I hope it works.’”

 The bartender throws back his hand and laughs. Tony drains his glass of Scotch and asks for another. “Don’t you think you’ve had enough?” The bartender asks. What was his name? Barney? Barn?

 “Barnes!” Yells someone from the other end of the bar. “I need a mimosa stat!”

 “Shut your whore mouth Wilson!” Barnes yells back. “I’m not serving you anything after what you and Steve put me though last night!” He turns back to Tony. “The dude’s dating my step-brother, and our walls aren’t soundproofed. I hate them so much.”

 “I could soundproof your walls for you.” Tony offers. He’s not sure why he offered, but he did. It’s not like he hasn’t done it before.

 “Thanks for the offer, but Nat and I will get them back at some point. Maybe we’ll do it on the couch.” Barnes grins. “Someone else can make Sam’s mimosa. Wanda’s working that end of the bar anyways.” He gives Tony one more Scotch and says, “This is your last one. I’m going to have to cut you off because I don’t want you to die.”

 Tony quietly sips on his drink while Barnes makes other drinks. Once done, he stuffs a few hundreds in the tip jar and turns to leave when a scarlet-haired woman sits on the stool beside him. Tony blinks at her for a second, thinking that she looks familiar. Barnes’ face lights up, and he comes over to her. “Hey, come here often?” He asks, fake seductively.

 “Don’t be an idiot,” She tells him and pulls his face in for a kiss. Tony realizes why he thinks she looks familiar. She’s Clint’s girlfriend!

He spins on his stool to face them. “You bitch!” He yells at her, then clamps a hand over his mouth as Barnes growls a warning. “I am so sorry. I don’t know your situation. You could have broken up with him, or hey, you’re a threesome, or an open relationship. I’m sorry. I was just caught up… and I’ll just go.”

 Tony stumbles off the stool and heads out of the bar. Mind swirling with liquor and shame, he doesn’t notice he’s in the street or the ugly purple car headed towards him until it’s too late. Frozen, he stares down the lights until the car smacks into him.

 Lying on the ground, the last thing he remembers is a person jumping out and yelling, “What are you doing, you idiot? Tony?”

 Tony wakes up in a strange place. He feels like he should be in the hospital, but he’s not. Looking around, he sees a lot of… purple. “Ugh, no one should have this much purple anything,”

 “I take offense to that.” A voice says. Wait… that’s Clint. Tony wildly tries to sit up, and Clint comes into his line of vision. “Hey, hey lie back down! I don’t think anything’s broken, but you should probably just let your body rest for a while.”

 “What happened?”

 “I hit you with my car because you were standing in the middle of the street. Why were you standing in the middle of the street?” Clint looks worried.

 Tony tries to wave him off. “You know, just for the thrill.”

 “Tony, most things I do are just for the thrill, and I know it’s idiotic to stand in the middle of the street.”

 “Yeah well, the thing I did before it was idiotic, too, so I’m pretty good at that.” Tony sighs. He doesn’t really want to get into it because Clint will probably make him leave. Tony’s good at leaving. Everyone makes him leave after they learn his true self. Ah, well, what does he have to lose but the love of his life?

 “So, last time we were both at the ER, I saw the woman who picked you up. I guess I just figured you were dating the way you both interacted with each other,” Tony explains. “Well, at the bar last night, she came in and made out with the bartender. I called her a bitch because my first thought was that she was cheating on you. Then I remembered that it had been three months, and I didn’t really know anything about you – you might have broken up, or were poly, or open relationship. Point is, I’m an idiot who speaks before he thinks then faces the consequences, even if they’re not direct.” He is very confused when Clint starts to laugh. “What’s so funny?”

 “I can’t believe you called Natasha a bitch and still live to tell the story.” Clint says between gasps. “That’s fuckin hilarious. I am sorry that I hit you with my car.”

 Tony is thoroughly confused, and Clint takes pity on him. “Natasha is dating Bucky, the bartender. She’s my best friend and confidante. She gets angry when I do stupid things, but I still do them. We are not dating, never have, and never will. Hopefully, that clears things up.”

 “A little.” Tony just feels disoriented. This is not something he has ever had to deal with before.  

 There’s a knock at the door. This “Natasha” pokes her head in. “Hey Clint, is he ok?”

 “Yea, come in. Tony meet Natasha Romanoff. Natasha, this is Tony Stark.” Clint gestures to the both of them.

 Natasha smirks. “Hi Tony.”

 “Hi,” He says weakly. “I’m sorry for calling you a bitch. I sometimes talk before I think, and I’m sorry.”

 “Just don’t do it again. Are you guys hungry? Bucky’s making blini.”

 Clint nods. “Tell him I love him. We’ll take two plates. You like blini, right?” He directs the question at Tony.

 “I think so. I’ve only had them once or twice,” Tony says. When Natasha leaves, he tells Clint, “You don’t have to stay with me. I’ll be fine.”

 “Well this is my room, so I want to stay here. By the way, how have you been? I haven’t seen you in a while. I was starting to think you took my fancy ER comment seriously.”

 Tony grimaces. “Well, it’s a long story. But I did end up going to the ER near my house a couple times. It’s hard to get no injuries in the stuff I do.”

 “Well, I don’t blame you for going to the uber fancy ERs, you know, because there’s better service or whatever. But if you do, can we hang out somewhere other than the ER, then? I kind of missed you, man.” Clint looks at Tony earnestly.

 “The main reason I stopped going to our ER is that I saw you with Natasha and thought, ‘how could I ever compete?’ I would tell myself to just go. I could talk to you as a friend, and not me crushing on you, but I always psyched myself out when I got hurt, and I just went to the ER by my house.”

 “You’re crushing on me? Wow. I did not know that. I crushed on you the first day I saw you, and I thought you were just being nice. I’m a dumpster fire on my best days.”

 Tony shoots him a wicked grin. “Then let’s burn down the world together.” 

[newstfionline]

Thursday, March 4, 2021

The ‘free world’ keeps shrinking (NYT) Three-quarters of the people on earth live in countries where freedom is declining. That’s one of the grim takeaways in an annual report produced by Freedom House, the Washington-based pro-democracy think tank and watchdog. This year’s survey, published Wednesday, marked the 15th consecutive year of global democratic backsliding—“a long democratic recession,” in the organization’s words, that is “deepening.” Freedom House grades individual countries on 25 indicators that evaluate the health of a given nation’s democracy (or lack thereof). The cumulative score then enables the organization, which has been in operation since 1941, to rank a given country as “Free,” “Partly Free,” or “Not Free.” Of the 195 independent countries evaluated, 73 saw aggregate score declines and only 28 saw growth. That margin is the widest of its kind in the past decade and a half. Moreover, 54 countries are now labeled “Not Free,” or about 38 percent of the world’s population, the highest share since 2005. Less than 20 percent of the world’s population lives in countries now classified as “Free.”

Vaccine Passports, Covid’s Next Political Flash Point (NYT) The next major flash point over coronavirus response has already provoked cries of tyranny and discrimination in Britain, protests in Denmark, digital disinformation in the United States and geopolitical skirmishing within the European Union. The subject of debate: vaccine passports—government-issued cards or smartphone badges stating that the bearer has been inoculated against the coronavirus. The idea is to allow families to reunite, economies to restart and hundreds of millions of people who have received a shot to return to a degree of normalcy, all without spreading the virus. Some versions of the documentation might permit bearers to travel internationally. Others would allow entry to vaccinated-only spaces like gyms, concert venues and restaurants. While such passports are still hypothetical in most places, Israel became the first to roll out its own last week, capitalizing on its high vaccination rate. Several European countries are considering following. President Biden has asked federal agencies to explore options. And some airlines and tourism-reliant industries and destinations expect to require them.

US infrastructure gets C- from engineers as roads stagnate (AP) America’s infrastructure has scored near-failing grades for its deteriorating roads, public transit and storm water systems due to years of inaction from the federal government, the American Society of Civil Engineers reports. Its overall grade: a mediocre C-. In its “Infrastructure Report Card” released Wednesday, the group called for “big and bold” relief, estimating it would cost $5.9 trillion over the next decade to bring roads, bridges and airports to a safe and sustainable level. That’s about $2.6 trillion more than what government and the private sector already spend. “America’s infrastructure is not functioning as it should, and families are losing thousands of dollars a year in disposable income as a result of cities having to fix potholes, people getting stuck in traffic or due to repairs when a water line breaks or the energy grid goes down,” said Greg DiLoreto, one of the group’s past presidents.

Pandemic puts 1 in 3 nonprofits in financial jeopardy (AP) More than one-third of U.S. nonprofits are in jeopardy of closing within two years because of the financial harm inflicted by the viral pandemic, according to a study being released Wednesday by the philanthropy research group Candid and the Center for Disaster Philanthropy. The study’s findings underscore the perils for nonprofits and charities whose financial needs have escalated over the past year, well in excess of the donations that most have received from individuals and foundations. The researchers analyzed how roughly 300,000 nonprofits would fare under 20 scenarios of varying severity. The worst-case scenario led to the closings of 38% of the nonprofits. Even the scenarios seen as more realistic resulted in closures well into double digit percentages. “If you are a donor who cares about an organization that is rooted in place and relies on revenue from in-person services, now is the time probably to give more,” said Jacob Harold, Candid’s executive vice president.

Biden Sanctions Russia Over Navalny Poisoning (Foreign Policy) The United States imposed sanctions Tuesday on a number of Russian individuals and entities linked to the poisoning of Russian opposition figure Alexei Navalny. The move was made in concert with the European Union, which issued separate asset freezes and travel bans on four Russians. The Russian Foreign Ministry has brushed off the impact of the moves, while threatening a reciprocal response. “Irrespective of America’s ‘sanctions addiction,’ we will continue to consistently and decisively defend our national interests, rebuffing any aggression. We urge our colleagues not to play with fire,” Maria Zakharova, a Russian foreign ministry spokeswoman, said on Wednesday. According to White House officials, more U.S. sanctions targeting Russians involved in the SolarWinds hack, the alleged bounty program on U.S. soldiers in Afghanistan, and Russian interference in the 2020 election are expected soon.

Biden’s Afghan dilemma (The New Yorker) Afghanistan presents Joe Biden with one of the most immediate and vexing problems of his Presidency. If he completes the military withdrawal, he will end a seemingly interminable intervention and bring home thousands of troops. But, if he wants the war to be considered anything short of an abject failure, the Afghan state will have to be able to stand on its own.

Greece: Thousands spend night outdoors after powerful quake (AP) Fearful of returning to their homes, thousands of people in central Greece were spending the night outdoors late Wednesday after a powerful earthquake, felt across the region, damaged homes and public buildings. The shallow, magnitude-6.0 quake struck near the central city of Larissa. One man was hurt by falling debris but no serious injuries were reported. Officials reported structural damage, mainly to old houses and buildings that saw walls collapse or crack. One of them was a primary school, stone-built in 1938, in the quake-hit village of Damasi where 63 students were attending classes. “The teachers kept their cool and the pupils stuck to the emergency drill, and everyone got out okay,” headmaster Grigoris Letsios said while on a video call with Greek Prime Minister Kyriakos Mitsotakis. The army set up tents and meal counters at a nearby soccer field as local officials urged people to remain outside their homes until they could be inspected. A series of powerful aftershocks of up to 5.2 magnitude kept many residents on edge.

Indian Government Regulation Squeezes Christian Charities (CT) For Christians trying to care for the poor in India, there is always a need for more prayer, more hands, and more money. Much of that money comes from donors in other countries. Recently, though, Prime Minister Narendra Modi’s government has tightened regulations on foreign funding to nonprofits, including Christian groups that feed orphans, run hospitals, and educate children. Since Modi took office in 2014, the Indian government has revoked permission for more than 16,000 nongovernmental organizations to receive foreign funding, using the Foreign Contribution Regulation Act (FCRA). “It is deliberately an assault against the nonprofit sector,” said Vijayesh Lal, the general secretary of the Evangelical Fellowship of India, “and that includes the churches.” While the FCRA is not designed specifically to target Christian groups, experts say its cumbersome regulations have been used by the ruling parties in India to stifle political and religious dissidents since the law’s adoption in 1976.

Intense preparations before pontiff meets Iraqi ayatollah (AP) In Iraq’s holiest city, a pontiff will meet a revered ayatollah and make history with a message of coexistence in a place plagued by bitter divisions. One is the chief pastor of the world-wide Catholic Church, the other a pre-eminent figure in Shiite Islam whose opinion holds powerful sway on the Iraqi street and beyond. Their encounter will resonate across Iraq, even crossing borders into neighboring, mainly Shiite Iran. Pope Francis and Grand Ayatollah Ali al-Sistani are to meet on Saturday for at most 40 minutes, part of the time alone except for interpreters, in the Shiite cleric’s modest home in the city of Najaf. Every detail was scrutinized ahead of time in painstaking, behind-the-scenes preparations that touched on everything from shoes to seating arrangements. For Iraq’s dwindling Christian minority, a show of solidarity from al-Sistani could help secure their place in Iraq after years of displacement—and, they hope, ease intimidation from Shiite militiamen against their community. Iraqi officials in government, too, see the meeting’s symbolic power—as does Tehran. The 90-year-old al-Sistani has been a consistent counterweight to Iran’s influence. With the meeting, Francis is implicitly recognizing him as the chief interlocutor of Shiite Islam over his rival, Iranian Supreme Leader Ali Khamenei.

Pentagon: US contractor dies in rocket attack at Iraq base (AP) A U.S. contractor died Wednesday when at least 10 rockets slammed into an air base housing U.S. and other coalition troops in western Iraq, the Pentagon said. Pentagon spokesperson John Kirby said the contractor “suffered a cardiac episode while sheltering” and died shortly afterward. He said there were no service members injured and all are accounted for. British and Danish troops also are among those stationed at the base. The rocket attack was the first since the U.S. struck Iran-aligned militia targets along the Iraq-Syria border last week, killing one militiaman and stoking fears of another cycle of tit-for-tat attacks as happened more than a year ago. Those attacks included the U.S. drone strike in January 2020 that killed Iranian Gen. Qassim Soleimani in Baghdad and set off months of increased troops levels in the region. Wednesday’s death of the contractor heightens worries that the U.S. could be drawn into another period of escalating attacks.

Reports: Myanmar security forces kill at least 33 protesters (AP) Myanmar security forces dramatically escalated their crackdown on protests against last month’s coup, killing at least 33 protesters Wednesday in several cities, according to accounts on social media and local news reports compiled by a data analyst. That is highest daily death toll since the Feb. 1 takeover, exceeding the 18 that the U.N. Human Rights Office said were killed on Sunday, and could galvanize the international community, which has responded fitfully thus far to the violence. Videos from Wednesday also showed security forces firing slingshots at demonstrators, chasing them down and even brutally beating an ambulance crew. Demonstrators have regularly flooded the streets of cities across the country since the military seized power and ousted the elected government of leader Aung San Suu Kyi. Their numbers have remained high even as security forces have repeatedly fired tear gas, rubber bullets and live rounds to disperse the crowds, and arrested protesters en masse.

China’s vaccine diplomacy campaign (AP) The plane laden with vaccines had just rolled to a stop at Santiago’s airport in late January, and Chile’s president, Sebastián Piñera, was beaming. “Today,” he said, “is a day of joy, emotion and hope.” The source of that hope: China—a country that Chile and dozens of other nations are depending on to help rescue them from the COVID-19 pandemic. China’s vaccine diplomacy campaign has been a surprising success: It has pledged roughly half a billion doses of its vaccines to more than 45 countries, according to a country-by-country tally by The Associated Press. With just four of China’s many vaccine makers claiming they are able to produce at least 2.6 billion doses this year, a large part of the world’s population will end up inoculated not with the fancy Western vaccines boasting headline-grabbing efficacy rates, but with China’s humble, traditionally made shots. Inoculations with Chinese vaccines already have begun in more than 25 countries, and the Chinese shots have been delivered to another 11, according to the AP tally.

Taiwanese urged to eat ‘freedom pineapples’ after China import ban (The Guardian) Taiwanese pineapples have become the latest victim of deteriorating cross-strait relations, after Chinese authorities suddenly banned imports of the fruit. The ban, which began on Monday and is indefinite, was announced by the Chinese customs office on Friday. The customs office said harmful pests had been detected in recent shipments. Taiwan’s government rejected the claim, accusing Beijing of making an “unacceptable” unilateral decision, and urging citizens and international allies to eat “freedom pineapples” in support of the domestic industry, echoing the campaign to support Australia’s wine producers after Beijing imposed tariffs last year. Beijing has a history of enacting trade sanctions during international disputes, most recently with Australian wine, coal and barley, action that can cause significant economic damage to industry and put pressure on rival governments. Relations with Taiwan are at the lowest in decades. Despite the Communist party never ruling Taiwan, Beijing considers it to be a province of China, and has vowed to unite it with the mainland, by force if necessary.

Lebanese anger at economy grows as political deadlock persists (Reuters) Protesters blocked some roadways in Lebanon for a second day on Wednesday after the currency’s fall to a new low further enraged a population long horrified by the country’s financial meltdown. In the past year, Lebanon has been through a popular uprising against its political leaders, the bankruptcy of the state and banking system, a COVID-19 pandemic and, in August, a huge blast that killed 200 people and destroyed parts of Beirut. The financial crisis has wiped out jobs, raised warnings of growing hunger and locked people out of their bank deposits. The collapse of the Lebanese pound, which fell to 10,000 to the dollar on Tuesday, slashed about 85% of its value in a country relying heavily on imports. It was the last straw for many who have seen prices of consumer goods such as diapers or cereals nearly triple since the crisis erupted. Demonstrators burnt tyres and rubbish containers across many parts of Lebanon to block roads on Tuesday night.

[lost-tanuki-tales]

Poisoned

Prompts: Hidden Wound, Delayed Realization. Cast: The Disaster Five Word count: 3k

* * *

They shouldn't have been so far from the ship and Arkady should've seen it coming. It was really stupid, in retrospect; he'd noticed the shifty eyes and the twitches. He'd seen that behaviour plenty of times before and just because it wasn't in a dark alley didn't mean it couldn't happen elsewhere. It was Grenelant who'd wanted to fuck off in the goddamn forest to get some supplies he said they wouldn't find on the market and Leo had decided he'd teach both humans what he knew about local wildlife in case they needed it in the future and he wasn't there to help. This planet was going to be a pretty long stop so Arkady understood her reasoning; what he didn't understand was why they needed to go so goddamn far into the forest. Grenelant had to be able to find his stuff closer to their ship. Arkady was pretty sure he was only forcing them to go deeper to fuck with them, and he was ready to admit it was fucking with him. This place was super creepy.

Apparently Arkady was the only one to notice that. Neither of the two others were ones to be unsettled by creepy forests and he figured it made sense that they didn't care. They weren't regular old humans like him, they didn't need to care because they didn't die as easily. It was bullshit and Arkady hated it.

Grenelant found his shit in one of the darker places, a few feet deep inside a cave. Arkady only half-listened to the boring stuff he was spouting about the number of petals the plant he was holding had, what kind of soil it needed to grow and its addictive properties. Leonida listened intently. Arkady kept twitching at every abnormal sound he heard. He felt like there were shadows within the darkness that surrounded them but he couldn't see them, and he could just feel that this place was bad news. He didn't even know why Leonida thought it was a good idea for him to be here, it wasn't like he had her super efficient memory and he still had the ship to fix after their encounter with a meteor shower during their latest trip. He needed to get out of here, out of this black, stinky cave and into a somewhat sunnier exterior.

"Fuck this," he suddenly said out loud and started leaving.

"Where do you think you're going?" Leonida asked him sternly. She wasn't often stern. Obviously she found this plant stuff super important to know.

"Going some place where I won't feel like I'm going vampire," he retorted as he continued walking.

"You're staying right here."

The order wasn't said in a loud voice but its finality rang like a bell and Arkady had no choice but to stop in his tracks. He sighed and turned around to face the two others. "Well can I at least stand next to the entrance? I swear, I feel like I'm going to choke in here."

Leo shrugged. "I don't care what you do, just listen."

"Okay, okay, I will," grumbled Arkady as he shuffled off. They were out of his view moments later but he could still hear their voices, and he leaned up against the wall, staring out at the greenery. It wasn't much brighter there but at least the surroundings looked alive. Grenelant continued droning on in the background and Arkady did try his hardest to concentrate on what he was saying, but it was really fucking boring. He ended up gazing up at the branches and searching for hidden birds, absent-mindedly wondering if they were anything like those on his and Leonida's home planet.

A long, weaselly dirty face suddenly appeared in front of him and he stumbled back in surprise, barely stifling a scream. The thing let out a series of clicks and hisses, its frame tensed in menace and agitated by weird tics. It was wearing a loincloth as dirty as its face and Arkady noticed its eyes were sunken and red-rimmed, constantly shifting around like it was watching out for anything that would jump it.

Arkady didn't want to alert it to the others' presence by calling for help so he decided to try and appease it, hoping his two teamates had heard the commotion. "Look man, I have no idea-"

The beast jolted like Arkady had assaulted it by simply speaking and it suddenly pushed him against the wall of what he instantly realized was probably a burrow rather than a cave. The hissing became louder and Arkady was assaulted by the disgusting odour of its mouth which he could now see was covered in sores and blisters, and then he felt a horrible stinging sensation in his chest and thigh. He opened his mouth to shout but the beast landed a heavy blow to his head and he hit the ground hard, stunned.

"Arkady!"

He blinked, head ringing, and saw Leonida tackle the beast to the ground. Grenelant crouched next to him to help him up and Arkady snarled through his confusion as soon as he felt hands on him. "Get off me!"

Grenelant retrieved his webbed hands looking genuinely confused, and Arkady resisted the urge to yell at him. What was so difficult to understand about not needing help? It wasn't the first time Arkady refused to be held up and he thought he'd made it pretty obvious that he hated when people thought he needed their pity. Leonida grunted on the side and Arkady looked over there as sharp, needling pain suffused the spots on his body where he'd been stung.

"Shit," he said, and he jumped back to his feet to help her. His fingers quickly found his gun and he drew it out, aiming it steadily at the beast's head. "Stop moving or I'll shoot!"

"Just shoot it!" yelled Leonida as she narrowly avoided wickedly sharp claws. They hadn't looked like that when the beast had first approached Arkady. He didn't need to be told twice and his bullet instantly found its mark. The beast slumped, blood splattering beneath its skull. Arkady lowered his gun.

"Darn," muttered Grenelant. He didn't sound happy that they'd killed the stupid thing.

Leonida was standing up in an instant and she marched up to Arkady. "Where did he get you?"

"What?" said Arkady in confusion as he put away his gun.

"Where did he get you? Did he sting you?"

Arkady nodded and started gesturing to his thigh as he let go of his holster. "Yeah, he got me-"

Leonida moved in a blur and Arkady found himself pantsless in a second. He felt his face heat up and yelled: "What the f-"

"Shut up," ordered Leonida as her fingers pressed into red divots where the beast's claws had stung him. "Did it get you elsewhere?"

"What, are you gonna strip me naked if I say yes?"

She narrowed her eyes at him as she kept that same pressure into the sting wounds. "Arkady."

"No, okay!" lied Arkady. Had he been stung anywhere other than the chest, maybe he wouldn't have minded. It wasn't the case. "What's gonna happen anyway? I don't feel weird, it just hurts."

Leonida pressed her lips together and nodded, then pulled his pants back up and took a step back. "We'll probably be fine if we start going back to the ship right now, that way we'll have the pod at our disposal if something goes wrong."

Grenelant had moved towards the beast and was kneeling next to it, pressing precise spots on its paws. He shook his head and muttered: "Shame."

"It was going to kill us," Leo stated. "You can't guilt-trip me. Now get up and let's go."

"Fine," grumbled the opiel, but he didn't follow them immediately. Arkady didn't care what he was up to, he was kind of spooked that Leo had been so quick to check the sting wounds and that she thought there was a possibility for something to go wrong. Even if his thigh already hurt less, he wanted to get back to the ship like she'd said they should. Just to be safe.

"What was up with that thing, anyway?" asked Arkady as he made his way across the forest with her.

"It was under the influence of that plant Gren picked up. We were probably in its home and I wouldn't be surprised if it got aggressive over defending its stash. He said that stuff's very addictive."

"Well shit. I thought its behavior was kinda familiar."

Leo smiled at him. "Bad experiences?"

"Yeah," answered Arkady. He didn't say anything else. The pain was fading completely now, both in his thigh and his chest.

Grenelant joined up with them soon after and Arkady distractedly listened as he struck up the conversation with Leonida once more. His skin felt kind of numb where he'd been stung but he didn't feel weird otherwise. Hopefully the beast hadn't stung him deep enough for his venom... or poison... or whatever it was to have an effect, however it worked. Arkady was a soldier and a technician, not a biologist. He knew how to fight and defend, he knew how to fix delicate technology, but he didn't have much knowledge that wouldn't serve him in either of those ways.

It was several minutes later that he started feeling hot. Everything was louder, he felt jumpy, his heart was beating in his ears. He was all sweaty. Arkady blinked the salt out of his eyes and looked up at the sky, but there was no sky, only high branches arching over his head. He felt closed in. He didn't like it.

"Arkady?"

He looked back down and saw Leo staring at him. Grenelant too, shortly after.

Arkady said: "I hate this place."

Leonida looked half-amused, half-impatient. "I can tell. If you walk faster we'll be out sooner."

Arkady nodded and they all resumed their progress.

Grenelant and Leonida started talking about plants again.

Arkady stopped feeling hot and started feeling cold instead, but only for a short moment. The heat returned full force seconds later in a scorching wave that burned his heart and he felt it skip a beat, and the world spun around him, and he had to catch himself against a nearby tree. The bark hurt his fingers. He blinked wildly and looked up at the sky again, but it was still obscured by the dark canopy of leaves. He couldn't see the sky and the forest was going to crush him. Arkady looked back ahead and noticed the others were going out of focus.

"Uh, Leo... I think something's..."

His voice wasn't as loud as it normally was. He  thought he saw them turn around but he wasn't sure. Arkady's stomach hurt, his chest was caught in a vice, his heart skipped another beat and then sped up to compensate. The shapes hadn't turned around. Maybe they hadn't noticed he'd stopped, maybe he'd been too quiet to get their attention.

"Something's..."

One of them looked over their shoulder. He knew it was Leo because of the blonde hair, but the rest of her features were completely blurry now. He felt out of breath, his heart was going too fast and it hurt.

"Leo," he said.

The wild thing in his chest tripped and Arkady felt his legs give out beneath him. He heard a shout ahead of him. His hand felt like it was ripping up where it dragged across the bark in his fall and his body hit the ground with a dull thud that resounded through his head in a disorienting echo. The twigs were spikes against his skin, even the cool dirt pressed up against his face felt like gravel.

"Arkady!" Hands gripped his clothes and rolled him over, and as he laid with his back against the ground he realized he really couldn't breathe very well. Leonida was above him, her brown eyes the only feature he could focus on. They looked worried but mostly determined, and she turned away from him to talk to the tall shape by her side. "He's going into cardiac arrest, you said the poison wouldn't act this fast!"

"He might've gotten stung elsewhere."

Leonida's gaze returned to his face. "Arkady, you moron, where else did you get stung?"

Arkady realized what she was asking of him and shook his head. He felt faint, he couldn't stop gasping. His heart was giving up on him. For some reason he was more scared of what she was going to do than of dying- and he knew he was dying. He could feel it.

"Fine, be that way," she sharply said.

Arkady's eyes widened when he felt his clothes be ripped apart and he desperately tried to stop her, choking out: "No!" His hand shot up to curl around her wrist, but his grip was weak and he couldn't hold his arm up longer than a few seconds before it ended up falling back to the ground. It was too late, anyway. He knew she'd seen it from the surprised look on her face when she lifted the flaps of his half-torn shirt.

She stopped pulling on his clothes. Her brown gaze flew up to his face and she studied him closely, calmly ordering: "Grenelant, turn around."

Out of the corner of his eye, Arkady saw the tall shape shift.

Leonida then offered Arkady an understanding smile as she lowered her hand to his chest, and he jerked beneath her touch. He hated this. He hated that touch, he hated the sympathy in her eyes, hated that she suddenly knew what was only supposed to be his.

"It's okay, Arkady. I'm the only one who saw."

"It's not... okay," he whispered through gritted teeth.

"It will be," she said with certainty. Her face was so honest that Arkady wanted to claw it off.

"Shut up, shut your damn mouth!"

Leonida pressed her lips together and Arkady saw her other hand appear above his head. It hovered over his face and came closer and closer until the cool fingers gently brushed against his forehead, softly enough that it didn't hurt.

"Then if you want it to be, it can all be a bad dream."

Arkady wanted to answer, but his voice didn't come when he opened his mouth. His agitation had worked his throbbing heart into an uncontrollable frenzy and it was tumbling in its erratic race against his ribcage. His throat was empty, and his chest was a frantic hollow, and his heart hiccuped again and again beneath Leonida's solid palm. Then all of a sudden, Arkady's eyes rolled to the back of his head and he didn't want anything anymore.

Something rested against his face, heavy and uncomfortable. Someone spoke next to him but Arkady was falling back into a black void.

A single thought drifted through his mind. He noticed that he was very tired. He didn't want to ever move again.

Arkady floated back to consciousness. There was beeping. It was loud in his ears. He floated away once more.

Someone was speaking again but Arkady couldn't understand any of it. He was annoyed. He wanted to sleep. The person shut up and so he fell asleep.

Arkady opened his eyes in his room. He was very confused when his brain told him this wasn't where he was supposed to be, and it took him a moment to remember why his brain was telling him that. Hadn't he been in the forest?

"Hey, sleepyhead."

Arkady looked over to the side in surprise and saw that Leonida was sitting next to his bed. He frowned and croaked: "... Leo?"

"That's me," she happily said.

Arkady pushed himself up. "What the fuck happened? Why are you here?"

Leonida's expression suddenly turned serious. "You got attacked in the forest where we accompanied Grenelant. Remember? You almost died."

Arkady's brow creased even deeper in concentration. He remembered killing the beast. Leonida checking on him. The forest tightening its hold around his chest, falling to the ground, being unable to move. Arkady slowly nodded. "It's a bit hazy after I fell."

"Do you often lie to your superiors, Arkady?"

Arkady sharply looked up to his captain. She'd said it calmly, she was almost always calm. In the months he'd spent together with her carefree personality and her informal ways, it had been easy to forget that she could pull rank on him. He quickly sat upright and straightened his spine.

"No, Captain."

"You lied to me."

"Yes, Captain. I'm sorry, it won't happen again."

"It's one thing to be dishonest with me. It's completely idiotic doing what you did when your life was in danger, and if we weren't so far from home you'd already be going back as we speak for not telling me you'd been stung in the chest too. I don't waste my time on soldiers with a death wish."

"Yes, Captain."

"Do you have a death wish?"

"No, Captain."

She continued staring at him and he kept the same rigid posture. Leonida then said: "You know what I am, Arkady. You know me inside out and you've never had a problem with that. What made you think I'd have a problem with you?"

Arkady felt a rush of dread when more of his memories returned to him and he was struck with the abrupt reminder that Leonida... had seen. He was rocked by a surge of anxious nausea but refused to look away from her intense brown eyes. "It wasn't you in particular. I didn't want anyone to know."

"Some people must have known."

A distant memory flashed in Arkady's mind but he distracted himself from it and asked: "Does Grenelant know?"

Leonida smiled brightly and petted Arkady's thigh. "Why would he know about a bad dream?" Then she reached out and pushed him back down, and he couldn't go against her strength. He was unable to resist the way his tired muscles relaxed against the mattress. "Now close your eyes and count to ten. You can only open them again once you've reached that number."

Arkady frowned at her. "Wh-"

"An order, Arkady," she chidingly said, all traces of her earlier stern demeanor entirely gone. "It's an order."

But as light-hearted as she suddenly sounded, Arkady had been reminded of his position beneath hers and he immediately complied. While he counted to ten he heard her stand up, walk up to the door, and leave. In the last seconds he spent counting up to the last number, all that surrounded him was darkness and silence. And then Arkady opened his eyes in an empty room. His gaze landed on the empty chair and then drifted up to the closed door, and it was like Leonida had never been here at all; like he'd just had one very long nightmare.

(The Disaster Five are also on AO3.)

[millieswickedbooks]

chapter two: the reaping

Girl on Fire (Teen Wolf x Hunger Games) [Stilinski]

previous chapter || masterlist || next chapter >>

pairing: Stiles Stilinski Black!OC

word count: 5,622

WARNINGS: swearing, mention of pet death, mentions of death, brief mention of pregnancy and brief mention of war

    ➳ 

  "Aurora?"

"Yes, Alise?"

"Are you afraid?"

I sighed, Alise would ask something like this. I looked at her from the reflection in the mirror. She was standing in front of me, as I was finishing up doing her hair for the Reaping. She was wearing a light blue denim skirt overall and a beige colored short-sleeve shirt underneath. Her dark skin was complemented by the pastels of her outfit and her dark brown, basically, black hair was up in a neat, high bun—courtesy of yours truly.

I turned to the side and looked at Stiles and Scott, both of which were sitting at the dining table, across from each other. They looked at each other and turned, giving me helpless looks. I internally rolled my eyes at the idiots and turned to look at the girls; Lydia Martin, Allison Argent, Kira Yukimura, and Malia Tate. They were spread out in my kitchen, Lydia was leaning up against the counter, Allison was sitting in front of her on the kitchen table, Malia sitting on the counter and Kira was to her left, leaning on the counter too, petting Beau. They all gave me apologetic looks and I internally groaned, damning them all.

After we—Stiles, Scott and I—left the forest, we had met up with the girls, all of which were at the Argent household and we walked to my house, because I always get Alise ready for the Reaping. Erica, Boyd, and Isaac were most likely at the Hale Household. Sometime around the beginning of the year, Derek had taken those three under his wing. I literally had no idea why by they all just bonded, it was adorable if I'm being completely honest.

Danny and the Twins, Ethan and Aiden, were probably at Danny's, we'd meet up with them afterward.

From here we will go down to the Seam for the public not-execution-but-basically-an-execution.

I took a deep breath and after pondering what I should say to her, I respond with, "just a little bit, babe. But that's what everyone feels on this day so it's no big deal."

"Yeah, don't stress. We'll be fine," Lydia reassured, suddenly appearing beside us, "we always are."

Lydia had reminded of Scott in the forest because that's literally exactly what he had said to me, and she put a comforting hand on Alise's shoulder and Alise looked like she had more to say but I really wasn't in the mood for this conversation. I didn't know what to tell her, it was breaking my heart, she looked so scared and I was so helpless in this situation. I can't do anything to protect her from the truth that is our horrible reality.

"Okay, you're all set, Alise, let's go," I asserted, preventing this conversation from going on any longer by interrupting it. I looked at Lydia and smiled at her, silently thanking her for trying to help me out in this situation. Lydia winked at me and God, I love her so much, she's the freaking best.

"But-"

"Alise, we gotta go, or we're gonna be late. And I really don't wanna find out what happens if we are. I'm not trying to get arrested or something worse. Come on," I explained to Alise, looking at her expectantly. She huffed but nodded and I sighed, turning around, facing the group who was already up. We all gave each other knowing looks and we began to make our way out of the door, Alise and I were last. And as soon as Stiles stepped out of the house, me following, thinking that Alise was right behind me, I heard her call out.

"Aurora, I'm scared."

And that sentence alone brought down my walls entirely. I turned to her and saw her standing in the middle of the room, with Beau at her feet, her long, fluffy tail wrapping around Alise's ankle. Her big brown eyes were sad and her eyebrows were slightly scrunched up, a worried look adorning her face. She reminds me so much of Bubba.

"Oh, Alise," I cooed, running back towards her, crouching down and hugging her. For a fourteen-year-old girl, she really was tiny.

"What if I get picked, Aurora? What if you get picked? I don't want you to die!" Alise rambled, sounding exactly like me when I ramble.

"Dang, babe, have some more faith in me," I joked, hoping to help lighten the mood.

"Aurora, you know what I mean," she said seriously. I sighed and looked at her, remembering my terrible dream and how real it felt.

"Alise, listen to me, okay?" I started, looking her right in her big doe eyes and she stared right back, waiting for me to continue. "I'm not gonna let anything happen to you, you hear me? Nothing."

"You promise?" Alise asked in a quiet voice.

"Cross my entire heart," I reassured her, smiling up at her. She quickly wrapped her arms around my neck, hugging me tightly. I was kind of taken back by the all-of-a-sudden hug and I nearly fell over on my ass but I quickly balanced myself out and hugged Alise back just as tight. I kissed her right temple and we pulled away.

"You ready?" I asked her and she nodded, grabbed my hand and we walked out of the house, seeing the group there, waiting.

I scanned the group and soon enough my eyes landed on Stiles and once again I was reminded why I had such a big crush on that boy. His beautiful amber eyes were looking right at me and he had this look, one I couldn't place. It made my heart swell though. He had this little smile on his face and I just wanted to kiss him right then and there. I, begrudgingly, looked away, I didn't want him or anyone else for that matter seeing me basically checking him out and my eyes landed on Malia and she was smirking at me. I cursed myself as I quickly remembered Malia is incredibly observant and nothing really gets past her. Malia knew I had on crush on Stiles and that was one of the main reasons why she didn't date him when he asked her out a while back. She has been wanted us to get together for the longest time and no matter how many times I told her and the other girls that it just wasn't going to happen, they refused to listen. I blushed as she winked at me and I looked back at Stiles and I saw him still staring at me. I blushed harder and proceeded to walk down my porch steps and towards the group, Alise in tow, and as I did that I saw Stiles wink at me. I nearly choked on my spit at the sight. Why the fuck does he have to be so fucking attractive, what the actual fuck?

'Lord, don't do this to me, you know just how hot he is,' I thought to myself. Once I reached the group Stiles draped his arm over my shoulder and pulled me close to him.

We then began to walk to the Square, not knowing that that day, in just a few moments, our lives would change for good.

 ➳

Once we got to the Square, we almost immediately got separated. Boys one side and girls the other. Alison, Malia, Lydia, Kira, Alise and I went to our rows; we were separated by age. Alise went with all the fourteen-year-old girls, Lydia, Kira, Malia, Erica and I went in the row with the sixteen-year-olds and Allison and Cora, Derek's little sister, went with the seventeen-year-olds. I stood next to Malia at the end of our lil' clique's row.

After every child was grouped together, we waited for the Mayor to do his usual speech. I look around and behind the boy's group, off to the left, I see Mr. Stilinski and Ms. McCall. The sight would've made me smile. If I wasn't in this place I definitely would've too. They were standing next to each other and—they were holding hands! Yes! Scott, Stiles, and I have made it one of our number one goals to get those two together. I kind of wanted Lydia's mom to get with my Bubba but I knew it was still just a little bit too soon for him, so I knew I had to be patient.

And that reminds me, where's Bubba? I turn and quickly spot Bubba. He kind of easy to find, he's six-foot-four-inches and his dark skin made it even easier to find him. He was wearing a gray shirt with a brown vest, standing off to the side, next to Amara and Derek. And I saw that Laura Hale, Talia Hale, and William Hale, Derek's older sister, mother, and father, were there, too—which was shocking. They usually don't come to these.

'It honestly breaks my heart to watch these,' I remember Talia told me. I can't blame her. If I could, I would run away and never come ever again.

I saw that Bubba was staring right at me, his sad eyes boring into mine. I looked at him and threw him a small smile. I could just barely make it out but I know he signed, 'to the moon?' to me. He does it every time. And just as I signed, 'and back' the Mayor began to speak.

"Welcome, citizens of Panem," he began, his voice nearly thunderous in the Square as the crowd and its unnecessarily substantial amount of Peacekeepers was silent, now more than before. He continued, "welcome to District Twelve's reaping of the seventy-third annual Hunger Games. As many of you know, disaster struck what used to be North America..." and it was around here when I would zoom out because I seriously don't give a fuck. A civil war from years ago resulted in us sending our children to die every year, still to this day? For control? I'm not paying attention to this, it's straight bullshit.

I tune back in when I can tell he's about to introduce the Capitol's representative.

"In the past seventy-three Hunger Games, we have had only a few victors representing District Twelve. A living victor representing District Twelve is here today. His name, as many as you know, is Haymitch Abernathy and the tributes will meet him shortly after being Reaped, as he will be their mentor. So let's get this started, shall we? I know you all are dying to know," he announced, chuckling as if this was a joke. "Please welcome Effie Trinket of the Capitol!"

And with that a lady, Effie Trinket I guess, strutted up to the front of the stage after her introduction. And she looked pretty ridiculous but that's the Capitol for you. She had a huge smile on her face and was tall, with perfect posture and very pale. Like 'this-is-my-first-time-stepping-outside-in-fifty-eight-thousand-years' type of pale. And she had some weird makeup on too but that's whatever. What she was wearing though, was another story. She has a full plum-colored suit on. A plum-colored skirt that went down, just barely reaching her knees. It was weird, it was ruffled but not at the same time. And she had a plum-colored, long-sleeve, peplum button-up blazer with exaggeratedly huge shoulder pads that oddly reminded me of a really big mushroom. And to top it off, she had a rather uncomfortably large flower choker and a fucking massive plum-colored flower on her big, white hair and some black heels.

"Happy Hunger Games, District Twelve, and may the odds be ever in your favor!" Ms. Trinket proclaimed with her typical Capitol accent. That line sent a shiver down my spine as it reminded of the demonic Peacekeeper from my dream. Effie continued, "As you all already know, the time has come. I have the absolute honor of choosing one courageous, young man and woman to participate in the seventy-fourth Hunger Games. As the Mayor mentioned before, you all must be waiting so let's get right to it, huh? Ladies first." She finished with the same large smile on her face. I rolled my eyes and felt my heart pounding in my chest, feeling on the brink of a panic attack. As she reached a manicured hand into the giant ballot that was filled halfway with slips of paper, closed with usual black tape, I looked down, not wanting to hear someone being sent to their death—and also hoping it would calm my heart down.

And then, I heard it. The reason why my heart was pounding, the reason why I freaked out earlier today, the reason why I woke up with the heavy feeling in my chest. The reason why I had a nightmare last night.

"Alise Galloway," Ms. Trinket calls out.

And at that moment I felt my heart stop. Like actually. I looked up, at the back of Alise's head and I couldn't see her face but I knew what look she had on her face. One of terror and shock. I look around and I saw my Bubba's face; he was still processing what was just said, just like me. Amara wasn't any better, already beginning to cry. Talia, Derek, Laura, and William looked surprised as well. 

I turned and saw the boys staring at me; Stiles' eyes were wide open, Scott looked near to tears and Isaac Lahey, Vernon Boyd, Danny Mahealani, Ethan and Aiden were all standing in the same row as them and all had varying looks of shocked, upset and confused faces as they turned to look at me as well. I turned to my right and look at the girls and they are harboring the same looks like the rest of my family and friends are. 

I hear Ms. Trinket begin to speak into the microphone again.

"Alise? Where are you? Oh! There you are. Come on, don't be shy. Come on stage," Ms. Trinket cooed at Alise and at that moment everything slowed down, even time. 

I remembered playing with little five-year-old Alise out in the rain, us splashing through the mud as our dog, Spark, chased us. I remembered playing with little six-month-old Alise around the house. I remembered bathing little ten-year-old Alise, her splashing me with water, resulting in a water-fight that got us in trouble with Bubba and he gave us a stern talking. I remembered burying our dog, holding Alise as she sobbed, kissing her forehead. I remembered getting her ready for school every morning. I remembered Amara surprising eight-year-old Alise with a little kitten, a couple of months after Spark died, which she named Beau, despite everyone in town telling her it was a 'boy's name'. I remembered me being completely and utterly obsessed with one-year-old Alise, even at a young age. I remembered Bubba and Mama telling Amara and I that Mama was pregnant. I remembered Amara and I going trading at the Seam, me holding little three-year-old Alise. I remembered Bubba, Amara, Alise and I holding each other after Mama's funeral. I remembered Bubba wrapping my broken arm in a splint after Erica had broken it falling off a tree and I tried to catch her, Alise holding my hand the entire time. I remembered all the times I would put my tiny hand on Mama's tummy, feeling her kick at the spot where my hand would lay. I remembered all the nights I stayed up late with Alise, talking about school and boys and whatever our minds would think of. I remembered calming twelve-year-old Alise down for her first Reaping. I remembered her and Amara holding me after every single nightmare I had had about Nino or Mama. I remembered Bubba showing me little one-day-old Alise into my arms, I looked down at her tiny face, her eyes closed and I whispered a tiny 'hi', and a small smile appeared on her lil' baby face as she heard the words, as she heard my voice. I remembered that as I grew I silently swore to myself that I would protect her from all harm. And this was what all those years prepared me for. To face my biggest fear; having Alise be reaped.

'Why didn't you save me, Aurora? Why didn't you do something, Aurora?' Alise had said in my nightmare. I tried to do something but I failed. Now, I can't afford to fail. If I do, then I'm losing Alise and I'm going to be letting her down as a big sister. I'm going to be letting my whole family down as a big sister. And I'm not letting Alise down. Or Amara. Or Bubba.

Or Mama.

I made up my mind. I wasn't letting this happen. Absolutely not.

"No. No. NO!" I began chanting as I ran out of my row and ran towards Alise but four Peacekeepers stopped me, gathering around me, preventing me from getting to Alise. "No! NO! ALISE!" Alise had already moved from her spot in the crowd and was standing at the center, in the aisle between the boys and the girls. She was in the process of being led on stage by four other Peacekeepers when I called out to her. She turned around at the sound of my voice and at that moment I got a good look at her face. Her big doe eyes were scared and red due to the fact that she was crying, big, fat tears rolling down her dark brown cheeks.

"Aurora?" She asked, her voice so tiny I just barely heard it over my struggles against these damn Peacekeepers.

"Alise, no! Let me go, let me go! I-I," I screamed, not knowing what the next words I was going to say were going to be but at the same time knowing exactly what I was doing. I cried out as loud as I possibly could, "I volunteer!"

After hearing what I just said, the peacekeepers let go of me, instantly backing away from me, as if I had burned them.

"What?" Ms. Trinket's voice asked, her voice echoing through the silent town.

"I volunteer as tribute," I yelled, loud and clear, making sure everyone and their mother heard me.

"Oh? A volunteer? Well, it looks like we have a volunteer, everyone! That's just great!" Ms. Trinket announced, looking right at me. "Come on up!"

I pushed past the Peacekeepers and ran to Alise, instantly wrapping my arms around my little sister. I then bent down in front of her, keeping eye contact with her.

"Aurora, what are you doing?!" Alise screamed at me, not caring that every eye is currently on us.

"Keeping my promise, babe. Now go, Alise. Go to Bubba and Amara-" Alise cut me off.

"No!" She cried out, feeling her cries stab through my heart. I hated it when she cried.

"Alise, go find-" I tried again but she wasn't having it.

"No! No!" She screamed, grabbing onto my arms with the intent of never letting go.

"I'm so sorry-" I said but then the Peacekeepers decided that was enough, pulling us apart. Seconds later, I saw Stiles, appearing out of nowhere, grab Alise. She was refusing to move so he had to lift her up completely off the ground, putting her on his shoulder. While he did that, I saw he had tears in his eyes as he stared at me. Our eyes locked for a second and then suddenly he was off.

"No! NO! AURORA! NO!" Alise screamed as she was carried away, continuing to scream as Scott quickly followed them, not before casting me a look that broke my heart.

I was then led to the stairs of the stage by four Peacekeepers. I slowly made my way up as I digested what just happened in these last few minutes. I'm a tribute now. I'm going into the Hunger Games. I'm possibly going to die.

"District Twelve's very first volunteer, ever. Come on, dear, come on up," Ms. Trinket acknowledged me and as I reached the last step, she gently but firmly grasped my hand, pulling me fully on stage and guiding me towards the microphone at center stage.

"Hello, hello! And what is your name?" Ms. Trinket asked her colored lips in an even bigger smile than before.

"My... uh, my name is Aurora Galloway," I answered, still not knowing whether I should feel happy that I saved Alise or sad because I might definitely never see my family or friends ever again. No more Lydia, no more Allison, or Erica, or Amara, or Issac. No more Scott, or Malia, or Kira. No more Stiles. No more Bubba, or Alise. That's it, it's over for me.

"I suppose that that beautiful little girl I called was your sister, huh?" I numbly nodded, glancing at Ms. Trinket and then looking around. I saw Lydia, Allison, Kira, and Malia holding each other as Lydia sobbed loudly. I turned and saw Derek holding Amara and Bubba holding Alise, who was sobbing on his chest, I could tell by the fact that her shoulders were shaking up and down.

Bubba was also crying, which tore at my heartstrings even more. The sight of my Daddy crying will always hurt. He deserves more than what this life offered him. I'd bring him the moon if he asked me to.

"Yes, that was," I answered as I guess my nod wasn't enough of an answer for Ms. Trinket as she leaned the microphone towards my mouth.

"Well, let's give a hand to our volunteer, Ms. Aurora Galloway!" Ms. Trinket told the crowd, as she began to clap lightly herself.

Not a single person besides her clapped. All I could hear was sniffs and sobs coming from multiple people. My eyes scanned the crowd once again and, at first, I didn't know what I was searching for until I found it. I was subconsciously searching for Scott and Stiles. Scott was crying, his brown puppy-dog eyes red and he had tears running down his face. Stiles was crying too, but he looked different, he looked more in pain. He wouldn't take his whiskey-colored eyes off me and in any other circumstances, I would have been blushing like a little school girl like I was earlier. But right now, it felt like my heart couldn't take any more of this. More of looking at my friends crying for me. More of my family looking like... like they were already mourning me.

And suddenly something happened. As if it was planned I saw all the townspeople, instead of clapping as Ms. Trinket told them to, they all, one after the other, put up their three straight middle fingers, kissing the fingers and raising it up high above their heads. I was shocked at the use of this old gesture. I never knew this district knew me like that, knew me enough to say they love me. I was reminded of a conversation I had with Ms. McCall; she had told me that everyone knew about The Galloways.

'Everyone loved your mother,' she told me once. 'She was a great healer, a good conversationalist too. She was just a great... friend, not just to me and... Claudia, but to everyone. Everyone was dying to see her be with your father too. He is, was, and always will be a good man. When they got married, nearly everyone came down to the wedding. Everyone loved you, Amara, and Alise too, since you girls act so much like her. After her death, it was like a disconnect. Everyone mourns in a different way. Maybe that's why the townspeople don't really talk to you all as much as they did before. Must see too much of her in you.'

'Do you really think I act just like Mama did?' I asked her. My father told me that I reminded him so much of her but I honestly don't see it. Mama was such a kind person, I felt like I wasn't as good as her, or that I'll ever be.

'Yes. You all do.' Ms. McCall began, looking off into the distance as she spoke to me and at that moment, I felt my heart break for Ms. Melissa McCall. She had gone through so much I just wanted to give her a big hug. She lost both of her best friends and her husband. It made me hate Death for stalking her so much in her life. She deserves so much more. 'Amara took your mother's maturity and her sympathetic side and is understanding just like her. Alise is thoughtful and bold, always saying what she felt was needed, not caring who heard, just like Rose. And you, Aurora, you got a little bit of everything from your mother. You might not see it but you are selfless, charming, cunning, witty, and smart. You are a beautiful young girl, Aurora, and you'll grow up to be a wonderful woman. Just like Amara is becoming, and just like your mother.'

So that's why we always got good deals while trading. And that's why the townspeople are saluting me now. It makes sense now. The townspeople were thanking me. The townspeople admired me.

The townspeople were saying goodbye to someone they love.

"And now, for the boys," Ms. Trinket continued and just like that, I was brought back down to reality. Ms. Trinket walked over to the other massive ballot that was meant for the boys and she reached in, pulling out another slip of paper. As she did that I wondered, 'Who's the poor soul who I might kill or might kill me?' And then it really hit me. I'm going to have to kill people. Children. I'm going to have to kill children. I'm going to have to take the life of someone's child. I just turned sixteen and in just a couple weeks, I'm going to become a killer. I can't kill, how will live my life, if I even survive this shit, with blood on my hands? How will I be able to do this without killing someone?

Ms. Trinket tore open the slip and read the name, leaning towards the microphone.

"Liam Dunbar," Ms. Trinket called out and I couldn't help it but I look for the boy. I quickly spotted the poor boy as the boys surrounding him moved away from him, keeping their distance from the boy as if he had the plague or something. Probably hoping the Peacekeepers wouldn't make a mistake and grab the wrong kid. The kid, Liam, looked around, shocked at his name being called but he reluctantly went with the Peacekeepers. And Lord was it heartbreaking to see him come up. He looked so scared. And as I watched him come up the stairs I'd realized seen him before. His family owns a bakery in town and he is also in Alise's grade, I've seen him going into some of her classes. The boy must be fourteen too. And for some reason, I felt the need to hug and comfort him, tell him everything would be alright.

I shook the weird feeling off and realized he was staring right back at me. I looked down, not wanting to see him staring at me any longer. I felt Ms. Trinket walked away from me so I guess she was guiding him towards center stage, where I was like she did to me. I glanced up when I saw Mr. Trinket's bold colorful outfit in the corner of my eye and saw they were standing right next to me, her hand on Liam's shoulder.

"Here we are, our tributes from District Twelve," Ms. Trinket rehashed and looked at the crowd again. My eyes found my father once again and I saw that this time, Mr. Stilinski and Ms. McCall were at his side, Mr. Stilinski had his hand on Bubba's shoulder and Ms. McCall was holding his hand. They both looked like they were crying too. And chastised myself for looking at them again, I have to stop looking, I'm on the brink of having a breakdown right in front of the whole District and that'll make me seem weak. And I definitely can't go into these games looking weak.

Ms. Trinket continued, "Now, come on you two, shake hands."

I turned to Liam and really looked at him, like really looked at him. And I felt this feeling of familiarity, it was weird. I felt like... I knew him from somewhere else, not just from the bakery or from Alise's classes, it was on the tip of my tongue and nearly driving me nuts because why the hell can't I remember this boy? But I scrapped the thought for now and reached my hand out, at the same time he did. We shook hands awkwardly but at the same time firmly. Ms. Trinket practically beamed at the sight.

"Once again, happy Hunger Games! And may the odds be ever in your favor..." Ms. Trinket finished and turned around to us, gently grabbing both Liam and me by our shoulders and leading us towards the large dark door. I've seen this door so many times before, from past Reapings obviously, but I never really thought I'd ever see myself going through it. The door was guarded by two Peacekeepers and once we walked through the doors, the doors were promptly shut behind us.

"Come along now, quickly. You have a limited amount of time," Ms. Trinket rushed, her heels clicking on the empty hallway she led us down. I didn't even bother to ask what she meant by that and just quietly followed her. We were led into a room and the Peacekeeper opened the door.

"Aurora, this is your stop," Ms. Trinket informed me and I glanced at her and Liam and walked in the small room. I turned to look and they had already been closing the door behind me.

And like that, I was left to my own devices. There was a chair in this room and I knew better than to just sit in it but it's all kind of just hitting me and my legs felt like jelly and god ohmygod I'm going to die. I shook my head, chastising myself again for thinking like that.

'No, Aurora, stop thinking like that! Do you want to see your family again? You want to live! You must win!' I thought to myself as I took a seat.

'But I can't kill people, I can't have blood on my hands,' I pondered, wondering how in the fuck I would survive these games, how would I go about this all while avoiding murdering someone. I struggle enough just by hunting birds and squirrels, and I know that's for survival, but in the end, it's still a life and I still feel bad. Maybe it'll help if I view it as hunting? This is basically the same thing as hunting. I have to survive. It's necessary death. But... I can't; that's someone's child right there. But at the same time, I'm someone's child too.

'Ugh, this is so fucking terrible,' I thought to myself as I racked my brain for a way out and every solution I came up with just came with another flaw or a problem and I felt my blood boil with anger. I hate these fucking Games. But I have to survive, I have to come back, to Scott, Isaac and Ms. McCall, to Lydia and her mom and the Tates. I have to come back and see Kira. I have to come back to Allison and the Argents; I'll miss her like crazy. I have to come back to Boyd and Erica and the twins. And I have to come back to Danny. I have to come back to the Hales and I have to come back to Mr. Stilinski and... Stiles. Stiles. I have to come back for him, to him. I'll miss him and Scott so much. And when I do, hopefully, I will tell him how I feel. No more waiting around. No more secrets.

And most importantly, I have to come back for Bubba and Alise. And Amara. We are all we have. I can't leave them, I can't let myself get taken away as that Peacekeeper did to us with Mama. I have to come back to them.

And in that room, I promised myself that I would kill only if I absolutely had to. Because I might think about others and their well-being and why I shouldn't kill them but that doesn't mean they're doing that to me.

And as I stared off into space, looking at the wall in front of me in the small, quiet room, I realized something. I realized that I wasn't really freaking out as much as I felt like I should anymore. And I wondered why am I not shaking at the fact that I might die in a few weeks? And it hit me. I have a shot at this, it's slim but a shot's a shot. And I remembered why.

'Thank God Mama taught me archery and Bubba taught me knife-throwing. Without those, I would be a lost cause in these Games,' I thought, slightly chucking because I used to complain about why I should learn to them constantly when I was younger and when I was around thirteen I realized I could use my skills to hunt and now, look at how handy they'll come in for these stupid Games.

And in that very moment the door opened, the loud noise startles me and I looked up, seeing Alise, Amara, Bubba, and the Hales. And that was what officially caused me to break down.

➳

and there’s chapter two !!! as always, feedback is always appreciated !! ♡

[letterfromtrenwith]

Grand Jete - Ch 11 & 12

When George Warleggan quits a high powered job in the City to take care of the finances of the South West Ballet, run by his friend, Francis Poldark, it changes his life - even more so than he expected.

Elizabeth Chynoweth came to the South West to come back home, take on new challenges, and leave behind a less than perfect time in her life. She intends to focus on her art, but everyone knows what they say about best laid plans…

Now complete!

Ch 1 & 2 Ch 3 & 4 Ch 5 & 6 Ch 7 & 8 Ch 9 & 10

~

Chapter 11 

“Did you get a chance to look over the quote from the advertising agency? George? George?”

“Hmm – oh, er, yes. It doesn’t look too bad, but it never hurts to get an alternative. As for the art, though, that’s your department.”

“Are you okay?” Francis frowned at him in concern and George looked away. “You’ve been very distracted recently.”

“Just busy is all.” It was true enough – early preparations for next season were well underway, and the company’s accounts were due shortly. He hadn’t much experience with charities so it had been a bit of a steep learning curve, but he was getting to grips with it. Frankly, the work had been a God send, since it distracted him from what was actually bothering him.

“Elizabeth all right?” It was as if Francis had read his mind. George was on the edge of snapping that Francis could ask her himself, since they were rehearsing for The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe, but he held back. None of this was Francis’ fault, and shouting at him wouldn’t help.

“She’s fine.” Elizabeth probably was fine. She’d been the one who’d ended it, after all. He’d had a bad feeling as soon as he’d received her text saying they had to talk, especially as it came after over a week of her quite obviously trying to avoid him. Following on the heels of what he’d thought had been their blissful few days away together, it had confused him.

He’d worried before asking her that it was rushing into things, but her acceptance of his invitation had led him to believe she didn’t think so. However, that seemed to be exactly the problem if he was reading between the lines correctly.

They’d met for coffee at an impersonal chain place a few streets away from the Hall, Elizabeth looking awkward and uncomfortable.

“Is something wrong?” He’d known it was a stupid question as he was asking it but he hadn’t been able to come up with anything else, an increasing sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach.

“No, it’s just…I think we should…shouldn’t see each other for a while. Just…have some space.” It was both pretty much what he’d expected and a horrific blow. There were a hundred things he wanted to blurt out – why? What had happened? What had he done? How could he make it right? But he hadn’t said any of that.

“Well, if – if that’s what you want.”

“I think it’s for the best.” The pained silence which followed had been absolutely torturous, and George had quickly made an excuse, nearly knocking over his chair in his rush to stand. Elizabeth looked like she was about to speak, but he’d walked away, taking several deep breaths as he did.

He hadn’t seen her since, save a brief glimpse along the corridor. Their eyes met for a moment, but she’d turned away almost instantly. Every day of the final few performances of Checkmate he’d left the office at dead on 5:30, so as to resist the temptation to go and watch her dance. He made an excuse not to attend the closing party, which had clearly made Rosina suspicious, but she had blessedly chosen not to say anything.

When he’d spoken to one or two of the dancers, chiefly Caroline and Morwenna, he’d sensed an odd note. They were Elizabeth’s best friends, so even if she hadn’t told them about breaking it off, they certainly suspected. Neither of them had said anything directly, and he’d mostly done his best to cut their conversations short without seeming rude.

After the end of the de Valois duo, he’d taken to working late, hours more like he’d been doing at the family firm than what was expected from him at the Company. Work occupied him, while being back at the flat allowed him to dwell on how wretched he felt, as well as think too much about Elizabeth. About her sleeping in his bed, drinking from his coffee cups, wearing his shirts.

It was his own stupid fault. They’d only met – what – three months ago? Yet he’d gone and let the whirlwind romance of it all go to his head like he was a love struck teenager. Of course, it was obvious why anyone would fall in love with Elizabeth, but he’d just dived in head first and, clearly, he’d come on too strong and frightened her away.

Another one to add to his short and decidedly unsweet list of romantic disasters. Except this one really hurt. He’d come to Cornwall to find something missing in his life – he’d found it, along with something he hadn’t even realised he’d been looking for, which had made him happier than he could ever have imagined.

He’d found it, and now he’d lost it.  

~

Time passed, Lion debuted to rave reviews – Morwenna was even pictured in her role on the front page of The Cornish Times – Christmas decorations went up around town, and George felt no better at all.

Unable to resist, he’d sat in on a performance of Lion. It really was a wonderful production, but he’d been unable to concentrate on anything but Elizabeth. She was playing a relatively small part, that of the Professor’s housekeeper, but even in her severe 1940s costume she was enchanting. He left just as the curtain fell, making sure he’d be gone long before the dancers.

One day, on his way back from Ellen’s office, he’d almost run right into Elizabeth. For a moment, they stood looking at each other. He clamped his lips shut against the stream of undoubtedly horribly embarrassing things he wanted to say to her, as she bit her lip glancing side to side awkwardly, like she couldn’t wait to escape. Thankfully, Dwight had appeared, breaking the tension, and George was able to make an excuse and leave.

The onslaught of cheery music and festive décor which greeted him just about everywhere except his flat – Rosina had even put up a little Christmas tree in the corner of their office, which he hadn’t had the heat to object to – did absolutely nothing to improve his mood. Just before Elizabeth had withdrawn from him, he’d been planning to book a special Christmas dinner for them. He’d found the brochures for the local restaurants and hotels in a drawer in his flat and stared at them miserably for a while before crossly shaking himself and throwing them out.

It seemed the whole company knew about him and Elizabeth breaking up. He was being treated with exaggerated friendliness by just about everyone, and people kept dropping by ‘just to say hello’ or invite him for a drink or coffee. Nobody seemed to hold anything against him, but of course Elizabeth wasn’t the sort of person to slag him off to all and sundry. He didn’t think he’d given her anything to slag him off about, at least he sincerely hoped not.

“Oh, your dad called.” That had been absolutely the last thing he’d expected Rosina to say when he returned from buying the one not-cranberry-enhanced panini offered in the coffee shop this time of year.

“My – my dad? Is that what he said?”

“Well, his exact words were something like: This is Nicholas Warleggan, I’m George’s father.” That sounded more like him.

“Did he say what he wanted?” George hadn’t spoken to his father or uncle since he’d stormed out of Nicholas’ office and, as stubbornness was one of the few things he had in common with them, he’d expected their stalemate to continue for quite some time.

“No, just said would you call him back.”

“I’ll do it when I get home.” Rosina looked a bit surprised at this, but didn’t question it. By what she’d told him, she had a very good relationship with her father, so George’s apparent disinterest probably seemed something of an anathema to her.

George debated not calling, but he didn’t think his father would call if he didn’t have a good reason. After a microwave dinner and staring disinterestedly at the television for an hour or so he finally picked up the phone. He called the office first, and right enough, Nicholas picked up on the second ring.

“Warleggan.”

“Dad, it’s George.”

“Oh, finally deigned to call me back, have you?”

“I was busy this afternoon.”

“Doing what? Collecting ticket stubs?” George gritted his teeth. His father was getting more like Cary as the years went by, and it did nothing for him. Nor for George’s relationship with him.

“Did you want something?” The faster he could get this conversation to the point, the better.

“I thought I’d better ask if you’re coming home for Christmas.”

“What?” That threw him completely. After his mum died, they’d never been much for family gatherings, not even at Christmas. One or two rather strained dinners over the years had been about it. The rest George had spent working or sitting alone at home. He’d hoped to spend this one with Elizabeth, or at least some of it, since he assumed she visited her family as well. That was out of the question now, of course. “Do you want me to?”

“Suit yourself.” Typical response. “Although, more pressingly, I was wondering if you were finally going to come to your senses and take your old job back.”

“What?” He’d said that twice in a few minutes but frankly he couldn’t think of anything else.

“Look,” Nicholas sighed. “You’ve been with the firm since you were still at university. I did often wonder if you’d want to…spread your wings a bit, but I’ll admit I didn’t expect you to go off and work for some dance troupe.”

“They’re not – “

“But surely you’ve got it out of your system now? You can come back to the firm, no hard feelings.” George’s first instinct was a flat refusal, not to mention anger at Nicholas’ dismissive, high-handed attitude, but then a little voice whispered in his ear. If he went back to London, then he’d be making a clean break from Elizabeth and he could put the whole thing behind him. He’d never admit to his father or his uncle that the reason he came back was a failed romance, of course, but they’d like as not ask. He’d hate to leave Francis in the lurch, but Rosina could probably manage until they replaced him.

George looked around his sparsely decorated flat. When he’d moved in just about four months ago, he hadn’t expected to be contemplating moving out again so soon. Then again, he also hadn’t expected to end up with a broken heart.  

Chapter 12

“Elizabeth! Where are you?” Caroline waved her hand in front of Elizabeth’s face and Elizabeth jerked out of her fugue. They’d been taking a break from class and she suddenly realised that everyone else was back on the floor, several of them looking at her questioningly. Oh God, how embarrassing. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine, let’s just – “ She stood and hurried into position next to Demelza, who gave her a concerned glance but, before she could say anything, the pianist struck up and class recommenced.  As Lion was the final show of the season, there was nothing to rehearse so they were essentially just exercising. Elizabeth allowed herself to become absorbed in the routine movements, letting the physical exertion overtake her emotional disturbance.

This was far from the first time she’d found herself distracted lately. She’d managed to convince herself she was doing the right thing by pulling back from George, even though every word she’d said felt like it was being ripped out of her. As she watched him walk out of that coffee shop, a voice in her head had screamed at her to call him back, tell him she hadn’t meant any of it.

In the intervening couple of weeks, she’d kept on trying to tell herself that it was for the best. They’d rushed into things; it could only end in tears. As if it hadn’t already.  

“All right, what’s going on?” There was only Elizabeth, Caroline and Morwenna left in the changing rooms, but Elizabeth still did her best to avoid her friend’s gaze. So far, nobody had said anything to her, although her mood must be obvious to everyone, as must the distance between her and George.

“Nothing…” She tried to hurriedly pull on her jumper but ended up fumbling it with her shaking hands.

“Cut the crap, Beth.” Morwenna’s tone was unusually harsh, undercut by her use of her childhood nickname for Elizabeth. “You’ve been off for days now. It’s something to do with George, isn’t it? Did you two have a fight?”

“No. It’s – no.” She looked at them both. She could see from their expressions that there was no way she was going to be able to prevaricate. “I just – I decided it was best if we get some space.”

“Some space?” Caroline raised an eyebrow. Elizabeth knew how lame it sounded out loud, and in her head, every time she tried to justify it to herself. “But why? When you came back from that break you were so happy. I’ve never seen you like that before. You were glowing.”

“Did George do something?” Even as Morwenna asked this, she sounded doubtful that the answer could be affirmative.

“No! It was just better if we slowed things down, is all.” Elizabeth wrapped her arms around herself defensively.

“How? Because you look absolutely miserable, and so does George. Why would you think – “ A look of understanding crossed Morwenna’s face. “This is to do with Ross, isn’t it?”

“Ross?” Caroline frowned. “The guy you were with at the National?”

“Yes.” Elizabeth said, quietly. There was no point denying it. Morwenna wouldn’t let it go now she’d figured it out, and she could certainly count on Caroline to back her up. Elizabeth hadn’t told Caroline everything about Ross, but she knew the basics.

“But what’s he got to do with anything?!”

“It’s – it’s complicated.” Everything she said sounded increasingly weak, and in frustration as much at herself at getting the third degree, she slammed her locker shut and grabbed her bag. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

“But – “

“Just leave me alone!” Elizabeth stormed past them, bumping into Morwenna, who let her go without protest. She swore when she dropped her car keys on the ground, half expecting Caroline or Morwenna to have followed her, but they hadn’t. Her burst of irritated energy lasted until she got home. Sitting on the sofa she suddenly felt quite drained and lay down on the cushions, hugging one close to her.

She would have to apologise to Caroline and Morwenna tomorrow; she could call them now, but it was better doing it in person. It had been wrong of her to snap at them, they were only concerned for her, but hearing her own doubts echoed back at her had not really hit a nerve.

Caroline’s confusion when Morwenna brought up Ross was entirely understandable. Elizabeth might be trying to use him to justify her decision, but as time went on, it was clear that it was a feeble excuse.

She’d first met Ross properly when they’d been put in the same class at the Royal Ballet School. Verity and Francis were already her friends, and they’d introduced her. The Poldarks were a bit of a novelty at the school – having two siblings there together was one thing, but the addition of a third family member was something else altogether. All three of them were exceptionally talented, but – to Elizabeth at least – Ross had something special, a sort of rawness to him. Her girlish crush had developed into more when they were teenagers, and they’d eventually become a couple. After graduating, she’d followed him to the English National Ballet despite a probably better offer from the Birmingham Royal.

For a couple of years, everything had seemed wonderful – Elizabeth had enjoyed the envious looks she got from the other ballerinas, both on stage and off, and basked in Ross’ attention. When he was in the mood to give it, that is. Oddly, it was in their professional partnerships that the cracks first began to show. Despite her romance with Ross, her performances with him at school had somehow never been quite so dynamic as they had with Francis, and this slight incompatibility had become increasingly more obvious as they rose through the ranks.

All of a sudden, Ross had announced that he was going on a six month guest stint at the Paris Opera Ballet. The same night, apparently on a complete impulse, he’d proposed to Elizabeth. Caught up in the romance of it, she’d agreed. Visiting him in Paris seemed to re-ignite something for them, and after his return Elizabeth had set to planning the wedding. However, Ross’ apparent disinterest in them actually getting married had started to unsettle her.

When she was invited for an 18 month stint at Ballet Zurich, she’d expected Ross to object – he’d been unhappy with her joining Verity for just a few guest performances with the Northern Ballet – but to her surprise, he’d enthusiastically encouraged her to go. Her time there had been neatly divided between loving both the city and her work and her creeping suspicion that it was truly over between her and Ross. Almost as soon as she moved there, he began making excuses as to why he couldn’t visit, even when she knew he wasn’t performing. Her calls went unanswered more and more frequently. The final straw had come when she’d heard a woman’s voice in the background of a rare conversation they actually did have – a voice Ross had shushed.

As soon as she returned, she’d given Ross back the engagement ring it had taken him nearly a year to buy her, and fallen into a deep funk. With unusual sensitivity, their artistic director had split them up entirely, partnering them both with others, and even casting them in different productions during the season. It had still been horrendously awkward, at least for Elizabeth. When Francis asked her if she wanted to join the South West, she’d jumped at the chance, seeing it as an opportunity not only to do some wonderful things professionally, but draw a line under things with Ross at last.

In the intervening couple of years, she’d come to realise what the problem had been. She’d tried – they’d both tried, although Ross less than her – to turn their teenage romance into a real, adult relationship. It might work for some, but it just wasn’t what they were meant for. Ultimately, they weren’t right for each other, and it would have been far better if they’d both realised that years earlier.

But that wasn’t how it was with George, was it? Despite what she’d tried to tell herself. Her problem was that very much were right for each other, and it had scared her. She’d fallen for him – no point denying it now – so fast and she’d been terrified of getting her heart broken again. The happiness she’d felt with him had reminded her of the early years with Ross, but it just wasn’t the same. Not at all. She’d been unnerved not just by how quickly her feelings for George had come, but how deep they were. How real.

Her phone bleeped, pulling her out of her miserable self-recrimination. It was from Morwenna, probably checking to see if she was okay despite Elizabeth’s behaviour. She didn’t read it, however, distracted by the screen background, which she hadn’t been able to bring herself to change. She’d snapped the picture of George when he wasn’t looking – for someone so handsome, he was oddly reluctant to be photographed. He stood on a sort of rocky outcrop on Fistral Beach, looking at something in the distance, the wind tousling his hair and tugging at the loose corner of his scarf.

I’ve made such a terrible mistake.

~

“Ugh.” Francis hung up his phone with a cross expression, made rather comical by the fact he was wearing his Aslan costume, since it was the final children’s matinee before Christmas. Comical enough to pull a small smile from Elizabeth. She hadn’t felt much like smiling lately, consumed by the knowledge that she’d stupidly destroyed one of the best things that had ever happened to her.

“Everything okay?” She waggled a little paper cup out of the holder at the side of the water machine, tutting at the pathetic trickle of liquid out of the tap.

“Yeah,” Francis sighed. “It’s just – negotiations with the prop hire place. They want us to pay a larger deposit for anything we use at the Minack, since it’s allegedly more likely to get damaged performing outside. I might not mind quite so much except what they’re asking for is bordering on the extortionate.”

“Oh dear.

“Yeah. George might be able to work something out with them, but I’ll probably have to get used to this sort of thing if he’s going to be leaving us. Until we can replace him, that is.” It took Elizabeth a moment to process what Francis had said, and when she did she felt herself crush the empty cup in her hand.

“He – he’s what?” Francis looked surprised.

“Oh, I thought you’d know, of all people.” He made a face, obviously having forgotten that she wasn’t with George anymore. Francis could be hopeless with that sort of thing. “His, er, his dad’s asked him to go back to the firm, and I think he’s considering it. I suppose I can’t blame him, he’s done wonders for us, but we can’t offer him much reward…”

Elizabeth had stopped listening. George, leaving? She couldn’t imagine it. He loved this job – he hadn’t said so in as many words, but she could tell by the way he’d talked about it, about all of his ideas for the Company, about working with the creative team. There was only one reason why he might be thinking about giving it up – especially to go back to a position which had left him so unfulfilled. She’d driven him away.

If he left, there was a good chance she’d never see him again. She felt herself start to panic, her heart fluttering and her breaths coming short and sharp. No, she couldn’t let that happen.

“Ten minutes to curtain!” Ellen’s voice cut through her like a knife, and she forced herself to focus as best she could. However, as she waited at the side of the stage for her cue, her mind, for just about the first time in her career, was not on the performance.

As soon as the curtain dropped after the first act, Elizabeth was running through the backstage area and up the stairs into the main corridor, thanking Heaven that she wasn’t performing en pointe. She ignored a couple of odd looks, heads turning at the sight of a fully costumed ballerina hurrying past. Outside of George’s office, she almost collided with Rosina.

“Oh, Elizabeth!” Rosina looked astonished to see her, quite naturally. Glancing quickly between her and the office door, Rosina made a face of understanding and then gave Elizabeth an encouraging smile before disappearing away down the corridor.

George stood up when she entered, surprise written all over this face. Now that she was here, Elizabeth realised she had no idea what to say, but the words began rushing out of her anyway.

“Don’t go! You can’t go!”

“I – “

“I know there’s probably no chance of me undoing what I’ve done but don’t go because of me, please. You love this job, I know you do, and you’ve done so much here. Don’t let me push you away, away from here, that is, because I’ve already pushed you away from me. Now I know I shouldn’t have, it was just because I was scared of how much I felt and it all seemed too good to be true, but that doesn’t matter now. You can’t go, you can’t, I – “

“Elizabeth!” She pulled up short, biting her lip, thinking that she’d probably just made a complete fool of herself. But, oddly, George was smiling. “I’m not leaving.”

“You’re not? But Francis said your dad asked you to go back to London?”

“He did, but I’m not going to. There’s nothing for me there. And so much for me here. I think.” Could he mean - ? She took a deep breath.

“I really I am sorry for what I did. It’s too complicated to go into now, but I had a bad relationship and I let it cloud my judgement. I was worried that everything was going too fast. I came here to focus on my work, and I love my work, so much. But –“she stepped further into the office, closer to him. “But the thing is, I’m pretty sure I love you, too. And I’ve behaved like an idiot, and messed you around, and you’d have every right to hate me.”

“I don’t hate you. Not at all. But I am disappointed.”

“Disappointed?” She frowned.

“Yes.” He smiled, widely now. Properly. “Disappointed that, since you’re in your make-up, I can’t kiss you.” 

[thydungeon]

“Break”

In the fall of 2018, Stoic Studio held a short story fan fiction contest because they were publishing a compilation for The Banner Saga.

I really loved this game, but for whatever reason I didn’t play the second and third games until a week-long stretch in 2018 when Emily was out of the country. I stayed up until 5 am to finish the third game!

But then I saw the contest and I thought, “oh my god, this is perfect!” 

They didn’t pick my story, and I have never been sadder about any personal creation of mine. I spent a lot of time on the story and had a lot of help editing from Russell and Emily, overcoming elements of some fairly old-timey fears. Obviously, the hard truth is that I’m not that good of a writer, but I struggled for a long time with whether or not to really regret a series of design decisions. That is, I wrote the story that I wanted to, the way I wanted to, but I wonder if the following needed to be true:

Why did I write a story that features only varl and literally no humans (read: no women)? Why did I write a story that covers the scope of only violence, something I’ve never been comfortable writing? Why did I write a story with only original characters, so out of the way of the games? Why did I make the first 270 words in the style of an emotionless recounting of strategic and tactical failures? Why did I develop only one character, with essentially no emotional arc?

Regardless, I do like the piece. I think I wrote it reasonably well given the above handicaps (that, again, I chose because I wanted them). And now, reading it two years later, it’s pretty clear it’s “about” switching roles at my old job in the US; the feeling of losing your position and drifting away from people is/was a common theme in a lot of things I’ve written, so go figure lol

#

Since Russell is the only person who ever read this with the full context (having played the games), here are some background details:

1. The game takes place in a Norse/Nordic setting. The antagonist is a Jormungandr figure, all the main characters have Germanic-sounding names, it’s Viking age tech, and the world is snowy. 

2. Varl are like giant human-oxen hybrids; there are only so many of them because each one was literally created by a real, physical god who has since disappeared. Hence, the number of varl will never increase, only decrease (this doesn’t appear to have any kind of Krogan Effect, in case you’re wondering). The process of creation is apparently quite unpleasant and is one of the reasons they fear (and I mean really fear) fire. They share the world with humans, but generally do not intermingle.

3. Dredge are rock-like humanoids who communicate with vibrations and live underground. They fought a tremendous war (the “Second Great War”) against a combined human-varl alliance. Certain dredge who are very powerful are called Sundr and have English names that reference an attribute (canon Sundr include “Bellower” and “Raze”). I don’t remember if they are physiologically different from other dredge or just the classic video game “hero” unit.

4. Per the Wiki, “varl who are close knit enough to be family refer to each other as kendr.”

5. This is stretching my memory, but I believe the title is a play on the basic combat mechanic in the game series - your units can choose to attack an opponent’s armor or health. If you attack their health, your attack damage subtracts the opponent’s armor amount before dealing any health damage, but health damage reduces the opponent’s ability to do damage back. Get it? Breaking their armor? The story is about a breakout as well. Also, it wouldn’t be an early period (2015-2018) piece if it wasn’t about burnout, i.e. breaking down.

As for why I never posted this on Tumblr, it’s because, honestly, I thought Tumblr had a character limit on text posts? 

#

Grofheim burns.

The largest city in the north, the varl capital, lies in ruins after an avalanche of dredge like none had seen before. A few weeks earlier, a handful of reports from northern patrols suggested a massing of dredge in the abandoned, half-sunken city of Skrymirstead; further warbands detailed a sturdy garrison increasing in size with each sighting. A dozen leaders forged north with a host of five thousand to meet them but limped home a mess of several hundred. Survivors spoke of organized dredge armies moving like appendages of the Sundr. Concentrated force separated our army amid a blizzard and obliterated them.

Eager to see the army for ourselves, we awaited their arrival at the city's gate facing the Valkajokull. To our surprise, the dredge struck first from the south, having passed between the Varlsmarch and King’s Barrow hills, and only then advanced from Skrymirstead, placing a hammer against an anvil with Grofheim in between. In the days of old, we expected battles like these to slow to the crawl of a months-long siege, but this generation of dredge attacked with unique urgency. We saw Sundr everywhere: Driver, Rampage, Dread, others we remembered from ages past. The walls collapsed on the eighth day of battle, and dredge poured into the city. After only two weeks of fighting within the walls, their advance was nigh-unstoppable, and we had lost entire sectors of the city, guard towers and homes alike reduced to rubble. By the end of the third week, our encirclement was almost complete and only slivers of light in an ocean of dredge gave us hope for survival.

#

Shortly after the dredge breached the city walls, Jorundr and many of the remaining varl had rallied to a fortress in the center of the city. Harald, captain of the city patrols, and I, his right-hand man, joined them with a fraction of the varl we had led previously for years; all others had fallen either at the wall or in the ensuing crush. At the top of one of the fortress towers, we pored over a map resting on a rickety table. Wooden figurines shaped like varl and dredge littered the map’s surface. We used to play chess with the little pieces.

Light filtered into the spacious room from all sides, but it illuminated nothing of renown. A couple of spears leaned against the wall, and a handful of varl were resting, drinking water and munching on dwindling provisions. We looked a sorry lot, even more bruised and unwashed than the typical varl cohort. Harald could no longer grip his shield due to a mangled left arm, so we fastened them together, hoping the banded wood would hold. Fiery debris had caught me at the wall, covering my face in cuts. Outside, we could see the dredge burning heaps of fallen varl, challenging us to come out and avenge our dead.

I ran my finger across the map from our location to one of the gates. A few hours’ march stood between us and the world beyond the city walls. “We have less than five days holding out here. By that point, we’ll be surrounded, and they’ll start breaking us apart group by group. The fortress will hold for maybe two more days after that. What’s the plan, Harald?” I lifted my finger from the map and found myself biting the nail of my thumb unconsciously. The sharp taste of iron-flavored blood crusted underneath snapped me back into the moment.

Harald moved a pair of dredge pieces between us and the gate. “From what we gather, the dredge that breached the southern gate destroyed everything from Skyhorn west through the Varlsmarch, but they are now less than full strength.” He moved several other pieces above us on the map. “Jorundr did not move any troops from the northern wall to fend off the surprise attack in the south, so the dredge advance from Skrymirstead was not a total disaster. Still, that group is reportedly much larger, so a breakout that way is not possible.”

“Eamonn and his whole clan stayed at the western tower,” I said, pointing to an ornately decorated tower on the map. “Heard a rumor that Roland and his folks battled back to the wall, actually. Either group is probably a heap of bones by now, though.” Looking over the map, I realized that every painstaking detail on it had been rendered worthless by the dredge.

“I do not blame them,” said Harald. “From all of our experience, dredge grant no quarter, and some varl may be looking for revenge after hearing what happened in the blizzard.”

“I heard it might have been an accident,” said Ismail, one of the younger guards and a fixture of Harald’s patrols. “The leaders out in the wastes forgot to put out a watch as they slept, and the dredge caught them unawares, daylight and all.”

“With dredge, there is no such thing as an accident,” said Harald. “Whatever happened out there does not bode well for us here.” His eyes dimmed and I could see the truth beginning to settle.

“I know Jorundr’s been quiet about where the dredge are coming from, but what have you heard?” I asked. “Did some idiot kick over a hornet’s nest?”

“We only saw the dredge near Skrymirstead and nobody saw them coming from the east,” replied Harald. “It is no coincidence; something is driving them, and it must be more than memories of the second war.”

“We have a dozen ideas what it might be, but nothing with real evidence,” added Ismail. “Jorundr has been tight-lipped about it, but I think it’s because he doesn’t actually know. I’ve heard everything from new leadership among the dredge, a misunderstanding at the border, to some faening scheme by the Valka.”

“No need to gossip on my account, just curious,” I said, turning back to the map. “What’s left for us here?”

“It all depends on how many dredge are out there and if you want to be hopeful,” said Ismail. “Me, personally...I would rather not.”

“The southern walls have been entirely leveled, but that may work to our advantage,” said Harald. “If we can cut a path through the dredge between here and there, we can escape with no bottleneck to hinder our advance. But numbers are not on our side.”

“It’s always possible there is relief on the way, maybe runners found their way to pockets of varl beyond the city,” suggested Ismail. “Can’t change how many dredge are here, but it helps if there are more of us.”

“Now look who’s being optimistic,” I grumbled. “If they got past the forts without any trouble, then that means we’re the only varl for days in any direction. From here, we’ll have to write our own stories.”

“So then getting away is our only real choice,” said Ismail.

“If we all make a break that way to the south, they will pursue,” I said, moving varl pieces down the map and dredge pieces in pursuit. “And we won’t make three days out of Grofheim before they catch us. Some of us must split off to hold or divert them. If not, we’re faened as soon we’re free of the city. The only question is how many and where we put them.”

Harald knew this but remained quiet. He had a way of settling his gaze into an intensity that bordered almost on horror. I never thought to say anything about it after years and years, but over time I understood it as his way of focusing. We all knew that the number of varl who escaped Grofheim would be however many would fight the rest of the war. Vognir’s entourage, the varl in Strand, and any others scattered across the mountains would not be guaranteed to join in time, if ever.

“We estimate there are four thousand of us remaining in the city that can be readied to evacuate at once,” began Harald. “A tenth of that number should be the maximum committed to a diversion.”

“Do you think that’ll be enough?” Ismail asked. My instinct was that we needed a thousand, but I always used more force than necessary to get the job done. Either way, I was happy to let Harald make the assessment. He was always better with strategy.

“We need to make sure we have a force worth carrying into human lands,” said Harald. “We do not know what Jorundr has planned long-term, but we have to give him the best chance to... win.” He almost said ‘survive.’

“Fair enough, then. We hardly ever know what’s on his mind, but that’s never stopped us before. Who’s going?” I asked. Around the room, everybody stopped and looked at me and Harald like awaiting a death sentence. Varl lead long lives, but we are seldom fearless as we pretend before the moment of truth. It is the best trick we play on humans.

Harald looked at me and lowered the shield still wrapped around his arm. For the first time, I noticed the streaks of grey among black in his hair and beard, the weariness in his posture, the chips in his horns, and his tired, deep eyes. His teal tunic rested on top of bandage after bandage; it was caked with blood and pockmarked with cuts and tears.

“As good a time to go as any, right?” I joked to the room. No one said anything.

“Could you give us a minute?” Harald said to the others in the room. They quietly filed out. “I’m sorry to have announced it in front of the others, but at this point, I may be a liability with this,” continued Harald, gesturing to his arm and shield. “I trust you to handle this task. It may be the most important of our lives.”

“Harald, I understand,” I replied, smiling through. “I’ll take the remaining guards we have and hunt for volunteers. Do you need to speak to the other clans to set the plan in stone? Wouldn’t want to ruffle any feathers before we get rolling.”

“I did before I came up here,” said Harald, smiling back. I started to leave but turned back at the door.

“Harald...are we really leaving Grofheim?”

It was a ridiculous question, but it nagged me, and I needed to hear him to make it real: to leave our home, to abandon it to destruction. I was loath to leave everything behind forever: my home, our monuments, the legacy of centuries of varl.

“There is no other way,” replied Harald. “If we were going to stop them, it would have been before they reached the city.”

“We were so sure we would beat them in Skrymirstead and, failing that, here at the walls. What went wrong? The second war took years and years, we were there.”

Harald shrugged. I knew it was futile to ask, but I had become so used to him having an answer. “We will find out once we... regroup.”

I slung a hammer high on my shoulder. “Nothing to do, then. I’ll get your four hundred in the next two hours. In the meantime, I look forward to your plan for our friend down there.” I gestured to the window, where far below at the head of the black sea was a tall dredge dressed in red robes, holding a glaive in each hand. The varl in his vicinity either stood dazed in his presence or routed in cowardice. Harald peered below at the Sundr and I could feel the stress rising in him.

“This is it, this is how it happens,” he muttered, still facing down below. I never knew if he meant for me to hear it.

#

    I went to my makeshift quarters to pick up any remaining equipment. Sitting down on the bed, I dusted off my clothes and shook off stiff boots. The beautiful release of sleep had only found me once in seven days and I longed to just rest for a moment.

After floating down the river of a dream, I opened my eyes and sat up. As I slowly remembered the broken state of my body, I felt my left horn, jagged from days of shrapnel and glancing blows. I traced a line from the tip down to a matrix of scabs dotting everything from my left eye down to my right jaw.

It was time to take stock of everything before our final rush to the city walls. My boots were finally dry after a week trudging through snow; my armor had hardly any straps left to tighten, but I kept reinforcing it with bits and pieces of metal I scavenged; daggers and knives picked up along the way found homes in my belt. I still held onto a hammer I had picked up on the fourth day of fighting. The head had delicate twists and turns carved throughout, and the rune-covered haft was smooth from centuries of use. It sang every time it stung rock and crushed everything it touched.

Down in the courtyard, my remaining guards stood at attention, tired and injured but still eager to make their mark. Another couple hundred from across the city stood nearby, joining. I felt good knowing I would run with so many familiar faces, but I couldn’t shake the feeling of leading them all to a shallow grave.

Nevertheless, we moved over to one of the few gates in the area free of dredge; this exit was where we would perform our illusion. The dredge knew we were cornered and they would be expecting a breakout and a sacrificial diversion. The switch was simple: the initial attack would in fact be the vanguard making the escape. The diversionary force would be disguised as trying to escape, conspicuously filtering out from the side. Some of the worst mistakes we made during the second war had come from believing our enemies were incapable of strategy. Our lives now hinged on whether we had learned the lesson.

Harald emerged from inside the fort, shield still locked to his arm, spear resting on his shoulder. He had patched up the remaining cuts and bruises on his body and looked ready for battle (or as ready as he would ever be). Beyond the gate, we could see figures in the distance, working their way through houses.

“Where are we meeting you when this is all over?” I asked, forcing optimism to my voice.

“The old capital, across Burra Pass,” replied Harald. “A week away if we make haste. Once we break out, Jorundr will send scouts in all directions for help.”

“Look forward to seeing you there,” I said. “Are you ready? Four hundred of yours first, then four hundred of mine.”

“If all goes well, we should have a couple thousand outside the city by the time the dredge realize the game.” Harald gritted his teeth. “Not enough down the line without the menders or humans, but this gives us hope.”

“And the Sundr?”

“You’ll have to take your chances with them,” said Harald, shaking his head. “We cannot use the same tactics as when we had true armies during the wars. We had our hands full even then.”

“Captain, we’re made of flesh and bone.” I slumped while standing for the first time all week. Harald always had an answer, but was this the best he could offer me?

“I know... reports from across the city tell us that every Sundr we can name is here. My gut tells me if you see them, you should just run.”

I forced my face into agreement, but I couldn’t let it go. “How did this happen?”

Harald blinked and his mouth settled into a frown. “We will have more time to ask questions in Einartoft. For now, we just have to escape.”

His tone was final. He seemed prepared for, even unbothered by, our impending departure. Was this all he had to say after spending a hundred years together? Did it not trouble him that those years were spent defending a city now burning to the ground? But I looked into his unmoving eyes and realized my irritation was only immaturity. He knew every bit as much as I did that the world we had built was being undone. We had been colored and shaped by a duty to our home, a duty that we had chosen, a duty that was now sunsetting. Perhaps that spoke enough for both of us.

I felt the questions inside me slowly trickle to a halt. I stared at him, trying to force myself to remember the look of his calm, unshaken face. I could see the determination, the readiness to face our final hours. Varl are seldom fearless as we pretend before the moment of truth. It is the best trick we play on humans, but, finally, this was no trick. I realized I had been staring at him for perhaps a whole minute.

Thus ended my last interaction with Harald in Grofheim. I have a painting of him in my memory of that last scene before I turned to leave. It was in that moment that I knew Grofheim was gone.

#

The first gate opened and Harald’s four hundred varl rushed out. They pushed away from the gate, plowing through an initial wall of dredge. Once they cleared the first group, I could see a few grunts begin to give chase before the Sundr called them back to the fortress. We then clattered our way out through the side entrance. As expected, the wave of dredge charged in our direction, a contingent ten times our size, howling and humming as they slammed into us.

I swung wildly and tossed aside a dredge grunt. Another swing, another grunt. A third swing buried my hammer into the shield of a stoneguard, but a timely blow from a guardsman freed it again. With simultaneous strikes, we felled the stoneguard and pushed onward. As we nearly broke free of the circle, I could see the lone dredge from before, taller than any of us and shrouded in crimson robes: Dread. It planted both of its glaives into the ground and began shaking violently. We had heard stories of its powers, and I was hesitant to witness them firsthand. But then, I thought, if I could do it, perhaps end the battle immediately and save the lives of those around me--and slay a dredge legend... Stonesingers can be interrupted, one heavy strike would work.

As I neared, I swung back my hammer, twisted my hips, and stretched to meet him, hammer to Sundr. But before I could make contact, a vibration knocked me onto my back and everything around me disappeared.

I found myself floating in calm darkness for a moment before a great wall of flame surrounded me and began to close in. Memories of creation flooded my mind as the flames licked my clothes, but this was different, a perversion. The wall came closer and closer until every part of me was engulfed in flames. Links of chainmail resting on my skin branded themselves into flesh, while the skin itself peeled away and the nerve endings frayed into nothingness. An eternity passed. I saw my skeleton blackening in the deepest fires of the universe, and when the last bone disappeared into ashes, I felt suspended in nothingness. My voice was gone and the only thing I could feel was my mind trying to claw its way back to something tangible.

The hollowness subsided, and I found myself in the physical world, staring up at a sky of clouds and sun blurred together. The world was eerily quiet for that moment. The loud clanging and screams of battle gave way to dull thuds like the sound at a butcher’s. I looked back at Dread and saw it walking away with one glaive resting on a shoulder, the other at its side. It seemed so calm and pleased with its work, not even giving me a second glance.

As my senses sharpened, I saw peril everywhere. My companions were in the state of illusion that had captured me, now lying on the ground with vacant eyes while dredge bludgeoned them to death. I turned and saw one varl after another dying, eyes locked in a gaze into nothingness, not reacting to hammers crushing bone and rupturing viscera and muscle. We existed only like wheat waiting for the scythe. We weren’t even fighting. We weren’t anything.

The feeling of a weapon bearing down on me finally snapped me into action. I could almost see surprise in the grunt’s eyes as I batted away its strike. One swing from my hammer shattered its stone armor and a follow-up caved in its chest. As the light faded from its eyes, I took satisfaction in ensuring its final emotion was shock.

I turned and crushed another dredge, hammerhead vibrating from the point of contact down to my trembling hands. Rage boiled within me and I was ready to charge at Dread, ready to even the score. But my tunnel vision subsided and I realized the true danger to our mission. The Sundr was already leaving and there were plenty of other dredge to handle. The glory of battling a Sundr beckoned, but I knew I owed it to those around me to struggle a different way. I had to escape.

The situation was collapsing. The longer we lingered, the more enemies swarmed to fence us in. Before Dread arrived, we had been close to breaking free and dispersing, but now, we found ourselves surrounded. Neither vigor nor ferocity would save us. I spotted a solitary varl, covered in cuts and missing an arm, waving a red banner, trying to rally us to an alleyway. This was enough of a plan to survive: no glorious final stand, no victory of arms. Along with a few others snapped out of Dread’s illusion, I followed the banner and we began hacking through the crowd of dredge. The already injured varl was cut down as I arrived, but the rest of us barreled down the alleyway as the buildings on both sides began to collapse, supports chewed away by fire. I hated the thought of deserting those I led into the fray, but I decided I would see Harald again; I owed it to my kendr.

By the time we cleared the alley, only a couple dozen of us remained. I could still hear fighting from the other side of the rubble and the awful warping noise of Dread’s glaives. Thoughts of fire continued to race around in my head, but I was able to quell the fear. With the Sundr and its dredge on the other side of the fallen buildings, I assessed our state. So much for our plan: the diversion scattered and smeared into the streets. I could only hope Harald and the others had made their escape. I rallied those with me, a few brothers in arms for years, other newly made friends, mostly strangers in a dire situation, and we started moving toward the city gate to escape. At least there were no other Sundr in the vicinity, and the dredge we did see were not very interested in fighting us, some even running away on our approach. After we felt a safe distance from the violence, we rested in an empty temple dedicated to Hadrborg. It had already been in disrepair by the time the dredge attacked, but I felt the sadness of leaving behind yet another place that harkened to a golden age: lost glory, faded away.

“Where now?” asked Ismail. In the chaos of the breakout, I hadn’t realized he was with us. In fact, I was so sure he escaped with Harald. Selfishly, I was glad to have his shield and spear, but I also wished he were far away and safe.

“It’s another hour to the gate,” I replied. “We’ll need to run. There’s nothing left here for us.”

“Do you think Jorundr and the others escaped? Harald?”

“We can ask questions in Einartoft.” I don’t know how much I believed it now that I was peddling Harald’s words.

As we advanced toward the gate, we got an eerie feeling. The only sounds we could hear were the far-off city buildings crumbling in flames. There was no fighting. Was every other varl in the city already dead? Had the dredge caught Harald and ended all hope? In the long stretch between the final row of houses and the city gate, we saw a crowd of dredge gathered. It was small enough for us to directly engage but large enough that I knew most of us would not survive. And yet, beyond the dredge was a field of corpses, mostly dredge, and only a handful of varl--Harald and the others had broken through!

I exchanged glances with my surviving varl. This was no time for subtlety, and we were in no mood for anything of the sort so close to freedom. We charged.

In the ensuing chaos, I swung my hammer with the feeling that I was gliding into the end of days, with no caution left to spare. With swing after swing, I felt the vibration and resistance resonate throughout my body.

Chance blows may have broken a rib or two, but I felt immersed in my own world. By the time I stopped feeling the weight of the hammerhead against stone, I looked around and realized that I was entirely alone for the first time. Everybody was dead. I never saw Ismail go, or Stefan, or Jorgen, or Thorvald. We had so long to live and I had missed the opportunity to say good-bye all the same. We can ask questions in Einartoft. My final, anti-climactic words to them. The final event of my life in Grofheim. Over in minutes.

Looking up, I saw that the way out was laid bare. Slowly, I realized the only thing left was for me to leave. The gate loomed over me, silent. It struck me as a cruel joke that everything around it had been obliterated, but the gate itself was left unscathed. I had defended it after all.

Not a moment after I took my first step into the snow a mace swung down at me. My forearm flung up by reflex and I felt muscles bruise and bones crack. I stumbled backward and fell into the snow onto my knees. I looked up and saw a lone grunt before me and another figure in the distance. My hands reached furiously in the cold white, reaching and reaching before I saw I had dropped the hammer behind the grunt.

I inched away from the grunt, feeling the desperation and panic of one nearing his end. I could neither find the hammer nor even see it, but I remembered the knives and daggers on my belt and I hurled one at the grunt. A miss. I scrambled for a second knife and didn’t even aim. A thud. A scream, the kind I had heard a hundred times before. The figure in the distance began running toward us, and I rose and charged the grunt. Exhaustion permeated every fiber in my body. Muscle memory drove me to dodge the grunt’s clumsy swings. It was holding onto its side, clutching the embedded knife, as desperate to end the fight as I was. Finally, it committed too far on a downward swing and missed. I held down its mace with my boot and drove my remaining dagger into its face. It crumbled to the ground in a heap without even a whimper. One long exhale later, I gave the grunt’s head a forceful kick, yanking free the blade.

I hastily placed the dagger back into my belt and found my hammer a few steps away. Just as I turned to leave, a whizzing rock smacked one of my horns. I was stunned for a moment. When I recovered, the figure was close enough to see: a smaller dredge with a sling, something I had never seen before. With no shield for defense, I braced for another attack, but it never came. Instead, the dredge dropped the sling and ran to the dead grunt, cradling the body and touching it forehead to forehead, letting out a painful drone.

I knew what I had done. We always knew. Something in me wanted to stay at the gate forever, to die defending something like the grunt had. But I couldn’t bear to look at him and I couldn’t bear to look at her.

#

At last, I was clear of the city. I was alone. As I walked, the hills leading away from the city gave way to a snowy and steep incline. My legs forced me forward, following the trail Harald and the others had made as they fled, but each step up the hill resounded in my head. The ringing in my ears became unbearable. I turned around to look one final time and my heart cracked at the sight of the rising pillars of flame. Years and years walking the streets, patrolling the walls, drinking myself to sleep, growing camaraderie, watching the world go by. How could I forget what I had seen? How could I let it go? What future was waiting for us? But to live--to Einartoft!

[blaperile]

Homestuck Epilogues - Meat - Page 10 (Epilogue 2 Page 2)

[melancholic-cloud]

Dead Girl Walking | Sachiko

Good. Half of them voted for Matsuo. It was underwhelming to realize that only six of them had anything resembling a brain instead of a muddled pile of emotional reactions, but alas. Given the nature of the trial, she was disappointed but entirely unsurprised. People were stupid when they got sentimental. Even with the facts lying right in front of their faces, the reality of the situation spelled out for them, such boorish courses of action would still be taken in the last desperate, pitiful attempts to hold onto life. She had already sworn to herself that she would not be so stupid if it was Shinri, and expected the same in turn. They were both better than that. It was not so much out of lack of love as it was out of logical reasoning, and knowledge that it was pertinent to do the right thing no matter how much it hurt. Sachiko spared a curt glance to her right as the fencer’s guilt was confirmed by Kurokuma. No surprises there.

She was, consequently, much more pleasantly surprised by the fact that Seiichi had gotten six votes as he should have. Frankly, with all the vocal support for sacrificing Nao over a whole lot of nothing and the definite threat posed by Ren, part of her had been worried that the half of them who had brains would have been split by fear and intimidation. But they had not been, they had united to vote correctly, and they had done the right thing. So, whatever did it mean that Nao also got six votes? Would it be left to a coin toss? Something to determine which of the two would be found guilty? Really, the idea of leaving it to luck was less than ideal, but if that was what it came to then so be it. But even that would be too merciful for the kind of place that this was. Sachiko just barely managed to quash the tinge of fear that struck her in the heart - there were 12 of them. But that would probably exclude the two who everyone voted for initially, as a result of their inability to make a decision. He wouldn’t let them go with just picking between those two, would he? Ten people. Eight of whom she was completely ready and willing to let die. Two of whom were unacceptable casualties.

One in five were not great odds. Four in five were far worse odds.

Without even thinking about it, she reached out slightly to the side for Shinri’s hand. Whether it was to assure her that they’d both be fine, or for the one source of comfort that she could rely on herself was irrelevant. She never made it, stopped by the damnable bear’s attention coming to their side of the room, and then on Shinri, and hm okay that’s weird why was he pointing at Shinri who has never done anything wrong in her life ever? It wasn’t instantaneous, no, there were no warning signs for the impending disaster, no telltale signs that anything was about to happen. Sachiko was a selfish, frustrated enough person that her tension could easily have been construed as her mistaking Kurokuma’s gesture as being at her. That would explain why her shoulders were so full of tension, why her hands were in tightly wound fists by her sides. So she, too, would be afraid to die? How interesting. After all, she was all but confirmed to be little more than a lying, manipulative mythic bitch. Like she’d actually care about the walking disaster that was Shinri.

While she looked over to the other girl, like she was trying to make sure Shinri still existed, Ren seemed to have something to say to the bear. Oh, god, an IOU, the favour, cashing it in, don’t execute anyone this time she was SAVED the one person she hadn’t sabotaged her relationship with was going to be SAFE everything was fine even if they could only save one like Kurokuma said that was fine Ren was normally such a reasonable person of course they wouldn’t let an innocent girl die over a confirmed killer like that, except they would, they would save Matsuo Krupin who’d gone to such elaborate lengths to kill someone, why, why punish her? Sure, she’d said some shit during that trial in agreement with the person Ren was expressing all sorts of bad feelings for, and sure, she wouldn’t have done the same in their position, but Shinri had done nothing wrong. Matsuo had done something wrong. Illogical. It was completely, utterly illogical, nothing more than a series of mistakes made from letting that pesky little bit of emotional reasoning and that was it. That was it, that was it, first it was Kiyoshi and then Tomoko and now it was Shinri why, God, couldn’t she have anything that even resembled a bit of happiness in her miserable, shitty life?

Option 1, challenge Kurokuma, face consequences for it. Whether it was her own life or something like what happened to everyone else who’d tried to fight him, it was useless, it’d just hurt them both and it wouldn’t fix the mistake everyone else had made. Option 2, challenge Ren, lose horribly, find no sympathy from them. The paper was already gone and as it burned, so did the bridge between them - she saw it as them being stubborn and inconsiderate, refusing to believe that she was the only one to blame for sabotaging any of her previously amicable relationships. Option 3, step up to take Shinri’s place…? No. Never. No matter how badly it hurt, she was not that kind of person. Even after she’d let herself be stupid enough to think someone else could make her just a little bit happier, she was not the type to put her own neck on the line. Not for anyone. She’d known that for a long time, she’d been like that for such a long time, then why, God, why was it only hurting now? It wasn’t fair, it wasn’t fucking fair, every time before now they’d put aside their stupid fucking feelings to punish the guilty and now neither of them were getting what they justly deserved and instead Shinri was getting punished for trying to be a good person. A better person than Sachiko could ever be. Someone who deserved to live while she died.

Her head remained lowered as everything processed, not looking at anyone, not Shinri, not Ren, not Matsuo. The corner of her lip turned up slightly as she made a small, a sort of choked sound - was it the start of laughter, or tears? “So that’s how it is,” she mused, her voice lacking any of her usual confidence, soft and shaky and vulnerable, “I see. I understand now. I-It’s perfectly clear, isn’t it?” More choked sobs permeated her words, her head remaining pointedly down like she had something to hide. Which, given her tendency to not express her emotions, coupled with very clearly having a lot of emotions to express? It was quite likely she DID have something to hide. “You’re the worst fucking hypocrites I’ve ever met in my life. Really, I have to congratulate you.” Finally she raised her head, a despondent smile, tears on her face, pain and hate and malice burning in her eyes.

“It’s an accomplishment! Really, I’d be proud of you stupid, self-righteous pricks if I didn’t hate each and every single one of you more than I think I’ve ever hated anyone in my life. Maybe you can all be proud of your accomplishment of getting someone innocent killed - at least half of you insufferable halfwits were ready to do that anyways, I’m sure it’s all the same to you as long as the guilty party walks free!” It wasn’t fair, she was getting frantic, this wasn’t like her and yet it was, there was that horrible little girl again, the one who complained about life not being fair whenever anything bad happened to her, who couldn’t just be grateful for what she had while she had it and oh, God, she really was about to lose it, wasn’t she?

“Shinri has done nothing to deserve this. I’d say I can’t believe you’d let that murderous fuck off the hook over her, but I can! I was right to have never trusted you.” Her eyes narrowed slightly, just the littlest bit. “I should have killed you when I had the chance - poisoned those stupid chocolates, wouldn’t have been hard, nothing I haven’t done before.” … That wasn’t supposed to come out, but Sachiko was - for once - too upset to really notice or care. “Hey, if I’d done it again now, maybe those of you who voted incorrectly on purpose would like me better since you seem to love killers so much!”

Stop while you’re ahead. They don’t need to hear any more. They don’t care about you, no one will be left to care about you shortly, they don’t get the luxury of knowing any more. To say Sachiko looked like a mess - crying, still kind of covered in a bit of face blood, generally dishevelled and probably at the worst she’d ever been - was one hell of an understatement. This wasn’t how she’d wanted it to go. Wiping her face as she turned to Shinri - she deserved so much better, dammit, this wasn’t how this was supposed to go at all - it was like her anger dissipated, was set on the backburner, as she took Shinri’s hands, desperately trying to look her in the eyes while she still could.

“I- Fuck, fuck fuck fuck I wish I could say it was going to be alright, but fuck, you’re the only person here I don’t think I could lie to anymore. I should have said it sooner. I should have fucking said it sooner. Shinri, I love you so fucking much.” With that, she leaned in for what would be her first and last kiss with her quite soon to be formal girlfriend. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. It wasn’t supposed to hurt. It was going to be nice and cute and not when she’d just been crying and she was going to finally be happy for once but even that was too much to ask, wasn’t it?

[cw: suicide talk]

She didn’t want to let go. She had to let go. It hurt so badly. It would hurt more to kill herself trying to save Shinri. Maybe she should kill herself anyways. It’d probably be the most beneficial thing she could do with her life knowing what Michi told her anyways. That wouldn’t fix anything either, though. There wasn’t any happiness for her anywhere. Not in life, not in this simulation, and while she wasn’t a betting woman, she would wager not even in death. Between the crying breathlessness and everything else she had to stop eventually but she couldn’t quite bring herself to let go of her hand yet, drying her eyes with her other arm.

Her grip was probably slightly tighter than comfortable on Shinri and while it was so clear from the hate still radiating that she had a lot to say, she simply swept up the remains of her shattered stone mask and pressed them back into a position adjacent to how they’d always been. It was bad enough that Shinri had already seen her cry - that’s not what she wanted her last memory of the behavioral psychologist to be, it wasn’t fair, not to her, not to Shinri. Her image was already ruined, and perhaps she had not been entirely truthful like she claimed to be. She’d put up whatever front, tell whatever lie, if Shinri only asked it of her she would tell whatever horrible lies she had to in order to make the last moments already ticking away so brutally just a little less painful, just a little bit better. Anything. Anything at all, please, just say the words just say something, anything, please, fuck, please just say something.

[redheadgal-blog1]

Sorry for my absence! Roommate from Hell.

Hey all,

I apologize for disappearing for a few days. I had a roommate move in, only for things to turn into an utter disaster just days later. I knew him before he moved in - we were acquaintances, but not close friends. Knowing he needed a place, and that I could use the help with rent, I offered to let him set up camp in my living room. Additionally, I spoke with him about my strict no-drama policy, and he was fine with it (not that it matters, since even the biggest pot-stirrer is going to say that). Things went well the first two nights - I wasn’t thrilled about having a roommate, but we were respecting one another’s space, privacy, and need for quiet. I began to feel increasingly optimistic about our ability to make this living arrangement work.

On day 3, he texted me from his job, saying to throw his belongings out, because he was planning to commit suicide later in the day by jumping in front of a train. I texted him back, encouraging him to go to the hospital instead of commit suicide. Without going into unnecessary detail, his behavior became more irrational as the conversation continued, but he agreed to drop my keys off after he left his job.

Feeling concerned for his safety, I walked to my local precinct and showed the threatening texts to the employees on duty. They said there was nothing they could do, short of an address for his current location, which I unfortunately didn’t have. My hope was that the police could be present at our scheduled time for him to return my keys, to ensure a peaceful exchange. However, I was made aware that this wasn’t an option. I was then advised to call 911 if he returned and continued to act or speak in ways that posed a threat to himself or others. 

Instead of throwing his things away, I put them into plastic bags. Based on his behavior through text, I was pretty darn sure that if he returned, he’d be acting in a way that warranted dialing 911. My plan for if this happened was to keep him here long enough for emergency personnel to arrive and hopefully take him to the hospital. However, he didn’t show up at our agreed-upon time, and had stopped answering texts and calls several hours earlier. 

After 3 more hours passed, I assumed he simply wasn’t going to return. I made a judgment call and changed the lock on my apartment door. Despite an authentic concern for his well-being, he’d been acting in a way that had me concerned not only for his safety, but for the safety of others. Put simply, I wouldn’t have felt safe allowing him back into my home, and according to tenant laws in my state, I was within my full right to lock him out (plus, although under concerning circumstances, he’d voluntarily relinquished his tenancy by telling me he was moving out). I couldn’t get my new lock to work properly from the outside, but it worked from the inside. For a split second, I thought about reinstalling the old lock, but my gut instinct recommended otherwise.

He showed up at my building shortly after midnight - 8 hours after he was supposed to drop his copy of the keys off. He rang the doorbell several times, but when I asked through the speaker “who is it?”, he didn’t respond. I went into my kitchen and looked out the window. Surely enough, he was now standing in front of my building, looking up at the windows.

I asked him why he needed to be buzzed in. He replied that he didn’t have his keys (well, obviously). Then, I asked why he never showed up at our agreed-upon time. He responded that his phone had died. This is a partial lie - his phone was ringing incessantly until two hours or so before he showed up - well past the time he was supposed to arrive - plus, why is that a reason to show up 8 hours late? Additionally, it didn’t make much sense to me that he was here to return my key, but didn’t have it. He also wasn’t carrying his bag that I’ve literally never seen him without, and which I knew wasn’t in the apartment (I’d known him for about two months, and he takes that thing everywhere). 

 I told him that I would place his things into my hallway for retrieval, then buzz him in. (Due to his increasingly bizarre behavior, I felt unsafe allowing him into my apartment.)

I watched through my peephole for him to grab his things and leave the building. Instead, he started kicking and pounding on my door - hard.

I asked “what did I do wrong to you?”

He replied “I want my money back!” (Full disclosure: I’d already used the money he’d given me to pay the rent, and I don’t have that amount of cash laying around my home at any given time. Moreover, my bank account was nearly empty after paying the rent, so even if I’d wanted to pay him back, at the moment, it wasn’t possible. I’d addressed this with the police earlier in the day, and they recommended either working out an agreement for reimbursement at a later time, or letting him sue me in small claims court for it. One thing I do know, based on having gotten to know him over the course of a few months, is that he had no imminent need for this money. He also hadn’t mentioned earlier in the day that he wanted his money back.)

I replied through the door “you’ll have to sue me for it, I used it to pay the rent already.” After his violent banging on the door, I didn’t want to go anywhere near this guy or interact with him again for any reason. 

At this point, he began to throw his full body weight against the door repeatedly, as if he was attempting to break through the deadbolt. I instinctively began to throw my knee into the door from the other side, in an effort to intimidate him back, and to show him that I was ready to put up a fight if he was going to continue. He stopped hitting the door, picked up the 2 garbage bags full of belongings, and began to make his way toward the exit of the building. The entire time, he screamed at the top of his lungs about how I’m a “whore”. Over and over, he called me a “whore”. Even after he got outside, he yelled up at my windows about what a “whore” he thinks I am.

I live in a building full of families with young children, elderly people, and people with respectable, quiet lifestyles and habits. This is a modest, working-class building. It’s not some crime-infested party or drug haven, where this type of behavior tends to occur. One thing I love about my building (and my neighborhood in general) is how safe and peaceful it is.At this point, not only was I downright angry, I was terrified for my safety and for the safety of other tenants. 

As I shook like a leaf, I dialed 911. The officers that responded to my call were very nice. Against my better judgment, I opted to fill out a domestic complaint form, as opposed to pressing formal charges. 

The next morning, I awoke to missed calls and texts from numbers I didn’t recognize. The people who’d tried to contact me were his colleagues. He hadn’t shown up for work that day, but had apparently left his bag (the one he took everywhere), his keys, and a sheet of paper with my contact info on it at his work desk. 

Additionally, shortly after he’d texted me his threat to jump in front of a train, he’d sent his colleagues a photo of himself holding a bottle of insecticide. Further texts stated that he’d drank it and was violently ill. This struck me as odd, because when he showed up at my place a few hours later, he was in good enough condition physically to try breaking my door down. Someone who drank bug poison a few hours earlier would likely be sick, dead, and/or in the ER. He’d also sent his colleagues texts about how he was depressed over a woman leaving him in recent months, and that was his reason for wanting to die.

His colleagues mentioned that his behavior - not showing up for work, the suicide threats, the irrational words and actions - were unlike any side of him they’d ever seen. I mentioned that I’d suspected him of using steroids (he’s indescribably fit and abnormally obsessed with his body image, and his outrage and depression only added credibility to this theory). They said that they’d been suspicious of the same thing, but mainly due to his obsession with fitness and body image, rather than his moods - until now, that is.

I was the last person to interact him, so I agreed to meet his colleagues at my local precinct to file a missing person report if nobody heard from him by the time 48 hours passed. However, he contacted me later that evening. First, he sent me a text, apologizing and asking for another chance at living with me. He stated that his father had been murdered on his birthday just a few days prior, and that he’d acted out of character because he’d gotten drunk to cope (this, to me, is always a red flag: the events line up way too perfectly for the probability of them actually having happened to be in his favor). 

Other red flags that I noticed involved the inconsistencies in his stories: he told me he was going to jump in front of the train, but he told his colleagues that he was going to drink bug poison. He told his colleagues that he was depressed over a woman; he told me that his father was murdered on his birthday.

Before I could respond to his texts pleading for another chance, he then called me and asked for another chance.

I replied “you made a racket in a respectable building, and you terrified me. I wouldn’t feel safe having you return, and I will have to call 911 if you do.”

He then stated that he was going to make my life a living hell, and that he knows enough personal information about me to do so. He also told me to “watch my back”.

I dialed 911, and for the second night in a row, the police were at my apartment. However, they stated that because the threats were made over the phone, as opposed to via text message, they couldn’t take a complaint. This was a huge disappointment, because I wanted to press charges, for the sake of an order of protection, if nothing else. 

A few hours later, I began to receive texts and phone calls from random numbers, in response to an ad I’d supposedly posted on Craigslist. I asked one of the men who called me to send me a link to the ad. The ad contained my full name, my address (including my apartment number), and my phone number. It was an ad for a “casual encounter”, identifying me as a “call girl” (I’m not). Fortunately, the man who linked me to the ad was helpful. Not only did he provide the link, he reported the ad, and explained to me how to report it. I also changed my phone number immediately.

A short while later, the link to the ad led to a page stating that the ad had been deleted by its author. Evidently, the now-former roommate had second thoughts.

This insane series of events has had me feeling mentally and emotionally drained all week. In the aftermath of the drama, I needed to take some time to get my head back on straight and reestablish some semblance of safety, both inside and outside of my home. I continue to worry that he will return. Not only am I unsure if he got his keys back from his job where he left them, this is a building where people aren’t very cautious and will hold the front door open for someone they don’t know. 

I haven’t heard from him since two nights ago (his colleagues haven’t heard from him since he made the suicide threats, according to the last update I received from them), but I remain slightly on edge. Not only am I worried about him returning here or stalking me physically, I’m nervous about him continuing to put my personal information in ads that tend to naturally attract other crazies. I may pursue an order of protection through the court system, which is a bit complicated in my state without an actual arrest, but even if I’m granted one, I’ll continue to feel nervous for awhile.

Thanks to anyone who read this insanely long post. It felt really good to vent about this. As far as camming goes, I went on for a short while last night and tonight. Tomorrow, I will be going live on Streamate, though I’m unsure of what time, as I have plans to visit with a friend who’s in town for a few days. Thereafter, I will have a more structured schedule established, and I will make sure to keep everyone updated on it!